by Scott Baron
Charlie slid on his belly, clearing the corner of the ship and slowly inching along the shadowy spot where the ship’s hull and the ground met.
If I can just get behind those crates, I’ll be able to see what’s going on. And hopefully find out where the hell they’re holding Rika.
An opening appeared in the hull of the alien ship, and a well-dressed man stepped out onto the red soil. He wore no overcloaks, and his clothing was different than the others. Cleaner. Not patchwork, and made of what appeared to be fine fabric.
His hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and his figure was adorned with a variety of jewelry and baubles on his hands and wrists. The others lowered their heads in respect as he passed, surveying the site.
Okay, I know that look. He’s gotta be their captain. Charlie increased his pace, while the others were distracted by their leader. Better. He breathed a little sigh of relief as he moved behind the crates for a better view, safely blocked from the elf creatures’ scanning eyes.
Their leader pulled a small ring from a pouch on his belt and slid it onto his slender finger. The others seemed to lean in with anticipation as he held out his hand and muttered something guttural.
Orange flames leapt to life atop an upturned piece of wreckage.
How did he do that? I didn’t see a beam. Must’ve been outside the visible spectrum, Charlie mused as he watched the man slip the ring back into the pouch on his belt.
The others quickly set to work, laying out meat from some sort of animal and piercing it with long skewers, then positioning them on a hastily arranged rack so the flesh was just above the flames. The smell was amazing, and Charlie’s mouth watered involuntarily as the aroma wafted into his nostrils.
His attention quickly shifted when Rika, gagged and hands bound with a fine cord, was yanked to her feet from behind the wreckage she’d apparently been sitting against. Even from a distance, Charlie could see the bruising on her face. She was a tough one, but he couldn’t help wonder how much it would take to make her crack.
Of course, they were castaways on an alien world with nothing of value and no strategic intel to conceal, so it was a very real possibility they were beating her for no reason at all. Their rough treatment of the injured crew only served to reinforce that belief.
The captain ran his fingers down her cheek, and Charlie could see the hate in her eyes. If she weren’t gagged, the offending digits would have likely been bitten clean off, but Rika was at their mercy. And mercy was something the aliens did not appear to have.
The captain said something in a sing-song language, nodding toward his captive. Two of his men snapped to attention and roughly manhandled her into the gaping maw of the waiting ship. Charlie didn’t know what he was going to do, only that he had to act.
His eyes fell on a pile of salvaged equipment. The aliens seemed to have little interest in what he’d managed to recover, and even the bag of weapons had gone unnoticed. Charlie smiled to himself. If he was going to die on a strange world a bazillion miles from home, at least he’d do it in style.
He really had no desire for that ending, though. He hoped a significant show of force, and perhaps a hostage or two, would land him the freedom of his crewmates.
Darting from cover to cover as best he could, hiding behind wreckage and debris, Charlie did his best to avoid the illumination cast by the strange fire, which, so far as he could tell, wasn’t actually burning anything. In any case, it would put him in shadow, and hopefully decrease the elflings’ night vision, though he had no idea how good the aliens’ eyesight was.
Omid saw movement at the edge of their camp, locking eyes with Charlie as he crept toward the weapons cache. Wisely, the injured man kept silent. Charlie saw the others as well. Siobhan had been dragged there with the others, dumped in a heap, undoubtedly jostling her broken limbs out of alignment. Sven was there too, lying beside Winnie, the poor man dazed, but at least conscious, which was an improvement.
With careful hands, Charlie quietly pulled the bag of Jamal’s deadly wares from its resting place. He glanced warily at the aliens, but they were preoccupied with their food.
Eat up, you bastards. Just you wait, he quietly said to himself as he slipped behind a twisted piece of hull and began gearing up.
It had been a long time since his service days, but it took him only a moment to figure out how to properly load the unfamiliar rifle and chamber a round as quietly as possible. It was a very different model than any he’d trained on all those years ago, but undoubtedly just as deadly.
After a moment’s reflection, he decided to add a pistol to the mix as well, slipping on Jamal’s tactical vest and stuffing the pockets with extra magazines. The machine guns and all of their ammo he then stored in a dented cargo container. He could get them later if needed, but he only had two hands, so carrying them would be foolish excess.
Of course, he hoped none of that would be necessary, but he was becoming a firm believer in the benefits of having something and not needing it rather than needing it and not having it.
The collapsible baton slid into a nice holster conveniently mounted on the side of the vest, and he stuffed another pocket with several zip-tie cuffs for good measure. Cuffing the aliens wasn’t the plan, but he never knew if he’d need to improvise.
Charlie took a deep breath and checked his holstered pistol and slung his rifle.
Okay. Be bold. Shock and awe. They don’t know that you don’t know what you’re doing.
Pep talk over, Charlie stood and rolled his shoulders. Then, without further delay, he stepped out into the firelight.
“Okay, you green bastards. Put your hands in the air!”
The aliens looked up from their meals calmly, sizing up the strangely clad man who appeared to be threatening them with a strange metal pipe. One even laughed.
“I’m serious! You are all in a world of shit, and I’m the goddamn plumber!”
