by Scott Baron
The Tslavar guided him to a room he had not been in before.
“Strip,” he commanded in a bored tone.
Charlie obliged. Showering with the motley crew aboard the Rixana, he’d quickly gotten over his prior shyness.
Saur looked him over from head to toe, examining him for injuries or illnesses, while also gauging his level of fitness and likely ability to return to his labors. The Tslavar lieutenant straightened as Captain Tür strode in.
“As you were, Saur. You did well today.”
“Thank you, sir. It felt good to put those filthy animals down.”
“Which you did with great efficiency,” Tür said with a grin before turning to Charlie. “You know, at first, I thought you had run from me. That would have been a very, very bad outcome for you. But then your collar went dark and I was unable to track you, and that was something you simply do not have the requisite skill, knowledge, or power to accomplish. That was when I knew someone had been foolish enough to steal my possession.”
“Yes, I was captured by the pirates you killed. They took me when our group was forced to thin out, stunned me with some paralysis device.”
“I figured as much,” he said, looking his returned slave over. “He appears to be in good condition.”
“Yes, sir. I see no injuries, though there are a few new scars and marks healing up. They must have abused him a bit aboard their ship.”
“Pirates,” he said with an annoyed sigh. “It is to be expected of them, I suppose. In any case, he is returned to us now. See him to his cell. We will put him back to work tomorrow.”
The green-skinned man turned to walk out, but Charlie felt this was his one opportunity to gauge his situation.
“Captain Tür?”
“Yes?” he said, looking back over his shoulder.
“Thank you for saving me from the pirates,” he said, neglecting to mention he actually was one of them until just that very day.
“It is not wise to steal from me,” the captain replied.
“Well, I appreciate your coming for me regardless. But one question, if I may. What would have happened to me if I actually had run away?”
A cold smile spread across Captain Tür’s lips. “Simple. We would not be having this conversation right now, and I would be selling your corpse for Zomoki food.”
Saur let out a low, rumbling laugh as his captain walked away. “He didn’t come after you because he cares, you know. He did it to teach any and all who would dare cross him what would happen to them.”
“Given the carnage, I think everyone will get the message,” Charlie replied.
“And that was the intent. Now come along. Back to your cell.”
“Charlee!”
The lone Earth man in the galaxy found himself wrapped up in a joyful hug by a large blue man, and he was perfectly okay with that.
“Hey, Tuk. Good to see you, man. It’s been a while.”
“Been too long! Tuktuk thinking you dead!”
“Nope, I’m still here, though there were moments I wondered if I would be.”
“Is it trueness? That you were being take by pirates?” Tuktuk asked, his eyes wide with curiosity on their stalks.
“Yeah, pretty much,” he replied. “Got kidnapped and dragged off on their ship. They had me doing slave work until Captain Tür came and saved me.”
He wanted to tell his friend the truth of his adventure. How he was only spared because he happened to not be wearing his raiding gear, and that was only because he was about to be sold to a new owner. But Charlie already knew the captain eavesdropped throughout the ship, and if Tür discovered that he had indeed fled––and then become a pirate himself on top of that––his days would either be full of torment or numbered.
That also meant he couldn’t unburden himself of the guilt over killing that man in the Rixana’s galley. It had been self-defense of the most understandable kind, but nevertheless, he had taken a life, and that was not sitting well with him.
Eventually, he found some comfort by discussing it in the third person, as if they were events he witnessed, not ones he participated in.
Tuktuk listed intently to the stories. Adventure aboard a pirate ship––even as a prisoner––was fascinating to him.
“Is their way of to living, Charlee. Killing is normal.”
“Maybe, but it just seems so unnecessary, ya know?”
“I being pacifist. Believe me, I know. But also know that when it is your life or someone else, no choice, there is. But only those who enjoying taking life are evil. Sounding like the man you seeing only defend because him have to.”
“Yeah, I guess I hadn’t thought of that,” Charlie said after a moment’s reflection.
Charlie didn’t so much see the door force field open as sense it. All that running around ships, looking out for traps and ambushes had attuned his senses somewhat, it seemed. Captain Tür strode in.
“Come here,” he commanded.
Charlie did as he was told. “Yes, Captain? What can I do for you?”
“You can hold still,” the green man said as he roughly twisted Charlie’s head to the side, brushing the hair from his ear. “As I suspected. They tagged you.”
“Tagged?”
“Crude. Primitive. Stupid, outdated system,” he spat with disgust as he dug in a pouch on his hip.
“What is?”
“This is an obsolete means of marking livestock, separating them and ranking them based on their power capabilities. Worse yet, it’s not only old magic, it’s often terribly inaccurate,” he replied, slipping a lightly glowing ring onto his finger and pressing it to the mark. “Now hold still. This is going to hurt.”
It was not so much a warning as merely a statement of fact, as moments later an electric sensation pounded into Charlie’s ear. It took all of his willpower to hold still. The pain was extreme, feeling almost as if something was being ripped from his body. Something tied into his very being. Deep within himself, through the waves of pain, Charlie felt something else. Something stirring inside. Then, as quickly as it started, the pain was gone.
