by Scott Baron
What fascinated him was that most of the men were glad participants in Captain Saramin’s piracy. Given the choice between death or a pirate life, they had chosen the latter and not looked back. It was, as Charlie had mentioned to Marban, similar to the way the Roman Legion on his home planet had functioned.
“Join or die, eh? It seems our captain would have gotten along well with your Romans.”
“It would seem so,” Charlie agreed.
Across the galley, one of the new captives––a thin young man with faintly yellow skin and a close-shorn head––stumbled and fell as another captive from his ship shoved him out of the way. The young man’s shoulders slumped, but he took the abuse, quietly rising to his feet, only to be shoved down again by another of the captured crew.
Marban’s gray face flushed with anger.
“We are pirates, not cowards. Attacking the defenseless has no honor. It is beneath us,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, crossing the room to have words with the newcomers.
The abused man may have been subject to mistreatment aboard their ship, but they were all captives now, and none, save the captain, would be beating on them.
A shadow loomed over Charlie.
“You’re in my seat,” a stocky man said.
He looked up calmly. No one would be foolish enough to start trouble on Captain Saramin’s ship.
“Sorry, you must be new. I always sit here. But you’re welcome to join me.”
The man shoved him hard, sending him falling to the deck, then swiped his tray off the table and onto the floor. “I said it’s my seat.”
He was not sitting down.
Oh hell, the guy wants to get in a pissing match, Charlie silently bemoaned as he got to his feet, picking up his tray and placing it back on the table.
“Look, I can see you were just captured. And I get it, you’re angry. But the thing is, the captain doesn’t like disruptions on the ship, so why don’t you just––”
The man swung hard, but Charlie had seen the telegraphed roundhouse coming a mile away, easily dodging the blow.
“Listen. I’m serious, the captain won’t put up with any––”
The man dove at him, tackling him in a rage. That Charlie had not seen coming. The two rolled on the ground, the larger man throwing heavy-handed punches, but not managing to land any of consequence.
“Stop it!” Charlie growled, bucking the man off and scrambling back to his feet. “You’re going to get us both in trouble!”
No respite was given. Instead, the attack continued and increased in ferocity.
Shit, of course. He’s new here. The captain didn’t give him a translation spell yet. He doesn’t understand me.
Charlie did his best to avoid the onslaught, but until someone with high enough rank decided to activate his attacker’s shock collar, he would be forced to defend himself. And from the look of things, his assailant had more than just a beating in mind.
This one was out for blood.
Faster and faster the attacks came, and Charlie was already somewhat cornered by the location of his favorite table, far away from the others and close to the wall. It had prevented him from being taken by surprise when he first arrived, but now he saw the one flaw in his seating choice. He had no easy avenue to evade the unlikely assault.
A pair of sturdy metal mugs swung at his head, the improvised cudgels swinging hard in the enraged man’s hands. Charlie desperately snatched up his tray to block the onslaught, but the force snapped the cheap metal in half, leaving him gripping two jagged fragments of his improvised shield.
The man smiled, wicked intentions in his eyes, and pulled a small knife from his waistband. Somehow, the others had missed it when processing him into the ship. And now Charlie would die because of it.
The knife flashed out, and Charlie slapped it aside with a piece of tray, but the attack persisted, the man pushing his advantage. A small cut opened on Charlie’s arm, a hot pain shooting through his nerves.
Shining metal was about to find a new sheath in his chest when Charlie acted out of pure instinct. He slipped the attack and spun, his hands moving without the need of his brain’s input.
Moments later he was the lone man standing, a sticky warmth dripping from his face and arms where the dead man’s arterial spurt had splashed him.
He looked at his hands, stunned, replaying what had just happened.
One of the jagged tray pieces jutted from the unblinking man’s neck, the metal driven deep, first with his hands, then followed up by a quick kick to the dull edge, driving it deep and nearly severing the man’s head from his neck. It had happened so fast Charlie didn’t even know what he did until it was over.
The onlookers were likewise shocked. Everyone knew Charlie would not kill. And now, here he was, a dead man at his feet, and by his own hands.
Charlie turned and threw up, mortified.
“Everyone out!” a voice bellowed.
When Captain Saramin used that tone, no one dared hesitate.
Charlie straightened up, waiting for the attack that never came. Instead, the captain studied him, a curious little grin on his lips.
“Nicely done,” he finally said, looking at the body on the ground. “First-rate improvisation, avoided most damage to yourself, kept the fight short. Yes, nicely done, indeed.”
“You’re not angry?” Charlie quietly asked.
“I’ve watched you these past weeks,” the captain replied, ignoring his question. “You have far greater skill than most of the others. A highly unusual fighting style you choose to use to run away and avoid harming others, but nevertheless, the potential was there. And now you’ve proven me right. I think you may have substantial value to me yet.”
Charlie realized what had just happened.
“This was a setup. A test.”
A little smile curved Captain Saramin’s lips. “Clean up this mess and have that arm bandaged. You need to be presentable when we make planetfall.”
He left Charlie alone with the dead man.