“What does that even mean, Charlie?” Siobhan said with a pained laugh.
“I don’t know. But we’re taking over.”
The aliens’ eyes darted to his side. It was a fraction of a second, but he saw the look and spun. The captain was standing not more than three meters away, what looked like a small set of brass knuckles slid over his fingers.
“Tell me you did not bring knucks to a gun fight.” Charlie laughed, his confidence growing by the second. “You aren’t as scary as I’d tho––”
The alien held up his suddenly glowing hand and barked a phrase, though Charlie couldn’t quite make it out through the electric pain flashing through his body as he was abruptly flung through the air.
He slammed roughly into a pile of debris and slumped to the ground, very much unconscious.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlie woke with a pounding headache that hurt almost as bad as the rest of his body. Whatever he’d been shot with, it had done quite a number on him from head to toe.
He sat up, sliding his aching back along the smooth wall of the––
What is this? A cell? he wondered as his eyes slowly focused on his surroundings.
There were a pair of low cots, and what appeared to be some sort of toilet mechanism, though its means of operation was unclear. No light source was visible, but a low yellow glow illuminated the room.
The doorway seemed to have been left wide open, as was the small window on the wall. Judging by the faint red glow coming in from outside, he’d been unconscious all the way until sunrise. He just wished it had been a less violently induced slumber.
“Hey, you okay?” a man’s voice asked from his left.
“Yeah, I think so. My head’s killing me, though,” Charlie said, sluggishly.
“Not surprising. Most people no survive a full blast of Captain Tür’s slaap. You must be strong species.”
“I wasn’t slapped. I was knocked the fuck out by some weird energy thing.”
“No, not slap. Slaap. Is for to power focus when using spells.”
“Why d
o you talk like that?” Charlie asked, turning to the man beside him. “And what do you mean, ‘spells?’ Oh. Shit” he gasped as his cellmate moved closer.
“What is shit?” the creature asked, his wrinkled blue skin jiggling over his large frame as his twin eyestalks twisted for a better look at the odd little pink being beside him. He stood just over six feet tall, but aside from a basic man shape, he was most definitely not human.
“Uh, nothing,” Charlie quickly covered. “I was just, I mean, you’re the first alien my entire race has ever spoken with. Well, if you don’t count those green fuckers who zapped me with that thing––that slaap.”
“Not say this loud,” he hissed. “Tslavars give hurt if hearing you speak bad of them.”
“I’m sorry, but what’s a Tslavar?”
“The others. Ones who take us.”
“Ah, the green elf-looking dudes. Gotcha.” Charlie rubbed his temples slowly. It was going from bad to worse. “And what species are you?” he asked.
“Me Bantoon,” the blue man said, proudly thumping his chest. “Me called Tuktuk.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tuktuk. I’m Charlie. My race are called humans.”
“Oomans.”
“Yeah, close enough. But how do you speak English all the way out here in, well, wherever we are?”
“Oh, me no speak Eengleesh. Is translate spell. All slave trader use for to make us have communication. Only, spell is expensive, and we slave, so they use low one. Cheap kind. Not good, but at least we may talking, though they cancel when they want to speak to each other private-like.”
“You keep saying spells. Like magic or some shit.”
“Of course. What else would it be?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous. I believe in science, not hocus-pocus.”
“Science. Is type of power?”
“I suppose you could say that. Einstein would.”
“Is he visla, this Einstein?”
“He’s a scientist. One of the greatest.”
“And is this hocus-pocoos a spell?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, but not for real. It’s magician stuff.”
“Magician?"
“Like a wizard. A powerful magic person in stories.”
“Aah, like visla.”
“Which is?”
“Visla is highest power spell person. Above even emmik, and far above mester.”
“I assume these are some sort of power rankings?”
“In manner of speak.”
“And the guy who zapped me? What’s his rank? Grand Poobah?”
“Oh, Captain Tür not power man. Him use slaap that is powered.”
“That brass knuckle thing? That’s his weapon, then?”
“Yes, was made strong with spells by his employer, the powerful Emmik Yanna Sok.”
“And that’s who we’ll be taken to?”
“Possibly, if we no sold off first.”
“Well, maybe he’s more evolved than his servant.”
“Oh, Emmik Sok is no man. Is woman. Strong woman.”
“Ah,” Charlie said. “You know, there was a woman with me, as well. A short-haired one. Strong. Feisty. I saw the captain take her on board before I was captured. Do you have any idea where she is? Are there other cells nearby?” He rose unsteadily to his feet and tried to pass through what appeared to be their open door, only to be thrown backward, a hot pain in his neck.
Charlie reached up, his fingers discovering a thin metal band sealed around his neck. So far as he could tell, there was no seam. Looking closely at Tuktuk, he realized the blue man was wearing one as well, though it was largely shrouded in folds of blue flesh. From what he could see, some sort of faintly glowing runes were engraved on the surface.
“Goddamn wireless fence,” he grumbled, pulling on the band. “Now I know how the dogs felt.”
“The what?”
“Nothing. I was just saying this zap collar reminds me of the ones my folks used on our dogs as a kid,” he said, tugging harder.