“There. Got it in one try,” Captain Tür said, examining his handiwork with satisfaction. “That’ll heal in no time, and a good thing, too. Those markings reduce value.”
Gee, thanks, Charlie silently grumbled to himself.
Captain Tür walked out and sealed the door once more. “Oh, and in case you were wondering, your ranking was the lowest possible.”
Charlie sank down onto his bunk. It was clean, and the food would be worlds better, but he was already wondering if he might have been better off aboard the Rixana. Of course, he was going to be sold off anyway, so that wasn’t even an option.
Exhausted from the day’s ordeal, Charlie curled up in a ball and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.
Chapter Fifty-One
The next two weeks passed in a blur, all blending together as the Tslavar ship jumped from one world to the next. They visited different-colored suns, and with them more people imbued different types of ‘magical’ powers. It had taken some getting used to, but Charlie was slowly coming around to accepting that this truly was some sort of ‘magic,’ and that technology––at least in the traditional, human sense––was not coming into play as he had formerly thought. The revelation was a bit of a mind fuck.
He had also witnessed the Drooks doing their chanting thing a few more times when he was sent on an errand within the ship. Apparently, they all had the ability to power devices or actually make a vessel fly, but for all that strength, they couldn’t break free of their own slender restraints.
After so many worlds, he came to realize that most aliens in this galaxy were quite human in appearance. Sure, some had pointy ears, or violet skin, or golden hair, but aside from the truly alien bits, like Tuktuk’s eyestalks, they were pretty easy to think of as almost human after a while.
The differing powers endowed by certain suns were widely varied, and it seemed that, despite his orig
inal skepticism, some of these power-wielding people were in fact able to ‘charge’ devices with their magic. It was, actually, the principal means of operating almost every piece of equipment.
Some devices were fairly common, and were actually more akin to multi-tools, where the weapons aspect was just one of many. They could control ships, open locks, even remotely guide smaller craft if adequately charged.
The slaaps, however, were far more military in nature. They somewhat resembled something akin to large brass knuckles, though sliding over a bit more of the hand than their human counterpart.
Then there was a much rarer weapon. The claithe, looking like a more robust slaap that extended to the back of the wearer’s wrist, was something that was purely a tool of violence. Charlie hadn’t seen one in use yet, but he had spotted one carried by a bodyguard of the wealthier traders they encountered as they passed from solar system to solar system.
They had landed just outside yet another planet’s commerce center. This time a brown dwarf cast a rusty hue over the skies. It was a brutal world, and everything about it felt oppressive, from the light, to the heat, to the dusty refuse stench hanging in the air.
“I hate this place,” he grumbled as he and Tuktuk lumbered along under their heavy loads.
“Is not pleasant. No,” Tuktuk agreed.
There was a relatively thin crowd in the markets that day, so at least they had less careless foot traffic and wandering drunks to get in their way. Stopping suddenly while carrying a massive pack was quite trying on the knees and back.
Carrying shit around again. Oh, how far I’ve fallen, he laughed to himself, thinking back to his buccaneering life just a few short weeks ago.
Nearby, sounds of a crowd cheering would occasionally rise over the constant din of the marketplace. Something was up, but Tuktuk didn’t seem to know what it was.
“Excuse me,” Charlie said to a turbaned man who happened to be walking the same direction as their porter team. “What is all the cheering about?”
The man looked at the slave with distaste, but answered him nonetheless. “The festival of Yondar, celebrating the twelve victories over the Booran invaders.”
“So, it’s a party, then?”
“Of sorts. Some speeches from the mayor and regional patrons, then the good stuff. Many bouts, lasting all week.”
“Bouts?”
“Yes. Our arena is one of the largest outside of the Buru Amphitheater on Gilea. Many will fight this week. A spectacle worthy of the Festival of Yondar.” The man seemed taken by his own sales pitch and swerved in the direction of what Charlie now knew was the local arena.
“You hear that, Tuk?”
“I hear. Is season for fighting, then.”
“It sounds like gladiators, he was talking about.”
“If that means slaves who fight each other for their owners, then yes, it is very much like that. Wait until we reach Buru Markets on Gilea, Charlee. The arena there is very big sight to see.”
Charlie let out a grim laugh. “Gladiators and slaves. I’ll say it again. How very Roman of them.”
“Less talking,” the trio of Tslavars leading their group said as they casually negated Charlie’s translation spell as they passed.
“San Ovusk,” one said, and suddenly, all were speaking gibberish.
Why the hell did they do that? Charlie lamented. Bastards, that was totally uncalled for. The rest of the walk he was forced to hear all of the languages in their native tongues, and the sheer quantity of foreign sounds made his head spin. Imagine being stuck here without a translator permanently, he mused. I wouldn’t even be able to ask for water or where the bathroom is. He thought on it a moment. Well, I could, but I wouldn't have a clue what they were telling me.
As he was shoved back into his cell, Saur and Captain Tür stood nearby, watching curiously. They spoke their incomprehensible language to one another, and something in the way they were looking at him made Charlie very uncomfortable.
