by Scott Baron
The emissary would then quickly fasten his own collar in its place. Equally slender, but decorated with a different set of odd runic-looking symbols. The slave would then climb into the waiting vehicle to await departure to their new home.
“Rika!” Charlie shouted out, spying his friend in the line of sold slaves.
She didn’t seem to notice him, eyes fixed forward as she trudged along with the others.
“Rika! Over here!”
“Quiet, Charlee. You make to draw attentions.”
“That’s my friend,” he replied, dropping his load and rushing to her side. “Rika, what’s wrong? It’s Charlie,” he said, grabbing her by the arms. She turned her head and looked at him with blank eyes. “Oh, God, what have they done to you?”
He had just a moment to notice the healing burn marks on her temples. Signs of whatever torture they had inflicted upon her. Then he heard a phrase–– ”Binari Pa,”––and all went black.
Charlie woke up in his cell sometime later, his ears ringing and a faint buzzing in his head. Sitting up was not an option. At least, not for a minute or two, while he regained his senses.
“My mouth tastes like metal,” he griped. “And I smell toast. Oh man, am I having a stroke?”
“What is stroke?” Tuktuk asked, eating a slice of toasted bread from his meal tray.
“Whew, thank God,” Charlie said. Then things got really clear really fast. “Wait a minute. I saw Rika.”
“Yes, your friend. I asking about her for you. She sold to Mester Binslar along with others. She to be house servant for his daughter.”
“Rika’s second-in-command of a goddamn spaceship. She’s not some kid’s nursemaid.”
“But is good, Charlee. She selled to good family. Many other places, bad man try to buy. Especially in Buru Markets. Very bad mens in Buru Markets. Do bad things.”
“Even so, she’s no slave, Tuk. But when I saw her, it was like she was drugged, you know? She was different. They did something to her.”
A troubled expression spread across Tuktuk’s face. “You friend, she very strong.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“So strong, them no able to put compliance spell on her mind. One that make her cooperate. I hear that all spells not work on her. Is very unusual.”
It was probably that water we drank, Charlie thought. If it made me less susceptible to their weapons, then it must have done the same for her, he realized, wisely keeping that bit of information to himself, as he was sure now that the Tslavar’s were listening in to their conversations.
“What did they do to her, Tuktuk? Will she be okay?”
“Them do old magic on her. Crude. Very harming.”
Charlie’s mind flashed to the burn scars on her temples. The water had helped her heal faster, but there were marks nevertheless. A great violence must have been done against her.
“They burned her,” he said, quietly.
“Yes. Them burn into the head, right through the side parts. Make brain part for rebellion no more. It not been used for many, many years. Considered too risky.”
“They were worried they’d hurt someone? I find that hard to believe.”
“Oh, not about hurting. They worry they lose value if too much damage being made.”
“So she might get better?”
“No,” Tuktuk said somberly. “No one ever get better from this.”
But not everyone drank and swam in the stuff that we did, so if anyone might have a chance...
He hoped he was right, but deep down, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. The brain was a different thing entirely than a cut or broken bone. Tissue might heal, but knowledge, memories, they were lost.
Rika had been lobotomized. She was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Things had taken a dark turn for the stranded spaceman from Earth.
He ate joylessly. He slept when he could. But in the days since his discovery of Rika’s horrible fate, Charlie had found himself sliding deeper and deeper into depression.
She wasn’t just his acting captain, she was also his friend. And with her gone from the ship––in mind as well as body––Charlie was now effectively the only human in the entire freak show galaxy. He was alone.
“You need eat, Charlee,” Tuktuk said, offering him a bowl of the Tslavar’s gruel come mealtime. “Is no good you no eat. Work very hard. Body need food.”
He turned and looked at his blue friend with red-rimmed eyes. He was a space-age Robinson Crusoe, just like Rika had said, only his man Friday happened to be blue.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t entirely alone, but blue men with eyes on stalks aside, he was isolated. On top of that, he was still the only one of his species in the entire galaxy––at least with an unlobotomized brain––so despite having a friend to talk to, his feeling of isolation was much the same.
Tuktuk lightly shook the bowl at him and nudged him with an elbow.
“Eat.”
Charlie finally did as he was asked, though the food was even more flavorless than usual. Everything seemed to have lost that shade of novelty. Before, it had been tough, and he had strived for freedom and to return home, but at least he could appreciate the wondrous sights he was seeing. Things no human had ever seen before.
Now it was joyless. The different worlds and their novel species variants were noted, of course. The technical side of his mind couldn’t not keep track of those things. But he took no real pleasure in it. Where he would previously lie in his bunk at the end of the day, replaying the things he had seen and experienced, now he dreamed of home. Of returning to Earth. But that wouldn’t be happening. Not so long as he was a slave.
I’m getting out of here, he decided several nights later. Whatever it takes, I’m getting back to the ship. Hitchhike, steal a transport, whatever. I’m getting back and figuring out how we got here and how I can get back. Best case, I get home. Worst case, I die trying.
