Bad Luck Charlie

by Scott Baron

  I bet she’ll try to make a side deal to let her set foot on one more planet than I do, just to mess with me, Charlie mused with a little chuckle. He was missing his friend, and hoped they’d allow him to see her soon.

  That wish would be granted the following day.

  They landed on a planet called Oksan. The entire clutch of male labor from the ship was called out and lined up along its hull.

  “Listen up. We are on a tight schedule, so we will be moving quickly to gather our loads. The payment has already been made, so you will be traveling light on the way there. I expect you to be fast. If you fall behind and cause delay, there will be consequences.”

  The Tslavar leading them was a different one than the other day, and Charlie had a feeling this one would be less sparing with the use of the shock collars, by the look of him.

  “Okay, stay close,” he said, then took off at a quick jog.

  The line of slaves kept pace, unburdened by heavy loads, and Charlie almost found himself enjoying the chance to see another marketplace without the distraction of a massive weight crushing down on his back.

  “No, this not Buru Markets,” Tuktuk had told them when they disembarked. “This much nicer place. Buru is very tough. No want to be sold off there. Many bad people come to Buru. This market is largest on entire planet of Oksan. Good place to being.”

  “I suppose I’ll be grateful for that, then. And they already made their transaction, so we’ll only be carrying stuff one way. I tell ya, though, I really need to show you guys wheels. It’ll change your life.”

  In short time, they arrived at a large and pristine tent at the center of the market. Obviously, someone of wealth owned it.

  “Mester Binslar,” the elfin man said, bowing low in greeting to the ebony-skinned man with happy eyes who stepped out to greet him.

  “Dolomir, it is good to see you. You look well. Out for a bit of exercise, I see.”

  “Yes, Mester Binslar, the run feels good. A nice stretch for my legs after many days in the void.”

  “Yes, the voyage would be difficult in a craft as small as yours.”

  Small? I wonder what this guy is used to flying around in, Charlie wondered, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Mester Binslar walked through the ranks of men, studying each of them. “And you seem to have very good stock this visit,” he said, squeezing the bicep of another blue-skinned Bantoon. His appearance was very similar to Tuktuk, though the other fellow was far stockier. “Perhaps I shall discuss an additional transaction with your captain after I’ve spoken with my wife. She is always on the lookout for good help, you know.”

  “I will tell Captain Tür to expect your emissary, then.”

  “Oh, why so formal, Dolomir? I’ll just contact him myself over my skree,” he said, tapping a small, highly decorated device resting in a little holster on his waist.

  “Tuktuk. What’s a skree?” Charlie whispered.

  “Is for talking with person far away.”

  “Ah. Alien comms tech. Got it. Thanks.”

  The dark-skinned man gave the ranks of porters another appraising glance, then walked back toward his tent. “My man will load your cargo around back. I’ll send one of my conveyances to your ship to gather my payment shortly.”

  “Thank you, Mester Binslar,” their overseer said, turning to the group. “You heard the man. Everyone around back. Load your packs full. We are doing this in just two trips if we can. Out and back. You got it? Now, let’s go.”

  Charlie and the others were given massive amounts to carry, but his legs were growing stronger with every load he was forced to haul, and the walk back really wasn’t so bad under the mild yellow sun.

  Not a bad day, he thought, satisfied at a relatively uneventful morning.

  But that would soon change.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The work team had been given a break after unloading their cargo in the Tslavar ship’s hold. The smaller team of less-muscular slaves then stowed the goods and supplies in their various storage compartments within Captain Tür’s vessel.

  Charlie drank deeply from the water dispenser mounted near the wall. All of the men were drenched in sweat after laboring under such heavy weights, the lines of their pack straps showing clearly on their skin in the form of indented, red grooves where the load pulled hardest.

  It was during this unexpected downtime that Charlie had an inspiration.

  The doors seem to be on voice command, and those hand thingies the guards are wearing appear to be the remote access devices. I’ve never seen them push any buttons, so it must be strictly voice-activated. I wonder... Charlie stared at the guard lazily pacing the cargo hold while the slave laborers regained their strength for the next run.

  Worth a try, he thought, rising to his feet and walking more toward the guard than the water vessel.

  “Charlee, what are you doing?” Tuktuk hissed.

  Charlie flashed his friend a little smile and kept moving. The doors on either end were sealed with the usual force field, but if the guard was facing the right way, maybe, just maybe, the device he wore was directional as well as voice activated.

  With an exaggerated flourish, Charlie tripped and fell, catching himself on the Tslavar guard’s arm on the way down.

  “Faramano,” he said, uttering the word he’d heard the Tslavars say into the wrist-worn device in a hushed voice as he struggled back to his feet.

  The guard yanked his arm away and shoved Charlie roughly. “Watch where you’re walking.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I was just feeling lightheaded from the work. May I please get some more water?”

  “Of course, idiot. Captain Tür wants all of his laborers to drink well. You’re of no use to him unconscious.” He thought a moment. “Well, we could sell your worthless body for chum, I suppose,” he added with a laugh.

  “No, I’m fine. Really. Just some water, please.”