Saur called out some random sounds. Charlie just sat on his cot.
“Impezu Ovusk,” he barked, and Charlie felt a slight shift in his ears as the translator spell reactivated. “I said, come here, slave.”
By this point, Charlie had learned it was far better to go along with things and not rock the boat. The Tslavar could make things very uncomfortable if they wanted.
“Give me your hand,” Saur said.
Ugh. What this time?
Charlie extended his hand, and before he could pull back, the Tslavar had pulled a small knife and made a shallow cut on his forearm.
“Back in your cell,” Saur ordered, then walked away with his captain.
“What the hell?” Charlie said, wrapping his arm with a scrap of cloth.
Tuktuk leaned in close, pretending to look at his arm. “Them forget to cancel my translator spell. I hear it all, Charlee.”
“Oh yeah? So, what’s their problem?”
“Shh. No speak loud. Them listen,” he said, pointing to the eavesdropping walls of their cell.
“I know,” Charlie replied in a whisper. “But what’s going on, Tuk?”
“Captain say he may sell you to fighting school for to make you gladiator.”
“Deja fucking vu. But I don’t want to fight.”
“Not your choice, Charlee. Them say you heal fast. Make them more profit.”
“So that’s why he cut my arm? To test how fast I heal? Dick move. And what if I just pick the scab so it heals slower? That’ll screw up their plan,” he said defiantly.
“Is true, would be bad for selling to be fighter. But Captain Tür, him say if you no good for fighting, maybe you be worth something as Zomoki food.”
“Zomoki?”
“Is big animal. Many teeth.”
Charlie blanched at the thought of ending his days on the receiving end of a mouth full of fangs. “You know, Tuk, maybe fighting would be better than being fed to a Zomoki, whatever that is.”
What the hell has my life become? he grumbled to himself, imagining some ginormous hairy beast having him for dinner, then settled into his bunk and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Charlie, much to his surprise, had not dreamt of being an appetizer for a massive Zomoki beast. In fact, he slept better than he had in days. Whether it was the exhaustion finally catching up with him or an acceptance that he would never again see his Earth friend and was truly on his own, a feeling of simply not giving a shit had settled in.
Whether that was a good thing or not was up for debate.
They had stayed within the brown dwarf star’s system, making a tiny hop to a neighboring planet. Unlike the previous day’s oppressive feel, this one was a cooler climate at least, being located at a slightly more distant orbit of the sun. It was still a brutal world, but the creature comfort of not sweating excessively from every pore was a welcome one that lifted everyone’s spirits a bit.
Everyone except Charlie.
To be sure, he was glad for the cooler temperatures, but after hearing he might be sold yet again, he found himself still firmly wrapped up in his fuck-it attitude. He’d had it up to here, and his last bit of patience was worn thin. Tuktuk saw the look in his eye and worried about his friend.
The planet was a fertile one, and plentiful food was readily available at a fraction of the usual cost of restocking the ship’s rations. Even the cheapest of slop normally fed to the slaves on board the ship still came at a much higher price.
Captain Tür, always looking to save some coin, arranged for his ship to disgorge its slaves into one of the many feed houses in the area used for precisely such instances. It was a supply hub of some importance, and the amount of traffic flowing through the region was significant. Every ship at one time or another seemed to settle in for a meal and restock.
Having selected an establishment, after a suitable haggling session, of course, the captain was treating his crew to a sizable feast in the upper halls of the building. The slaves, on
the other hand, were cast into what could only be described as a prison yard buffet from hell.
Long tables filled the vast space, while serving slaves continuously replenished the family-style chafing barrels along one wall. A feral vibe permeated the place, more like a bull pen holding area you’d lock up your toddlers while you tried to get a moment’s peace over a meal. Only these weren’t toddlers, and there was no ball pit to play in. Just a bunch of prisoners, slaves, and low-tier crewmembers all vying for a less picked-over plate of food.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Charlie grumbled as they fell into the long line with the others.
“Is no very good food, but at least is fresh.”
“Thanks, Tuk. I can always count on you to see the bright side,” he said as he scanned the slowly approaching piles of unappetizing food. Fifteen minutes later, they finally reached the front of the line.
Nutrition is nutrition, so eat up, Charlie boy, he told himself with a grim smile, then proceeded to load up a plate with a healthy amount of food. If they were eating off-ship, he was going to make it count.
He stepped out of line, food in hand, and a hungry rumble in his belly when a tall, pale blue thug stepped in front of him. There was no collar around his neck, Charlie noted. He was some ship’s crew, though if he was eating down here with the rabble and slaves, one had to wonder how good a ship it was.
“That’s mine, slave. Give it to me,” he said, reaching for the tray.
“Wait in line like everyone else,” Charlie shot back, twisting away from the man.
Heads turned, and several gasps could be heard.
“You are a slave. You must do as you are told,” the man growled.
“You’re not from my ship, so this stupid collar doesn’t make you my boss, asshole. Now piss off. I’m not in the mood.” Charlie would have blanched at his words if he’d had a moment to realize what he had just said, but before that could happen, he found himself roughly grabbed and spun around.