by Nic Plume
Tonee pushed off and came over. He had placed himself to interfere with a clear view from the closed door to the cell and continued to stay that way. As yet, the guards didn’t know Salayla’s and Kaydeen’s true nature, and the team planned to keep it that way. The old argument to not use their gifts during captivity because of the high chance for discovery fell, as expected, on deaf ears. Their ability to ease pain and stabilize emotions and moods was too valuable during a high-stress situation like this.
Taylor pushed up onto his elbows as Tonee approached. Salayla’s hand rose with him. Tonee crossed his legs and sat. Salayla immediately took the opportunity to use his knee as a pillow. It was a typical action for Din—the urge to touch, to be close to others, especially people they felt connected to. It was an action the Academy instructors had encouraged in all teams, to dull the sexual innuendoes some humans connected with touching, and to allow Din to blend in and better obfuscate Readings. The best way to hide a Din’s nature was in the open with teammates who were so comfortable with each other’s proximity that they didn’t seem to notice.
"What happened down there?"
Tonee scrunched his forehead at the question, "What do you mean?"
Taylor repeated the message Tristan gave him.
Tonee cursed, and then explained, "I talked to an uncollared miner, a Tinareean. Was trying to find out what’s going on outside. You know, political, social, the mood out there, what people’s thoughts are on things, what happened to the Intergal attack, why the hell the Traverse is still in charge—but I didn’t get much, barely got past his family. Shit, Taylor, if I’d known they’d do this to you, I never would’ve asked."
Taylor waved him off.
"They do avoid speaking about their private lives, or anything outside the mine," Salayla put in without lifting her head. "It seems to be taboo."
"He had no problems talking about his family. Chatted my ear off about his beautiful wife and smart kids." Tonee shook his head. "If it’s a taboo, then he didn’t know about it."
"Or, he was testing to see how far you would push it." Salayla suggested.
"Well, if it was supposed to be a trap for me, it didn’t work that well. He was the one who didn’t shut up. Once I got him going, I couldn’t get a word in anymore. Shit," he nodded toward Taylor’s back, "it definitely wasn’t worth that."
"Maybe it was," Kaydeen said. She sat on Taylor’s other side, carefully spreading med gel on the welts on his back. "It shows that life down there is more controlled than they’ve been letting on."
"And the collared aren’t as unmonitored as they seem," Taylor added. "That was worth finding out."
"Not at that cost."
"You didn’t expect to be punished?"
"I expected them to punish me."
"Then it was worth it."
"Worth getting your skin flayed over it?"
"If that’s what it takes."
"Taylor…"
"From the way they’ve been playing things, it doesn’t look like I’m going to get out of here anytime soon." Seeing Tonee’s questioning frown, he explained, "Keeping me locked up ensures that you come back. Not providing me with food ensures that you work harder to earn an extra ration. Now they’re taking the next step, figuring out how to keep your tongues in check."
"Don’t show them what works." Kaydeen repeated the mantra their S.E.R.E. instructors had used over and over during the ‘R’ section of their ‘Survive Evade Resist Escape’ training.
Taylor smiled, "So they said."
"I keep stepping on that mine, don’t I?" Tonee asked.
"They never explained how to avoid it."
"What if they keep beating you?"
"They will. And I’ll keep taking it."
Tonee stared at him as if Taylor had stepped into a blazing fire and announced that it was warm.
"And you will keep digging. The Traverse is obviously still in charge, at least in this area. So, our SILC might not have been the only one shot down. If it was a concerted attack, or even a mass ambush, dirt-side might be one massive battleground or, worst-case scenario, the fleet might have never made it planet-side."
"Then, where did they go?" Kaydeen put in. "Or are you suggesting they took out the whole Fleet?"
"If they did," Tonee slumped, "then we’re shit up the Vortex."
"Either way," Taylor replied, "We need more intel, and then things will fall into place."
Tonee shook his head. "It’s not that easy."
"I didn’t say it would be easy on you."
"On us?" Tonee exclaimed. He glanced at Kaydeen and Salayla, who had stayed quiet during the exchange. "You’re the one who’s—"
Taylor pushed up and looked at him. "Me? I got the easy part, Tonee. All I have to do is sit up here and take what they dish out. They’re not going to kill me or maim me to the point where I need serious medical attention. That would be counterproductive. So, I’ll heal. You guys are the ones busting your asses down there, working extra to keep me fed, trading who knows what for meds, and then spending part of your sleep cycle taking care of me. And the whole time you worry about what your actions will do to me. Don’t you think I can’t see that? You’re tearing yourself apart over something you have no control over."
He paused to catch his breath. Arching his back like that hurt like hell.
"I screwed that one up. I showed them what works when I came out of that lift. I moved when I shouldn’t have. I set myself up as their punching dummy. That’s on me, so I’ll take it. The good part is that they’re leaving you guys alone, so you can work the intel and, when the time finally comes for us to make a move, you guys will be on top of your game."
Taylor looked at Tonee a moment longer then lay back down.
