Warlord 2: The Nobility

by CJ Williams

  “What is this?” he asked shaking it in front of her face. Then he tore Teeny Jim’s head off the body.

  “No!” Carrie shrieked. “Don’t hurt him!” She lunged at Lunod and found herself face first on the concrete, her entire body racked with pain as the guard shook his pole viciously. Carrie’s neck burned with electrical fire from the repeated jolts.

  “That’s enough,” Lunod said. “Put this crap back in the bag. I think it is just a toy. Never seen anything like that.”

  He hauled Carrie to her feet once again. Blood ran into her eyes, obscuring her vision. He grabbed her hair and rubbed his uniformed forearm against her face, wiping away enough blood so she could see.

  “Your personal possessions will be returned once the Angqua are through with you.”

  Juber snickered at the comment.

  “Let’s go,” Lunod said.

  He got into the front seat of the vehicle. A shield decal on the door identified the men as military police. It was a van with a single bench-like seat in the center. One of the men maneuvered Carrie onto the bench while the rest sat behind her, still gripping the restraining poles. The doors slammed closed and the vehicle drove away, passing emergency vehicles responding to the pile of burning debris that moments ago had been her yacht.

  Thirty minutes from the airport, the van drove into the basement parking lot of an official looking building. She was escorted through a series of corridors and past several vault-like metal doors. An elevator took them deeper underground where they exited into a well-lit corridor. A final security checkpoint led to short hallway. It had a flat wall along one side and five barred prison cells on the other. None of the cells were occupied.

  Each cell was spartan in the extreme. Sturdy narrow bunks were built into the side walls, topped with thin, foam-like mattresses. Stark stainless steel fixtures, with a commode and sink combination, were attached to each back wall. The floor was a dull gray slab of concrete.

  Carrie recognized the facility for what it was. She had studied the concept while getting her bachelor of science degree in criminal justice. One of the courses was about correctional facilities. This had to be the Jontu Four equivalent of a super max prison, reserved for only the most dangerous offenders.

  At the moment, Carrie wasn’t a danger to anyone. She was little more than a piece of human driftwood, pushed by forces beyond her control. The officers held her in front of an open door and removed the poles. Once she was disconnected, Lunod shoved her into the cell and the door clanged shut. No words were exchanged during the entire process.

  When Carrie turned around, only Lunod remained, facing her. “The Angqua will be with you soon,” he said flatly and then he too walked away.

  *.*.*.*

  Thirty days later Carrie was still waiting. At least she guessed it was a month. Her cell block had no windows. The cell itself and the corridor outside were constantly illuminated. She had lost track of whether it was day or night.

  On the first day, a matron took her clothing and left behind a simple gray shift. It was too big, but Carrie didn’t argue. During her first two weeks, various prison staff employees checked on her as part of the administrative process. A doctor gave her a cursory examination. On a separate occasion, an attorney explained her rights in flowery language; she had none.

  One young female official came and encouraged her to stay strong and not worry; that her family sent their love and were still trying to get past the bureaucratic hurdles necessary for visitation. Carrie wondered if the clerk had been directed to the wrong cell or if it was a clumsy attempt at psychological pressure.

  Carrie never complained or asked for explanations. She was polite and answered all questions put to her, keeping to the script that she had prepared to handle routine bureaucratic inquiries.

  To those who wanted to know, Carrie explained that her parents passed away years ago. She had used her inheritance to purchase the yacht and lived quietly off the remaining proceeds, not causing any trouble.

  No, she didn’t know who King Kkoli was. No, she had never heard of the Angqua and had no idea why they wanted her.

  The questions were asked by many people in different ways. Through the questioners she learned that the Angqua were the Bonbu administrator’s secret police and that Bonbu Two was King Kkoli’s new home world. It strengthened her suspected link between Kkoli and the Bakkui, but it was far from proof. Carrie asked if the Angqua worked for the king or for the administrator. No one would answer the question. What was abundantly clear was that everyone feared the Angqua.

