Bad Luck Charlie

by Scott Baron

  It seemed as though the device was originally designed to retract into the wall when not in use, similar to those aboard the Tslavar vessel, but years of wear and abuse had rendered it stuck, unable to properly function. The result was an ever-present whiff of the ship’s waste disposal system wafting up from the pipes.

  There had been no such issue on Captain Tür’s ship. Waste, once carried from the cell, was evaporated by some system that had continuously left Charlie wondering how the hell the thing worked. Tuktuk kept saying it was just a waste-removal spell, but Charlie knew there had to be a mechanism at play. He just needed to find it, was all.

  No such questions sprang forth in his new confines. The problem with the broken toilet was pretty obvious. Lighting in the cell was dim, and the walls were covered in a uniform layer of grime deposited over years of rotating occupants. The only clean things at all were the window and doorway, but as Charlie had learned on the Tslavar ship, those were force fields, and nothing clung to them, leaving them perfectly clear.

  When sensation had finally returned to his body enough to sit up without risking falling face-first onto the filthy floor, he propped himself up as best he could to better assess his situation.

  The impromptu escape had taken a terrible turn, that much was obvious. He recalled the man carrying his pack, joining the others in the dark alleyway.

  Stupid, Charlie, he chided himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Making yourself a target like that. Should have hidden the damn thing and not just dropped it and run. He let out a low sigh. Well, too late to change it now. So, let’s see. What do we know about this new mess I’m in?

  He thought back to the sounds that had rushed past his ears after he had been stunned as the men carried his inert body, bundled up in a filthy tarp of some sort.

  The marketplace near the space port, he was sure of it. The same din of voices was unmistakable, though they were now speaking gibberish rather than English. His translator had been disabled when he was captured and they wrapped that filthy rag around his collar, he recalled.

  Must be some sort of Faraday material blocking the signal from Captain Tür’s remote device, he posited.

  Charlie tugged at the simple knot holding the material in place, but it wouldn’t budge in the slightest. It didn’t seem like a terribly tight knot, but he figured he was still weak from the stun blast that had taken him down.

  Neat trick, that, he noted appreciatively. ‘Dispanus,’ I think it was. Going to have to add that to my list.

  A few times humming the little mnemonic tune that helped him remember the remote-control words and the new one was firmly fixed in his mental catalog. Now if only he one day had the opportunity to use it.

  Charlie looked out the window and saw nothing but the distant stars. That meant they were definitely on a ship, not in some terrestrial hovel. A ship taking him farther and farther from Captain Tür and his slave drivers.

  Voices filled the air, growing closer by the second. An angry man, and what sounded like pleading, though he couldn’t make out the words.

  Another gray man wearing a weapons harness full of all sorts of deadly-looking implements passed his cell, dragging a bloody Drook by a chain affixed around his neck. Unlike Charlie, the man did not seem to be wearing a control band of any sort.

  The captor yanked the sobbing man roughly, making him trip over his own feet. The Drook fell to the deck, receiving a swift kick for his trouble. The words the angry gray man uttered were unintelligible, but the tone was not. “Get up, or else,” sounded about right to Charlie.

  Judging by the hurried manner the fallen man scrambled back to his feet, he surmised he was correct in that assessment.

  The two men passed from his field of view, but a moment later Charlie heard the unmistakable sound of a body thrown onto a bunk, followed by quiet sobs as the man’s tormentor stalked back down the corridor the way he came.

  Ah, so that must be my new neighbor, he realized as he settled back on his bunk and closed his eyes.

  His body was still wobbly from whatever they had done to him, and a cat nap would be restorative. The whimpers floating to his cell faded as he drifted off into a much-needed slumber.

  “Get up when Captain Saramin is present!”

  Charlie lurched awake, heart racing from the unexpected yelling in his cell.

  “I said on your feet, scum!” the burly man standing in the doorway said. Charlie recognized him by the scar running down his face.

  Marban, he thought to himself. Another stood just outside the door. The captain. Wait a minute. How am I understanding him? he wondered, fingers going instinctively to the band around his neck.

  Captain Tür’s band was still there, wrapped tightly in the signal-blocking material, but his fingers brushed against another band, thinner but familiar in its feel. They had put a new collar on him while he slept.

  The captain watched the gears turning in his mind and smiled.

  “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” he asked.

  “Figured what?”

  “Why you can understand us now.”

  “You activated a new collar.”

  “That’s just a restraint. But yes, I have wasted some precious power granting you a translation spell for the moment. All new crew need to know what is expected of them. First things first. Step outside.”

  Charlie did as he was told, stepping into the corridor, where an older man with thinning hair and a milky eye stood waiting.

  “Now stand still while Terranz measures your potential.”

  “My what?”

  “Shut up, scum. Captain said to stand still, so you do just that,” Marban growled.

  Charlie wisely kept quiet while the odd man waved his hands over him while chanting a series of quiet words.

  “Almost none,” he finally said. “There’s a trace of something, but even that is not worth note.”

  The captain sighed. “Well, I’d hoped for another magic user, but I guess another unpowered bit of fodder will still come in handy.” He pulled a signet ring from one of the pouches strapped across his chest. “Come closer.”