Tonee’s eyes met Kaydeen’s, who shrugged. "It’s not like we have anything else to work with."
He looked at Salayla, who had been cradling Taylor’s neck in her hand throughout.
She met his gaze, held it for a moment, and nodded.
Taylor felt her reassurance. She agreed to his plan, though it was clear she didn’t like it. An instant earlier, her disapproval had shot through him along with the knowledge that she had sensed the part of his plan he hadn’t voiced—his decision to make sure none of them would ever take his place. It was his obligation to see them through this, even if it cost his life. He would do whatever it took to keep the guards’ attention, and their wrath, on him and off his teammates. It wasn’t a thought or a decision, but a fact of his being.
Dean selected the next name on the long list displayed on his screen. As the personnel file opened, his comm pinged with a direct visual connection request. Dean smiled, only one person would have the audacity to comm him with a direct visual this late at night. Most people would request an audio connection or send a message requesting a visual connection so a rote acceptance couldn’t catch him in an inopportune situation or attire. He considered ignoring or denying it, but knew that wouldn’t help. If there was one trait deeply imbedded into his assistant, it was determination.
Dean accepted the request and set it to display on half of his computer screen.
"Why are you looking at profiles?" Robert said, not even bothering with niceties or protocol. Dean didn’t mind. He preferred direct, straight to the point conversations over the social dancing most people’s sense of etiquette or protocol called for. That was one of the reasons he had chosen Robert Teak as his assistant. Another one was his psych background. It was always helpful to have a leg up on evaluating the people Dean regularly dealt and negotiated with, unless Robert was using his skill on him.
"And how do you know I’m looking at profiles? Are you tracking my activities?"
"I am not," Robert replied. "That would be a breach of regulations." He even kept a straight face. "I have, however, set a marker tracking access to the personnel files in the MIA list."
"Ah, and that’s different, of course."
"Correct." Robert grinned. "So, coming back to my o
riginal question…"
"I’m filling my idle hours with a useful activity. It’s not like I’m swamped with exhaustive work right now."
"Idle hours, my ass. It’s the middle of your rest period, when you should be going in and out of REM sleep, not personnel files."
Dean smiled. Robert was always good at keeping him grounded.
"It’s as good a time as any to familiarize myself with the people I lost."
"You didn’t lose them. If their loss is anyone’s responsibility, it’s Kilrian’s. He’s in overall command of this mission."
"They were part of a mission I set into motion, based on my legwork, so they each deserve to be known and remembered."
"Turning a list of anonymous names into people with faces and lives opens you up to guilt."
"Not guilt. Mourning and recognition. I didn’t cause their death. I initiated the mission that gave them the opportunity to come here and fight an oppressive regime. They chose to join this fight fully aware that they might not make it to the other side."
"So, you feel no guilt at all?"
"Don’t twist the meaning of my words." Heat rose from the pit of Dean’s stomach. "Of course, I feel guilt, but second-guessing myself after the fact only sullies their memories and effort. We need to know what went wrong and make sure it doesn’t happen again." His words had become clipped, his tone sharp. "And we have to honor and remember those we’ve lost to the cause." He paused and took a breath to cool the internal heat burning his scalp. "You know this is how I deal with the losses and make them bearable. We’ve had this conversation before. Repeatedly. How often are you planning to bring it back up?"
"As often as you sit down and open a new batch of personnel files," Robert calmly replied.
"Making sure I stay emotionally stable?"
"That is what I’m here for."
"You’re here to work for me, not on me," Dean replied wryly.
"All in a day’s work."
"And if you ever found evidence of my stability slipping?"
"Then I’d have to start working on you, not for you."
"Well," Dean smiled, "until then, why don’t you keep working on Torrents. I think the young man is going down the wrong trail."
"Oh? Something I should know?"
"No, I would prefer you look at it with an unbiased mind."
"Don’t I always?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
Robert smiled.
"One more question," he said before Robert could log off. "How many names are supposed to be on the MIA roster?"
"Four hundred and thirty-one," Robert replied. "Why?"
"That’s what I thought. But there are only four hundred and twenty-seven."
Taylor’s prediction came true twelve shifts later. This time, they didn’t pull him out of the cell. Tico came in and beat him with the baton he always carried on his belt. No words, no explanation, just a thorough beating and then he left. It wasn’t too bad, as far as beatings went. The welts from the lashing were mostly healed, and Taylor was able to protect his most sensitive body parts. A few blows got through, though, so he ended up with a split lip on top of the contusions on his arms, legs, and back, but no broken bones or dislocations and not as much internal pain as the first beating. By the time his teammates returned from their work shift, he was even able to sit up again.
"Did you get anything useful?" he asked as Kaydeen started working on his latest batch of wounds. He was getting pretty good at keeping his pain from showing and only hissed when she touched an overly raw spot.
"Well," Salayla hunched down in front of him, "the good news is that we seem to have exhausted the number of crews they can assign us to work with."
She offered to help him with the pain, but he waved her off. No need to push their luck and risk being discovered if they didn’t have to.