“Presentable?” Charlie quietly repeated. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Captain Saramin walked the marketplace of the new world, a dozen of his men accompanying him, as well as another dozen prisoners. When Charlie had shown up wearing his pirate gear, the captain had told him that wouldn’t be necessary. As a result, he was walking this strange planet wearing nothing but the clothes he’d originally arrived in. Entirely unarmed.
After weeks of pirating, the sensation was rather unsettling.
Of course, Charlie was still somewhat in a daze after taking a life. He knew it was his or the other man’s, but all the same, he had never killed before. Never even thought about it, even during their multiple pirate raids. But the cold, hard reality was he was a killer now, and nothing would change that. He just had to accept it and move on.
Marban was among the men accompanying them through the streets, but on this occasion his demeanor was all business. He didn’t say a word to Charlie as they walked, though Charlie could have sworn he saw a note of sadness in his friend’s eyes.
“Okay, you lot. Stay here until I return with the buyer,” the captain said. “That group of five will be sold together,” he said, gesturing to a handful of prisoners. “Keep them right there. These others will follow to the next buyer I have lined up.”
The captain disappeared into the tent, emerging a minute later with a thin woman with violet scales on her skin and no apparent ears, save a small hole on either side of her head. She was wearing layers of close-fitting robes, each a different sheer material that had an opalescent glow to them. The way the woman carried herself as she walked, Charlie couldn’t help but wonder if she was some sort of royalty or dignitary.
“These are the ones I contacted you about,” the captain said. “As you can see, they are all in perfect condition and will serve your needs, as specified.”
The violet woman walke
d the line of slaves, examining each of them closely. For Charlie, watching the meat market nature of the transaction was surreal. On Earth, slavery had been abolished for centuries, but in this galaxy, he had been a slave recently.
Technically, he still was, though he felt far more secure in his life now that he was part of the crew. A real pirate and not just a laborer. And he didn’t even have to wear his pirate gear on this outing. The captain must have been truly pleased with him to offer him the luxury. A reward of sorts. Things seemed to be looking up. It wasn’t freedom, but it was a start.
“Yes, I’ll take them, Saramin,” the woman said. “I’ll have my men deliver the cargo to your ship, as agreed.”
“Excellent. Shall we, then?”
“Of course,” she replied, pulling several gleaming collars from the folds of her robes. She placed them on the slaves’ necks one by one, uttering a quiet phrase, making them seal seamlessly, but making sure to hold the metal away from the other collar, avoiding contact.
The captain then grasped his collar and very quietly whispered his release phrase. So quietly that Charlie couldn’t hear the words. The collar’s glow dimmed as it unsealed and fell off into his hands. They repeated the process until the transfer of all the slaves was complete.
“A pleasure doing business with you, as always,” the captain said, giving her a gracious bow.
“Impezu Ovusk,” she said, activating her new slaves’ translators. “You will all follow me.”
The slaves did as they were told, disappearing into the tent behind their new owner. The whole transaction left a bad taste in Charlie’s mouth, despite his becoming familiar with the uncomfortable truth that slavery was alive and well in this entirely alien place.
Two more stops were made, and the remainder of the slaves sold off for supplies. Captain Saramin had taken on an excess of prisoners in the last raid, and with his ranks full, he was merely thinning the numbers to sustainable levels ,while replenishing necessary items.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Charlie whispered to Marban as they walked.
His friend said nothing, but gave him an odd look.
A few minutes later the sounds of weapons clashing rose through the din of the market.
“Sounds like a fight,” Charlie said, suddenly wishing he had his weapons and gear on him. He felt almost naked without them with apparent violence nearby. The men with him didn’t react to the noise, almost as if they had been expecting the sounds of combat.
“This is the place,” Captain Saramin said, stopping outside a tiny arena build at the edge of the central marketplace. “Wait here.”
He stepped inside and was gone for several minutes before returning with a sturdy, heavily muscled man covered in the scars of battles long past.
“Which one?” he asked.
“That one,” the captain said, pointing to Charlie. “He may not look like much, but I know talent. That one’s got real potential.”
“I don’t know,” the man said. “I trust your judgment, Saramin, you know gladiators better than most, but he just looks so, I don’t know. Weak.”
“Trust me on this one,” Captain Saramin said. “Let us go inside and discuss it over a drink. I brought a bottle of the finest Savloki liquor.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Trying to ply me with my favorite drink?”
“Of course,” Saramin said. “But pleasantries aside, with the right training, and a strong hand overseeing him, I am confident this one can be molded into a very profitable gladiator.”
Charlie felt the color drain from his face.
“A what? Wait, what’s going on?”
Captain Saramin glanced at him. “San ovusk.”
Suddenly the voices surrounding him were all speaking gibberish once more. Charlie had a fully-] functional translator for so many weeks, he had forgotten how disjointed it felt being awash in a sea of undecipherable babble.
The captain pulled a bottle from Marban’s pack and walked into the depths of the building. Given the way the two carried on, Charlie couldn’t help but think they’d be a while.
“Marban, what the hell’s going on?” he asked his friend.
The scarred pirate gave him a pitying look and put his hand on his shoulder.