  Charlie did, and Captain Saramin muttered a few words, then pressed the ring to the skin just in front of his left ear. Charlie felt a jolt of pain and pulled back, earning him a slap from Marban.

  “Hold still.”

  The captain grabbed him roughly by the chin and turned his head to better examine the new mark embedded in Charlie’s skin.

  “Looks good,” he commented, then turned and walked away without giving the human another thought.

  “Wait, what does all of this mean?” Charlie asked.

  “It means you’re part of the crew now,” Marban said. “And you will be expected to pull your own weight when the time comes. Pay attention. Learn. Be useful. If you can do those things, you will prove your worth and eventually move up in the ranks. If not, your time here may well be limited.”

  “You’ll let me go?”

  At that Marban showed a rare flash of mirth as he laughed heartily. “Oh, my dear fool. That’s priceless. Let you go. Oh, thank you. I needed a good laugh.” He wiped the tears of amusement from his eyes and shoved Charlie back into his cell.

  “Now, rest up. You’ll be fed with the others in a little while. And remember what I said. Pay attention. You seem like you have a bit more brain in that head than most we pick up. I suggest you put it to good use. You’ll live longer that way. Or not. The choice is yours.”

  Marban held up his slaap. “Yakkan,” he said, sealing Charlie in once more. He then followed with another. “San ovusk.”

  I know that one, Charlie realized. He turned off my translation unit. Bastard.

  “Hey, what am I supposed to be doing on this ship? You said I’m crew, but what’s my job?”

  Marban smiled with amusement, then uttered a lengthy stream of gibberish, likely explaining the details of the work he was expected to do, fully aware the newcomer had no idea what he was saying. He laughed, amused with
himself, then walked off, leaving Charlie alone to ponder the new developments in his already tenuous situation.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  In the days following his capture and imprisonment aboard the strange, and filthy, new ship, Charlie was granted access to common areas with other captive crew during mealtimes. Each of the men, he noted, wore the same slender band around their neck. A few also sported a filtering wrap around their previous owner’s control collar, but the vast majority wore just the lone device.

  The guards watching them all sported similar versions of the same bandolier-style pouches, though their underlying attire varied from man to man. Also, it appeared the crew of the ship was not limited to the grayish, human-looking species he had first encountered, though they were a definite majority. Many other races were represented, and to his eye, all appeared to have one thing in common once you got past the whole alien thing. Each had a basic humanoid shape, and an apparent degree of fitness.

  Studying them quickly became a pastime during meals as he forced himself to eat the unappealing slop scooped onto his metal tray.

  Nutrition is nutrition, and you can’t escape if you don’t have the energy for it, he reminded himself at every mealtime. It didn’t make the food taste any better, but his determination to obtain his freedom at least helped him keep it down.

  Somehow, he had actually managed to escape his original captors, and in so doing, had found himself in an even worse situation. Charlie only hoped his next chance at freedom wouldn’t turn out so bad.

  The chow hall was packed wall-to-wall, and Captain Saramin had apparently not wanted to spring for sound-deadening tech to keep the noise to a dull roar. As a result, the cacophony of a dozen disparate languages was a rumbling buzz in his ears at mealtimes, and while the dozens of other captives had languages in common with one another, Charlie was the lone human. A situation that he had accepted would not be changing.

  Amid the whirl of voices, trying to single out any particular language from the mix was almost impossible.

  Almost.

  One language, however, stood out. The ‘magic’ words used to control the voice-activated devices aboard the ship. Those had a very distinct sound to them. And for whatever reason, those words sounded the same whether he had a translation unit functioning or not. It was something of a boon for Charlie, as his previous captors had been careful with such language around their slaves, whereas this new bunch were either careless, or simply didn’t give a damn.

  In either case, he paid close attention whenever one of those strange words filtered its way to his ears, eager to learn a new voice command. His sing-song trick to remember them all was getting longer and more complicated, so he started breaking them into chunks of words memorized to a short tune, rather than one long one. He didn’t know what every one of the commands did, exactly, but the basic gist was enough for now.

  The pattern continued for over a week, the ship hopping from planet to planet, various men captured and collared on each world, forced to become part of the reluctant crew. In short order, the craft seemed to have reached capacity, with nearly all of the cells now occupied by new residents.

  Despite his dislike of the gruel fed to them, Charlie had more than once been forced to fend off a would-be bully trying to muscle in on his food. It was like a prison yard in that respect, he reasoned. Everyone trying to be top dog and take advantage of those weaker than them.

  Of course, the guards held the real power, and if anyone really acted up, they’d be put down with one of a number of voice commands, each of which Charlie took care to note.

  Interestingly, it didn’t seem as though the slaap had to be pointed at the intended target to function. A design quirk that caught Charlie’s attention. If it worked that way, somehow sussing out the command speaker’s intention, then perhaps he didn’t even need to be facing the doors he wanted to open when speaking the command. Should he ever get his hands on one of the devices, that is.