He shut his eyes and lay in bed awake a long time, gears churning in his head while he worked on a plan for escape.
As Charlie ran frantically through the winding streets of a strange world a few days later––the low buildings and vendors’ tents illuminated by a setting blue sun––he couldn’t help but note just how far his meticulous plans had flown out the window. This was not what he had in mind. Far from it, in fact, but given the circumstances, it would have to suffice.
The actual plan had been a distant cry from his current flight.
Charlie had simply planned to overpower one of the guards upon planetfall and take his slaap remote control voice-command thingy to access the rest of the ship’s doors and systems. At least, that was how he hoped the device worked.
From there, he’d use the voice commands he’d memorized to open doors. Ideally, he’d be able to free and gather up the Drooks who piloted the vessel, though he was still rather unclear exactly how that all worked. He would gather them in the passageway undetected, where he would make them his proposition.
That was the easy part.
Somewhat more difficult, he would need to convince them to follow him, a fellow slave, off the ship. They were Captain Tür’s property, just like he was, but given their more comfortable accommodations, a few might be reluctant to trade certainty of a decent life for the risk associated with flight.
It was a chance he’d have to take. If he could just get them to come with him to a neighboring ship in port, they could then offer their services in exchange for passage. Apparently, they were in high demand for that sort of thing.
Charlie felt a bit dirty at the thought of offering up the Drook slaves for even more labor, just as they’d been used by Tür, but if their means of escape was trading work for freedom, he thought they’d agree it was worth it, at least for a short while. Perhaps they could even help power their new ship for a few weeks to not only pay their way, but also save the captain enough money to buy her silence.
He’d have to move fast once he took out the guard. There was n
o telling exactly how many of the Tslavar crew would still be on board, but if he made his move when Captain Tür was off the ship on one of his commerce negotiations, he would at least stand a chance.
One lingering concern was that he wasn’t sure exactly how far-reaching the restraint collar's power might be. Ultimately, he figured if he could get out of the city, or even better, off-world before the slave driver noted his absence, he’d probably be far enough away. Even if not, securing passage on a new ship was bound to get him out of range soon enough.
If that were the case, he’d just have to suck up the pain until they were clear. It would hurt like a bitch, but if that was the price of freedom, he’d gladly pay it.
After that, it would just be a matter of securing passage back to the planet he was taken from––if he could figure out exactly where that was. In any case, it would be better than life as a slave. All he had to do was carefully follow his plans, and things should work out okay.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sprinting around a corner, knocking a vendor flying as he ran, Charlie scanned the streets in a panic. Things were not working out okay.
Shit, where can I––? There!
He bolted for a narrow alleyway spied between two food stalls.
If he couldn’t escape the planet, he could at least get out of sight. Maybe he would get lucky and Captain Tür would give up if he couldn’t find him. Maybe he wouldn’t use his collar to shock him to death.
Maybe.
Things were definitely not going the way he had planned.
Charlie had watched and waited for a half-dozen stops as they hopped from port to port, trading and loading supplies. For whatever reason, Captain Tür rarely left the ship since Charlie’s failed attempt at rescuing Rika. Whether it was coincidence or him sensing some plot in the air, he wasn’t certain, but it was looking like he’d have to wait a long time to execute his plan.
When opportunity presented itself in the form of one of the other porter slaves snapping his leg when his load broke free, falling on top of him as he struggled for balance, Charlie seized it.
“You all, keep moving,” the Tslavar guard who had been taking up the rear grumbled as he assessed the fallen asset.
That’s all they were to the elfin-looking slave traders. Goods. Assets. Not men with minds of their own. Charlie half-wondered if they wouldn’t just shoot the poor man like a horse with a broken leg.
“I said, keep moving,” the Tslavar growled as he pulled a skree from his hip and called ahead to his comrade leading the procession. “Dolomir, one of the porters injured himself.”
“Fatal?” Charlie heard the voice ask over the communications device.
“No, just a broken leg. A cheap fix.”
“All right, stay there with our goods. I will bring a fresh porter back for you once we drop this load. Keep up!” he heard the man shout over the skree device as well as faintly from the front of their procession.
This meant the Tslavar would no longer be guarding the rear, and there was still quite a long way to go back to the ship. If ever an opportunity would present itself, this was it. His original plan was not bearing fruit, but the wise man knows when to seize upon an alternative.
Charlie kept walking, careful to maintain the image of just another porter heading to the ship. But he slowed his pace slightly.
“Charlee, are you okay? You walk slow.”
“I’m fine, Tuk. Just a cramp in my leg. I’ll catch up with you in a bit. I just need to stretch it as I walk.”
“Okay. Seeing you at ship.”
Tuktuk continued on, steady in his pace, while Charlie kept dropping farther and farther back in the group, until he was the last man in line. He looked around. No one was paying them any heed. Why would they? Just another slave carrying goods to one of the many ships that came and went every day. In a galaxy where slavery was commonplace, Charlie might as well have been invisible.