“I know you can’t understand me, little brother, but I hope you know how sorry I am this is happening to you.”
Charlie didn’t understand the words, but he did understand the tone. He was being sold into slavery once more. And there was nothing his friend could do about it.
In a flash, four of the dozen pirates had abruptly fallen, blood spraying from their corpses before the remainder realized what was happening.
A pair of lithe green men brandishing wicked blades and slaaps charged them. The two were easily tearing through the entire band of pirates with almost tangible fury.
Blood spewed, the dirt street quickly staining red from the men wounded, dead, or dying on its surface. Marban shoved Charlie behind him and joined the others in the fight. It was eight against two, but the Tslavars did not seem concerned at all.
Shit. Captain Tür? And is Saur with him?
Indeed, it was the men who had first captured him, and by the looks of things, they’d be his captors again soon enough.
In his close combat experiences with the pirates, Charlie had thought the rough and tumble men were top-notch fighters, but he had never seen the Tslavar crew in action. The gap in skill would have been almost comical, if it weren’t so horrifying. His former crewmates were now being slaughtered wholesale, Tür using both his blade and his slaap to rend them limb from limb. And the knife, Charlie noted, seemed to be faintly glowing, slicing through everything in its path with ease.
Powered blades? he wondered. In this galaxy, anything seemed to be possible, so he didn’t rule it out as he watched the captain and his sidekick work their way through the pirates like so many matchstick men.
Marban took a glancing blast from Tür’s slaap and was thrown back on top of Charlie, while the other fighters still on their feet tried desperately to stave off the attack and fetch their captain for backup. It was a logical choice, but the door to the arena was simply too far.
Saramin would find nothing but his dead crew by the time he came outside.
“Marban, you have to run,” Charlie said as he pushed his dazed friend off of him.
The scarred pirate’s vision slipped back into focus as he regained his wits. Instinctively, he grabbed for his sword.
“No, don’t,” Charlie said, clutching his hand. “I know you can understand me. Only a fool throws his life away for no reason. This is not an honorable death, and you will die. These are the men you stole me from, and they will kill you without hesitation. You cannot defeat them. Not on your own. It is already too late. Please, you have to run.”
Marban was torn. His was a life of combat and honor, but he could see the bloody truth of the situation. Charlie was right. He and his fellow pirates were no match for the Tslavar fighters. He locked eyes on Charlie and squeezed his shoulder, then rolled free and scrambled to his feet, darting for a nearby alleyway.
Tür shouted a curse after him, but didn’t pursue, his bloodlust sated by the carnage all around him. He stalked over to Charlie instead, roughly yanking him to his feet in his fury and holding a bloody, glowing blade to his throat. He stared at him, unblinking, for several seconds, studying him, then noticed the dual collars on his neck.
The raging Tslavar captain’s grip loosened and dropped him to the ground. He then reached down, one hand sliding around the second collar.
“Yama harazan toora,” he said over and over, his voice wavering with concentration. The collar heated to the point of sizzling on Charlie’s skin, but he knew he had to hold still, unsure what the green man might do in his state if he moved.
A loud crack echoed through the street as the collar shattered and fell to the dirt. Captain Tür then uttered the same phrase as he tugged at the knot around the remaining collar. Moments later,
the binding slid free.
Captain Tür unwrapped the collar, and Charlie felt a familiar sensation wash over his senses. He could understand again, though the translator Tür had given him had always been a pretty mediocre one.
“Ootaki hair, Saur,” he said to his companion, showing him the cloth. “They blocked my collar with goddamn Ootaki hair.”
He turned the filthy cloth over in his hands, studying the scrap before folding it and slipping it into his pocket. “Still intact, and possessing a little power, yet. Though the piece is of mediocre quality,” he said dismissively. “Bring him.”
Saur roughly pulled Charlie along.
“Hear me!” Captain Tür said, standing among the bodies of the dozen fallen men. “I am Captain Tür, right hand to Emmik Yanna Sok. This is what will befall any who dare steal what is mine! Spread word of what happened here today, and who dealt this death. Do not forget it, lest the same happen to you.”
He then spun on his heel and stormed after his lieutenant and recaptured slave.
Chapter Fifty
“They wanted to sell you as gladiator material? Ridiculous!” Captain Tür was beside himself with amusement as they boarded his ship.
Amused, after he had gotten over his fury at his property being stolen, that is.
That he had taken so much time and tracked Charlie down across all of those systems really spoke to just how seriously he took his reputation. And now, with a dozen formerly dangerous men lying in pieces, rotting in the sun, that reputation would only strengthen.
As to the question of Captain Saramin coming after him for payback, that was highly unlikely. He was a pirate, but one who knew when to leave well enough alone. It was a simple calculus. On this one occasion, he had been out-pirated, and it made no sense throwing good money after bad, wasting even more lives to recapture a stolen slave.
Saur ushered Charlie through the familiar corridors of the Tslavar ship. He marveled at how clean everything was. How bright and organized. He’d become used to the run-down state of the pirate craft, nearly forgetting the seeming luxury he had lived in previously.