  It was that very fact that made people look over their shoulder. Even in the depths of this unnamed prison, the staff quivered in terror at the name. They took down Carrie’s information and left hurriedly. She never saw most of them again. The only exception was the matron. Twice a day she pushed a food cart up to the door slot and took it away thirty minutes later whether Carrie ate or not. Unless she was asleep, Carrie ate the meal. The food was bland but edible and never varied.

  In the meantime, Carrie probed with her mind. Delicately at first, and then more aggressively. Why had she been arrested? What was going on?

  Everyone that she could touch in the prison complex was just as much in the dark as she was. All that was known was that Carrie Faulkner was at the top of a most wanted list and that she was considered dangerous in the extreme.

  Carrie spent her time reviewing her situation. Why had she been arrested? There was no way that King Kkoli could know her name, much less have any interest in arresting her. However, he would definitely be interested in an unknown daughter of King Peyha.

  JF307, the administrator on Ebene Three, had assured her that only her royal name, Paeli Pokeuneo, had been released to the public. No public link was ever made to her Carrie Faulkner persona.

  But clearly, someone had done so and Kkoli had followed up. They had put out an APB and she’d walked right into it. Carrie sent many silent curses in JF307’s direction. Those damned AIs gave away information even when they didn’t know it. In retrospect, she was foolish not to have created an alias for her arrival on Jontu Four.

  Twice she was taken to a courtroom. Each trip entailed the complicated process of guards connecting the poles to her neck and wrists. Both times Carrie did everything she could to be compliant but the apparatus was clumsy and the electric shocks hurt like hell.

  The first time she was in the courtroom, a prosecutor demanded that she admit to her crimes.

  “I don’t know what crime you’re referring to,” she replied respectfully.

  That was the wrong answer. The guard with the neck pole jerked her head back and forth, sending a constant stream of fire into her body. Carrie could not stop herself from screaming in pain. Her legs gave out and she crashed into the witness stand and then onto the floor.

  The prosecutor shouted but she had no idea what the man was saying; her own screams drowned out his words until she passed out.

  A week later, back in the courtroom, a different prosecutor asked the same question.

  “Yes, I admit it,” Carrie replied nervously.

  “You admit what?” he barked.

  “I admit to my crimes,” she said anxiously.

  “What crimes?” the prosecutor shouted. “Explain to the court!”

  Carrie had no idea what to say. “All of them,” she said, tears seeping from her eyes. “Anything you say.”

  “You insult the court again?” he asked incredulously. “This is your last chance; admit to your crimes!”

  “I admit everything,” she whimpered. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  The prosecutor nodded at the man behind Carrie.

  “Please,” Carrie begged. “Just tell me what to–”

  Her head was jerked back so hard she thought it would break her neck. Electricity engulfed her body in searing pain. Both the judge and prosecutor shouted accusations when she fell face first to floor. Their patience was exhausted, they said. Her lenient treatment would come t
o an end if she continued to obstruct the king’s justice. The fire didn’t end until blackness swamped her mind.

  *.*.*.*

  The following week something was different. A palpable aura of fear permeated the prison. It didn’t take long for Carrie to discover why. The Angqua had arrived from Bonbu. Her lenient treatment was over. They would visit Carrie after her next meal.

  When the matron brought food, Carrie tried to eat but threw up after two bites. It was impossible. Her stomach churned with fear and it felt like her heart was pumping battery acid through her veins. She moved to the far side of the cell and squatted in the corner, trying to make herself invisible.

  An hour later the steel doors down the corridor clanked open. Instead of boots, she heard soft footfalls approaching the door of her prison cell.

  A tall uniformed officer stood on the other side of the bars. He was extraordinarily handsome and could easily have adorned the cover of a men’s health magazine back on Earth. His uniform was black and silver with maroon-colored leather panels across the shoulders. The rank insignia was not ostentatious and his expression was devoid of feeling.