Invisible except for the golden band around his neck marking him as Captain Tür’s property.
Okay, Charlie, this is it. Now or never.
He halted his walk, making a show of stretching the leg he’d been pretending was cramping for the past several minutes, then moved to the side of the roadway and took off his towering load of goods. His shoulders reveled in the relief as the weight was lifted.
As casually as he could, he took a few steps away from his pack.
Then a few more.
A minute later he was quickly walking away down an adjacent street. The style of the low buildings and the assortment of vendors who had set up shop out front of them were familiar. He actually knew where he was, relatively speaking. The ship was behind him, the layout of the neighborhood providing an easy guide away from his mobile prison.
As the seconds ticked past, Charlie felt panic welling up in his chest. What if they came looking for him sooner than he expected? What if they found him before he could secure a ship to stow away on, or at least find a way to take the collar off?
He picked up his pace, rushing as he walked along the smaller side street he had veered onto. He felt as if everyone was looking at him, but he knew that was just his nerves.
Then he noticed a gray-skinned man definitely watching him with interest.
“Shit!” he hissed, and quickly ducked into the passing throng.
He rushed around the corner, knocking into a vendor as he ran. The small alley just up ahead beckoned to him, and he beelined his way to it as quickly as he could, tucking into the relative safety of its dim length.
“That’s the one,” a gruff voice said from the shadows.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Look at the collar.”
Two stocky grayish men stepped into the light. One bore a long scar tracing down from his forehead to his shoulder. Whatever had caused the injury apparently hadn’t cut deep enough to penetrate his thick skull, but it had left him what was surely a very painful parting gift.
The other was a bit younger in appearance, but his eyes were equally hard. Charlie noted that both men had multiple pouches in a bandolier configuration strapped to their chests. Pouches, and weapons. Each also wore a slaap on their hand.
“Hey, fellas. I’m just heading to meet my friends.”
“Friends, he says,” the scarred man said. “You hear that, Looral?”
“I did, Marban. But we know that slaves don’t have friends.”
Charlie began backing out of the alleyway. “Hey, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Well, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but it looks like you’ve found it,” the one called Marban said. “Nothing personal,” he added, as he raised his slaap. “Dispanus.”
Charlie hit the ground, stunned and unable to move. This was something different than his collar’s shock spell. Something quite different, but equally unpleasant in its own way. He was paralyzed, trapped in his own body.
Not quite paralyzed, he realized as he wiggled his toes in his boots.
A new shadow joined them in the alleyway. Towering. Big. Looming.
“Did you get his cargo?” Looral asked.
“Yup,” the man replied, moving closer.
“Good catch,” Looral said approvingly. “A slave deserter. And not just the man, but his load as well. The captain will reward us all handsomely, I wager.”
Charlie saw it wasn’t a huge man who had joined them, but rather, another grayish thug. The one who had been watching him on the street. And he was carrying Charlie’s discarded pack.
Charlie moved a little bit, the stun slightly wearing off.
“Better hurry up and do it, before his owner activates the collar,” Looral said.
“On it,” Marban replied.
The scarred man bent over Charlie and dug in one of his chest pouches, pulling out what appeared to be a thin strip of a filthy and well-worn yellow bandana. He made fast work with his hands, wrapping the cloth around Charlie’s collar and securing the ends with a simple knot.
“Firm
us,” he said, locking the knot in place. “Okay, it’s secured. Now help me pick him up. We’d best get out of here and back to the ship before his owners come looking. Captain Saramin is going to be pleased with our new prize.”
The shift was sudden, but Charlie realized the men’s speech had abruptly changed to gibberish. Whatever they had done to his collar had also shorted out his translator, it seemed.
“Hit him one more time. We don’t want the spell to wear off before we’re back on the ship.”
“Dispanus,” Marban said once more, and this time Charlie found he couldn’t even move a toe.
Things went dark when the men draped a filthy cloth over his body and hefted him between them, balancing his paralyzed form on their shoulders. Bouncing uncomfortably as they walked, his new captors then carried him off to whatever fresh hell awaited him.
This, Charlie lamented, was not what I had planned.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The stench of feces and old urine was sharp in the air. A pungent mix that was enough to make Charlie’s stomach churn. Fortunately, he hadn’t eaten in some time, so there was nothing in his belly should it decide to empty itself.
Though disgusted at the thought, he noted his gag reflex calming down as he became accustomed to the stench. It was still awful, but at least his stomach had settled into a low rumble rather than a tumultuous roar.
As the stun effects wore off, Charlie found himself gradually able to move his head side to side as his limbs slowly unfroze. This afforded him a proper look at his new confines. They appeared to be almost as bad as they smelled.
When he was taken aboard his captors’ ship, he had been roughly deposited on an uncomfortable bunk in what appeared to be a single-occupant cell. At least he had that to be grateful for. No telling what horrors might befall a man unable to move to defend himself in a place like this. The smell, he learned, was coming from a waste-encrusted toilet of sorts halfway embedded in the bulkhead.