"We were back with Coparoda’s crew today."
They’d fallen into the habit of naming the different crews after a person who’d been a good resource for them.
"The bad part is that Coparoda has been reassigned."
She pulled out a meal pack, ripped it open and handed it to him. He stared at it, resisting the urge to snatch it from her hand and guzzle it down. As usual, he was starving.
"They moved him a few shifts after we met him."
He finally took the food and forced himself to nurse it.
She grinned and waved him on. "Go on, I have a feast for you today."
She pulled out three more packets. His eyes widened, but not wanting to let on how starved he really felt, he played it off as a reaction to her previous words.
"Moved him? Where?"
It didn’t fool her. She opened the next pack and held it ready for him.
"Nobody knows, but nobody seems concerned, either. While it doesn’t happen often, workers do get shifted around."
As soon as he took the second pack, she opened the third.
"Although recently, it does seem to be happening more often."
He paused to look at her and then hissed when Kaydeen touched his shoulder where Tico had kicked him. He closed his eyes to get the pain under control before continuing his conversation with Salayla.
"Why?"
"We aren’t sure." She ignored his reaction to Kaydeen’s ministrations. "Nobody was willing to elaborate."
He looked at Tonee, who had stayed silent throughout their exchange. As usual, he leaned against the bars, blocking the view from the door.
Tonee shrugged. "We’ll find out. Today was the first time we reconnected with workers. Some of them were skittish and reluctant to talk to us, which might be from something that happened with this crew, or it might be bigger. I’d like to hope for the latter as an indication of things happening top-side, but until we know more, it’s smoke in the wind." He looked up and around. "I guess smoke in the stale air would be more appropriate." He grinned and pushed off the bars. With Taylor refusing Salayla’s Reading, there was no reason to block them from view. He walked over and settled down beside them.
"If we truly have met every crew, then we’ll soon find out if this sudden skittishness is more widespread."
Salayla nodded her agreement. "Now, eat." She indicated for him to finish the packet in his hand and opened the last one. "We’re fully aware that your food has been meager in the last few days, so stop pretending you aren’t famished and dig in."
He grabbed the last pack. "I’m not starving anymore."
"Good. We plan to keep it that way."
They soon found out that other crews had lost members, too. Most workers chalked it up to normal personnel movement, although some made the connection, like the team did, that almost every removed person either had contact with them or had been overly curious about them. Most of those workers were understandably reluctant to talk, and oftentimes tried to segregate the team from their crew. But not every crew was affected, and not everybody who was friendly or helpful disappeared. It was enough to make the teammates even more cautious.
The beatings continued, coming every few days. Sometimes they took place in the cell, but oftentimes the guards strung Taylor up by the cuffs they had used for the lashing. They never used the neural whip again. Taylor counted his blessings for that, but they came up with many other ways to make him scream.
As the days started to run together, Taylor lost track of how many of Tico’s special treatments he’d been subjected to. Kaydeen could probably give him an exact count, with a detailed list of the wounds he suffered during each, but it didn’t matter. He would take whatever they handed him—one day at a time, one interaction at a time. The human body could take a shitload of punishment and adjust to its new normal. It was up to him to make sure his mind adjusted with it.
It took some time, and quite a few raw throats, but his training paid off and the pain lessened, or at least his perception of it did. He was finally able to tune it out, and his lack of emotion the next time they strung him up pissed off Tico to no end. Taylor
smiled.
It’s the little things in life…
Tico beat him harder. He didn’t care. Even the smallest victories could feel like planet-shattering conquests.
Tristan and Tico left. Taylor breathed a sigh of relief and grimaced in pain. They’d left him hanging in the cuffs, but at least this session hadn’t been nearly as long as the others. His victory was short-lived, though, as the two returned soon after, released him from the cuffs, and dragged him to the far corner of the cellblock. There, they activated a new cell around him no more than ten paces square. They’d found a new torment.
Watching the other cell retract and reform as far away from his as the large room allowed tightened his chest. He would be alone again. But he’d be damned if he’d show them what worked. He fought down the tremors and was glad his latest beating concealed their true cause.
By the time his teammates returned, he was able to play off their separation as another ploy by the guards to keep them in check. The upside of the separation was that the guards brought him a daily ration of food and water, so his teammates didn’t have to provide for him any longer. The downside was, the guards didn’t provide him with meds or care. He downplayed his wounds and the toll the continuing torments took on his body and mind, even got up to prove he was fine when previously he would have curled into a ball, and kept upbeat on their situation and chances of escape. He knew they’d get out, but he wasn’t sure what shape he’d be in when they did.
11
Friendship
"Taylor."
Tonee’s voice was like an annoying insect, buzzing his face again and again, each time a bit sharper and more demanding.
Taylor finally gave in.
"What?" He intended to say, but his tongue stayed stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t sure what actually came out.
"When is the last time you drank water?"
From the parched feeling of his mouth and throat, it had been a while. He should probably drink some, but the bucket was across the cell and he hadn’t yet come up with the energy to cross those two meters.