  “We can do this the hard way or easy,” he said quietly. “Which do you prefer?”

  Carrie started sobbing. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she got a runny nose. “Easy?” she squeaked, barely able to make a sound.

  The man smiled and it was as if the sun had come out. “Okay. So, let’s try it the easy way.” He nodded at someone down the corridor and her cell door clicked open. He took a light chain from a satchel and snapped one end to the back of her collar and the other to his wrist.

  He helped her to her feet and took the hand cloth from her sink to wipe her face.

  “My name is Joh-eun,” he said, rinsing the cloth.

  “Carrie Faulkner,” she replied.

  He waited patiently while she got her emotions under control. Carrie hated that her keepers had so effectively reduced her to a quivering mess. And she was ashamed for responding with such gratitude to this new figure for not punishing her needlessly.

  If they were playing good cop/bad cop, they had done an excellent job. She would gladly have had this man’s child to avoid those damned poles on her neck and wrists. The scars under her collar had only stopped burning yesterday.

  Carrie took a deep breath and looked up at Joh-eun expectantly.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied meekly.

  “Do you want to know where?”

  “The courtroom?”

  Joh-eun chuckled; it was a scary sound. “No,” he said. “You are done with the local courts. We are going to Bonbu Two. My superiors have some questions for you. Do you know about Bonbu?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Carrie admitted.

  “Have you?” Joh-eun seemed surprised by her answer. “Then you know more than most people. Where did you hear of it?”

  Damn! Carrie scolded herself. This was how people tripped up, making a casual comment that didn’t fit within their falsified background. The mistake scared her. Would Joh-eun change his mind and leave her in the cell for more torture? Would the men with the poles take her back to the courtroom? Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “I was a card dealer once, on Cerava Four. Military officers mentioned it.” The story was partially true. Princess Gimi had said something of the sort.

  “Really? When did those religious fanatics on Cerava Four start allowing gambling?”

  Idiot! She’d done it again! More tears fell. Joh-eun gripped her collar and bent her head back. His gleaming smile was blinding in its magnificence.

  “Admit it,” he said, amused. “You were working in an illegal gambling hall, weren’t you?”

  Carrie nodded. She had no idea how to respond. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “And you look so sweet and innocent. I’m disappointed in you, Carrie Faulkner.” He shook his head. “I shall remember that about you.” He wiped her eyes one last time. “Now your job is to keep up. We have a long way to go.” He released her neck and headed out of the cell.

  Carrie was stunned that he let the matter drop but she jumped to his side and walked carefully beside him down the corridor. Staff members stood at their stations and watched them pass. Their expressions held no sympathy for her, only fear of the officer at her side.

  They emerged from the prison just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sunset was filled with streaks of red. It was only the second time she’d seen the sky since landing on Jontu Four.

  An official car was waiting for them at the curb. Joh-eun bundled her into the back seat and slid in beside her. “To the spaceport,” he said to the driver. “Pad 514.”

  The car raced away from the prison and Carrie breathed a silent sigh of relief. She had no idea what was ahead, but prayed it would not be worse than what she was leaving behind.

  The sky darkened quickly. Carrie saw nothing of the great city where the spaceport was based. It didn’t feel like a loss. They pulled through a gate onto the enormous flight line. The car stopped before a massive spacecraft. It was similar to the colony ships that the Alliance built, a huge half dome, lined with rows of windows that made up the living quarters.

  Joh-eun exited the vehicle and walked toward the head of a line of passengers. Carrie scrambled to make sure the chain never grew taut. People shrank from his presence. His uniform marked him as a man to be feared. At the boarding gate, Joh-eun held up his chained hand. “Lieutenant Joh-eun and prisoner…” He looked at Carrie expectantly.

  “Carrie Faulkner,” she said quickly.

  The gate attendant nodded and gestured ahead. “Of course, sir. Your room is the same. Fifteen-thirty-two on level fifteen.” Joh-eun didn’t nod, just strode forward as though he owned the ship.