  “All right. Go on, then.”

  Charlie caught Tuktuk’s look and gave a little smile as he crossed to the water dispenser. The guard had turned and wandered off the other direction, bored and pacing as he waited for orders to head out once again. This was his chance.

  Slowly, Charlie filled a cup of water, then casually strolled toward the door the voice device had been pointing at when he had surreptitiously grabbed onto it. He nonchalantly turned his back to the door, surveying the men in the room with him.

  All were in their own worlds, relaxing and gathering strength before the next heavy load would burden their backs. Perfect for his needs.

  With a tentative hand, he reached behind him, feeling for the odd resistance of the force field tech the Tslavars used in place of actual doors. Rather than coming up against a barrier, however, his hand passed right through. The door was deactivated.

  Holy shit, it actually worked! So, the device just needs either proximity or contact. Or maybe both. Whatever. From now on, I’m memorizing every damn command phrase I hear.

  The realization he might have just found a way out of this place filled him with a welcome rush of adrenaline that now coursed through his body.

  Only Tuktuk was looking, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to will Charlie not to be so foolish. But his human friend had a mission, and with a smile and a wink, he stepped through the door and was gone.

  No telling how long I have before they notice. Better be quick, Charlie reminded himself as he raced down the corridors, careful not to rush around corners without first taking a stealthy peek, lest he bump into one of the crew.

  Fortunately, their arrival on this world seemed to be like the others he had observed in his brief captivity, and despite being aliens––to him, anyway––the captain’s men were like any other sailors finally on dry land. Shore leave was their only interest as soon as the craft settled into port, and they made haste in heading to town to drink, fight, and whatever other sort of mischief they might get up to, leaving but a skeleton crew on board.

  T
hey said Rika was being kept in the rear of the ship near the storage areas, Charlie noted as he oriented himself within the ship’s corridors.

  This was an area he was unfamiliar with, the slaves only being ferried in and out by the same bland corridor every time their brawn was needed. But this was something different. More ornate, the lines of the walls gently sloping, rather than possessing the harsher geometry of the steerage compartments he was accustomed to.

  The lighting was even better. A full-spectrum light with a warm, comforting glow illuminated the length of the ship as far as he could see.

  “Right. That’s the way,” he muttered, taking off at a careful trot toward the back of the ship. “Rika!” he hissed as he passed what appeared to be slave quarters. The accommodations were far nicer than what he’d experienced, he noted. “Rika!” he called again, careful to keep his voice low.

  A form shuffled toward the force field door and appraised him with curious eyes. A Drook, and an older one at that. He still didn’t understand how these odd people managed to command the ship’s drive systems, but now was not the time to play twenty questions.

  “Hey, I’m looking for a woman. Human, like me. Have you seen her?”

  The man looked at him a long moment, then turned and headed back into the comfort of his confines.

  “Hey, I asked you a question. Hey!”

  “He doesn’t talk much,” a young woman’s voice said from behind him.

  Charlie spun to find a thin woman, barely more than a girl, really, with a shaved head. Her skin was the palest shade of yellow. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought she was merely jaundiced and not an Ootaki.

  “You’re Ootaki,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “Yes.”

  “I haven’t seen you before. With the others, I mean.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” she said, mindlessly rubbing her hand across her bald head. “Captain Tür bought me from my former master just the other day.”

  “So you’re new here too. And I guess he cut off your hair for himself before tossing you in there.”

  “Oh, no. I was attacked while fetching my master’s dinner. Bad men pinned me down and did terrible things to me.”

  Charlie felt a knot forming in his stomach. “I’m so sorry they hurt you. If you need to talk about it with––”

  “Hurt? I was not harmed. I’d have preferred that, to be honest. But no, these men were not after my body.”

  He knew what they had done, and from what Tuktuk had said about the Ootaki, losing their hair was a Samson-like tragedy under even the best circumstances. To have it taken by force? He could only imagine her distress.

  “But it’ll grow back, right? Given time.”

  The girl tried to smile, but the effort did not ring true.

  “I appreciate the kindness,” she said. “I am Neema.”

  “I’m Charlie. I’d shake your hand, but the force field door would make that an unpleasant experience.”

  “What is a force field?”

  “You know, the energy field blocking the door. What’s keeping you in and me out.”

  “Oh, the spell, you mean.”

  “People keep saying that. It’s gotta be some sort of glitch in the translation software.”

  “What is software?”

  “You know, the device that translates our languages so we can communicate.”

  “Ah, the Ovusk spell. Yes, Captain Tür was kind enough to give me a fairly powerful one when he brought me aboard. It has made my assimilation to my new home much easier.”

  There she goes with that magic talk again, he silently lamented. “Well, listen, Neema. I’m trying to find my friend, and unlike you, I’m afraid they are hurting her in far worse ways than shearing her hair.”

  The woman shuddered at the thought. “That is terrible.”

  “Yes, it is. But I was told she is being held somewhere around here, toward the rear of the ship. Have you seen another human, like me? A woman with dark hair. Her name is Rika, and she’s kind of hard to miss.”