“No, Charlee. No pull. Spell will knock you down again.”
“It’s electricity, not a spell.”
“Not sure what is electricity, but collars are made with power. Control slaves.”
“Well, that’s just great,” Charlie grumbled, letting go as he felt a tingle building in his pulling fingers. “Are there others on board? Maybe people you talk to? I need to know what happened to Rika. The female. My friend.”
Tuktuk looked around as if to ensure there were no prying eyes or ears in the cell, but they were quite alone.
“There are others, yes. And sometime we talk when Tslavar are not around. I hear that one you speak of was combative. A fighter. Give one of Tslavar bleeding nose before she knocked down.”
“Is she all right?” Charlie asked, a surge of angry adrenaline clearing his head.
“Don’t know. They try to wipe her. To make her loyal, but spells no working. Is very unusual. Both of you, very unusual.”
Charlie realized there was one thing the two of them had in common. They had both very recently had their fill of the mysterious healing waters from the secret cavern.
Might that stuff be negating some of the effects of whatever these elf bastards are trying to do to her? And maybe that’s why the slaap only stunned me. Charlie noted the ache in his body was already decreasing.
“Tuktuk, how long have you been a prisoner here?”
“Two months,” he answered. “I was taken when my ship go out of fuel. Stranded. Was stupid. Wife said to fill power cells, but Tuktuk no listen. She must worrying about me.” A sadness drifted across his visage.
“I’m sorry, man. Really, I am. But maybe we can help each other. Maybe we can find a way to get out of this place. A way to rescue Rika and the others.”
“Is no use.”
“You don’t know until you try,” Charlie said, climbing to his feet and slowly edging toward the open cell door.
When he got close, an abrupt tingling in his neck told him the device was about to trigger. Okay, so there’s the boundary, he noted. He then paced to the window. It was too small for a man to fit through, so they had apparently used a much smaller repelling charge in it, and the restraint band only tingled a little. Lined up outside, Charlie could see his shipmates, all lined up on the dirt, looking exhausted and worse for wear.
Locking me up and smacking my friends? These bastards are going to pay, he promised himself, then set to work planning his escape.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What is this useless refuse?” Saur spat, the wiry Tslavar second-in-command angrily shoving over the scanning equipment piled on Charlie’s retrieved salvage sled. “So many pieces. And the material is inelegant. Crude, even.”
“The off-worlders claim it is powerful in its own regard,” Captain Tür said as he walked through the organized mounds, casually kicking over the painstakingly salvaged instruments and makeshift survival gear.
From the nearby ship, Charlie was pained to see his and Rika’s carefully gathered water containers go flying, their precious contents gurgling out into the sand.
“I have seen no such sign of potency, however. These beings are no better than hoarders of junk,” the green man grumbled.
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Saur. I had hoped for perhaps some worth to be found in their flesh, but even in that regard, only two of their number have any resale value to us. These others will cost more to heal than they’d fetch at market.”
A dozen of the slave traders’ crew were digging through the ship’s remains, searching for anything they might be able to sell or trade. A pile of possibilities was amassing in the survivors’ camp area, though the green men had no idea what any of their booty was actually used for.
“What are they doing?” Charlie asked, watching them through his cell’s small window from the nearby slave trader ship. “They’re just dumping random things in a pile.”
“Standard way of thing being done, it
is,” Tuktuk said. “Is all money they seek. Trade or sale, it no matter so long as value.”
“But they’re leaving the useful equipment inside. They’ve only taken out a bunch of broken junk.” Charlie realized what was happening. “They really don’t understand technology, do they?”
“Technoggy? Is not a word I know.”
“Even with the translation software?”
“What is software?”
“The program that makes whatever they’re using to let us understand one another function.”
“Ah, is spell, then.”
“No, technology.”
“Makes thing happen without me doing? Sound like spell to Tuktuk.”
Charlie sighed. There seemed to be no point in arguing semantics with the blue humanoid.
“You said they seek profit,” he mused, watching the Tslavar work team hauling devices they didn’t understand out of the ship and placing them in piles based on appearance alone. It seemed they valued aesthetics over function, placing sleek but benign machines together, while bulkier and far more powerful ones were arranged in a separate group. “Tell me, Tuktuk, it looks like they’re sorting our machinery for––”
“What is masheenry?”
“Those things,” Charlie said, pointing.
Tuktuk’s eyestalks swiveled as he looked over the strange containers and boxes with shiny, colored bits and filaments jutting out where they were smashed open. Wires and lights, seen by eyes unfamiliar with them.
“You said they’re all about making a profit, right? So, will they load our gear onto this ship to sell elsewhere?”
“If value.”
Excellent. And if they really don’t know what our gear does, maybe they’ll bring along something I can actually use. The plasma cutter isn’t self-powered, and it needs its tanks, but it should be easy to jury-rig with a battery cell from a number of other devices. And with that, we could cut our way out of this place.
Unfortunately for Charlie, the cutter was a fairly bulky piece of equipment, and odds were the unfamiliar aliens wouldn’t have the first idea how to dismantle it to bring along. Judging by the gear they’d amassed so far, he thought that assessment was a likely one.