  On the fifteenth level, he walked straight to their room. The door opened as they approached and he entered with Carrie still in close trail.

  The room was large, but did not have the luxurious feel of Alliance spacecraft. The furnishings were adequate but unadorned. Joh-eun led her to a tall window and unclasped the chain from his wrist, refastening it to a grab bar solidly mounted to the wall.

  He opened his mouth to speak but a loud chime interrupted his words. He waited while it bonged six times then gave her a prosaic look. “Six bells, ship’s time,” he said. “Wait here.” He left her by the window and walked away, removing his shirt as he did so, and disappeared into a bedroom.

  A moment later, Joh-eun emerged. His uniform was gone, replaced by a casual outfit of shorts, slippers and a loose collarless tunic. The smile was still in place. He waggled his eyebrows at her and went over to his kitchen counter to retrieve a gold-colored bottle from his fridge. After a long draught, he tossed the empty bottle into the waste receptacle and took out another.

  He joined her at the window, full of good cheer.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said idly.

  She didn’t answer, wondering if it was a trick question. He gave her an amused glance and shook his head as though reading her thoughts.

  “Well, it is,” he said. “Maybe not for you, but I like a night sky.”

  After enjoying the view for ten minutes a warning horn sounded through the ship. One long and two short blasts.

  “About time,” Joh-eun said. With only the faintest tremor, the ship started to rise from the ground. “And we’re off.” He reached for Carrie and she involuntarily flinched away from his touch. He ignored her reaction and unhooked the chain from the grab bar and then from her collar.

  Carrie rubbed her fingers around her neck and tried to massage the skin under her collar. She looked at Joh-eun expectantly.

  “Be here in the room every night by nine bells,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Don’t go above the tenth level; that’s mostly crew and they don’t want civilians traipsing underfoot. Understand?”

  Carrie nodded vigorously. She had trouble accepting that he was giving her freedom of movement.

>   “Don’t cause me any trouble or try to hide.” His eyes narrowed and she felt a faint tickle of electricity on her neck. It only lasted a second and then stopped. He had made his point.

  “I won’t,” Carrie promised. “Nine bells, every night.”

  “Be good, and I’ll return the favor. Otherwise, neither of us will be happy.” He pointed to the second bedroom. “That one is yours. Stay out of my fridge. You can eat at any of the mess halls. The closest is one level down, on sixteen. They open at six bells so your timing is good.” He gave her a boyish grin. “If you see Chaerleon in my quarters, you’d best steer clear. She doesn’t like it when I escort females.”

  With that, he headed toward the front door, stopping only to check his reflection in a mirror on the way out. Then he was gone and the door slid closed.

  “He’s a dandy,” Carrie whispered to herself. But he was still secret police. The way everyone treated him said a lot more than his over-inflated ego.

  Carrie touched her stomach and tried to decide if she was hungry. Not really, but it would be a good idea to eat something. She took the gravity well down one level and easily found the mess hall by following her nose.

  It reminded her of a school cafeteria. People lined up with trays and white-clad servers stood behind glass counters to dish up a variety of food. People seemed to know what she was. No doubt the gray dress and metal collar were warning signs to stay away. She took a tray and moved to the food-service line. A woman following stayed well back while the man in front tried to hurry. He was at a disadvantage; he couldn’t move ahead until the server gave him a dish. Carrie had no idea what the choices were so when it was her turn she pointed at whatever the man had selected.

  He noticed what she was doing and when she followed his choice of main entrée, he grunted. “Not that,” he warned. “It’s too spicy for someone like you. Give her some of that instead,” he told the server, pointing to a mashed potato kind of casserole.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  When they got to the end of the line, he came to a stop. All the tables were filled with one exception. In the center of the room there was one small table for two that was empty. The man looked around frantically, but the fates had conspired against him. He glared at Carrie as though she had planned it.