  “She is large?”

  “What? No. Just her personality greatly outsizes her frame is all.”

  The Ootaki girl leaned against the doorway, making sure to stay clear of the force field. “I’m sorry, Charlie, but I have not seen another of your kind since my arrival.”

  “Damn,” Charlie groaned.

  “But I have heard a female voice crying out from far down the passageway. I could not give you an accurate location other than that it came from that way,” she said, pointing down the hall.

  “That’s more than I had to go on a minute ago,” he said, turning to leave. “Thanks. And I hope your hair grows back soon.”

  Neema smiled as her new acquaintance took off at a quick trot down the corridor.

  He passed numerous rooms, each containing one of the Drooks that piloted the ship. Their accommodations were relatively lush compared to what he was used to, but then, if they were the ones making the ship go, it made sense Captain Tür would afford them some degree of luxury.

  A happy crew is a productive crew, after all.

  He was just musing that thought when he ran smack into a wiry wall of muscle exiting a room into the passageway.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I was just––”

  Captain Tür’s angry gaze froze him in place. Charlie had the briefest of moments where he glanced the half-clothed Drook woman in the room the man had just left. Then the captain spoke.

  “Nari pa.”

  Charlie felt the shock from his collar surge through his body. At least it was a minor one, he realized, taking minor consolation in the fact he hadn’t been zapped into unconsciousness again. Captain Tür hauled him roughly to his feet and dragged him forcefully back to the cargo hold.

  He threw Charlie through the open door, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  The guard was stunned. Apparently he hadn’t noticed his missing charge.

  “Sir, I can explain––”

  Captain Tür was having none of that, the swift violence of his hands quickly knocking the man to the ground. He didn’t stop there. Several brutal kicks soon followed, until a thin trickle of blood dripped from the guard’s lip.

  “Get up,” Tür growled.

  The guard complied, doing his best to stand straight after his beating.

  “You are on punishment rations for the next month. And no shore leave until I deem you worthy of my trust. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Captain,” the man said, chided.

  “Now go fetch me Targan. He will take your place.”

  “As you wish,” the guard said, then raced off to get his replacement.

  Tür turned to Charlie.

  “And as for you,” he said, looming over the human like a wrathful storm. “I believe you to have value, and I do not wish to diminish that value by harming my merchandise.”

  Thank God, Charlie thought, breathing a little sigh of relief.

  “However.”

  Shit.

  “Disobedience is not tolerated among my slaves. From time to time an example must be made to reinforce that point. Today, you shall help me remind the others why it is best not to test my resolve.”

  Charlie didn’t hear much beyond “Uzri ha,” which flung him across the room, followed by “Bandu,” which delivered an invisible blow, knocking the wind out of him. From that point, it was one voice command followed by another, knocking him around, shocking him, and making him regret ever searching for his friend.

  When the beating was over, Charlie’s body showed no outward signs of the punishment, but the pain was there, quite real despite the lack of bruising.

  “Now, gather your wits and prepare for your next load. You will do as you are told, and you will carry my merchandise efficiently and quickly. If you do not, you will see what I am like when truly upset.”

  Captain Tür strolled out of the room, casting a glaring eye upon all of his slaves, daring any one of them to question his will. T
he replacement guard came rushing in just as he was about to leave.

  “You are to take these porters to fetch the rest of my goods.”

  “I see. Yes, sir. I will take them as soon as their rest cycle is complete.”

  “No. I am cutting it short. The rest period is over. Leave now, and keep an eye on that one,” he said, pointing to Charlie.

  “Yes, sir,” the man said. “You heard him. Get moving, you worthless beasts!”

  Charlie felt it was going to be a very long day.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Cargo to the hold,” the Tslavar standing at the ship’s entrance said, directing the line of slave porters where to carry their loads. Given the number of them slowly filing in, Charlie realized it might take a while.

  “Hey, check out that ride,” he said, gesturing to the approaching vehicle, hovering on a golden cushion of air. Judging by the details and ornate design, there was little guess as to who had sent the large flying conveyance.

  “Is Mester Binslar’s,” Tuktuk said.

  “I kinda gathered as much. Looks like he’s sent someone to pick up his money.”

  “Oh, him no take money for goods. Him trader. Barter. Binslar and Tür make trade.”

  “For all of this stuff?” he said, motioning to the loads on their backs. “I can’t help but think maybe this Binslar guy is getting the short end of the stick, here. I mean, we don’t seem to have that much good stuff left to trade, from what I’ve been able to see in the hold.”

  Captain Tür himself walked out of the ship to greet Mester Binslar’s emissary, giving the man a little bow, but nothing so deep as to give the impression of diminished rank.

  “Off to the side, all of you,” the Tslavar overseer commanded. “Make room. Clear the path.”

  It was then that Charlie saw what payment the two men had agreed upon. One by one, a slow walking procession of slaves, all clothed in basic white tunics, were being led from the ship. When they reached the two men, they would stop. Captain Tür would then hold his slaap over their collar and say, “Ngthiri oolama tangopeh,” at which point the collar would snap open.