  After their meals, the ship’s grimy galley crew would perform the most basic of cleanups. Not so much cleaning the space as moving dirt from one place to another. It was for this reason Charlie selected the same seat at every meal. He would, without fail, wipe down his section of table and seat every time he ate, and after a full week, though the surface was still discolored with age, his little zone had at least finally ceased feeling sticky to the touch.

  The Tslavar ship he had first been imprisoned on was so much different by comparison. With the aesthetic choices of Captain Tür and his demand for cleanliness, one area where expense was not spared was maintenance and upkeep. His ship was spotless, and a mess was not tolerated.

  Captain Saramin’s craft, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. Spills were mopped up, but only just. And the waste-removal systems were horrid in most of the cells from what Charlie could see every time they walked the corridor to the galley.

  It was an odd realization to have, but Charlie found himself actually missing the comparatively clean imprisonment he suffered while Captain Tür’s captive. And there he was afforded a translator at all times, though it may have been a poor-quality one.

  As his captivity stretched on, much to Charlie’s pleasant surprise, he found himself learning the different sounds of each species’ language, even picking up a few words of several of them overheard in passing. He still felt like an alienated foreigner surrounded by locals, but it was a start.

  The other prisoners, while lacking translators, at least were not the lone representative of their species on board and tended to congregate in groups of their own kind, sticking with those they could easily understand. It made sense, of course, but it was also a problem in Charlie’s eyes. A weakness they could address, but wouldn’t make the effort.

  They’re all so dependent on their translation tech that they don’t even bother to learn one another’s language. What if there were a power outage or something and the translators stopped functioning on their worlds? They’d be stuck, unable to communicate with people other than their own, just like we all are here.

  It was a familiar bit of tribalism he had witnessed back on Earth throughout his life. Even while building the Asbrú he had seen the different disciplines fracture from the others, grouping together even during meals and social break time, regardless of whom they worked with.

  Engineers ate with engineers. Flight crew ate with flight crew. Lab techs, and ground support, and the list went on and on. All the while, Charlie observed them from his own little nook away from the others. It wasn’t so much that he was a loner, nor that he was antisocial or a crippling introvert. He was simply engrossed in his work, and the constant gossip and chatter was more of a distraction than a pleasing social engagement for him.

  He liked to call himself an extroverted introvert during his military service, gregarious when need be, but opting to skip the more raucous outings with the others. That followed into his civilian training and subsequent jobs. Sure, he enjoyed a good party as much as the next guy, but if his head was busy working a problem, the stimulation of a loud room could quickly become overstimulation, leaving him exhausted.

  But he could smile and put on a social face as good as the next person if need be. He just chose to avoid those situations when possible, opting to focus on the current task his engineering mind was running through at high speed. He could always step away from the work if he wanted to socialize and be a part of the club. Suddenly, he realized perhaps he had been taking that for granted.

  He was the lone human aboard a ship full of aliens, none of whom he could understand or communicate with, light years from his home world, and without a soul to talk to. On top of that, even if his translator device was functional, he doubted he had much to talk about with this new band of ruffians and thugs.

  Didn’t think I’d miss the guy, but what I wouldn’t give to have to listen to another one of Tuktuk’s little pep talks right about now.

  Charlie’s thoughts were interrupted by a klaxon alarm and the
lights within the ship turning a reddish hue. The guards jumped to their feet and began yelling, either forgetting, or simply not caring, that the men couldn’t understand what they were saying. The arm gestures were clear enough, though. ‘Come this way’ the waves urged them.

  The assembled captives hurried from the galley, leaving behind a mess of food and trays. Someone would have to clean it later, but that didn’t seem to be a priority at the moment. With great haste, they were hustled back into their cells, only a handful kept out and directed to follow the guards once the others were locked up safe and sound.

  A great shudder rumbled through the ship as it sharply increased speed.

  Oh, please don’t let me die in a filthy, shit-stained cell in deep space, Charlie muttered to the walls. The craft bucked, then pulled some serious Gs, which meant a particularly harsh maneuver given the lack of gravity in space. Charlie saw spots before his eyes when the pressure suddenly let up. He strained his ears but heard nothing. Thumps on the hull, however, he could feel. But what the unsettling rumbles meant, he could only guess.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Rough hands shoved and herded the prisoners down the dank corridor. The faint smell of smoke, ozone, and something else Charlie couldn’t quite place, wafted to their noses, growing stronger as they walked.

  “What’s going on?” the lone human asked the guard nearest him.

  The man just looked at him and motioned to keep moving. It seemed the translators worked for the ship’s crew just fine, so it was only the prisoners who couldn’t understand one another.

  A blast of air suddenly created a vacuum, sucking the men off their feet en masse before abruptly ceasing. They crawled off of one another and stood up, the guards urging them forward. The smells, Charlie noted, had vanished momentarily.

  What the hell was that? he wondered. Felt scarily like a decompression.

  In space, that was always a concern. And with no EVA suit to protect him from the vacuum, unconsciousness and death would find him in minutes if that were the case. It was cold in space, sure, but asphyxiation would kill him long before he froze, since the only way to lose heat in a vacuum is by radiant cooling, and that would take over a half hour, if not longer.