by Chris Turner
The current locust navigator in the cockpit had learned his lesson. This, after he had viciously tried to claw her to death when she plopped him roughly in the pilot’s seat. One pincer now hung limp. The other was missing. Its cricket-like head was sizzled and scored as if corroded from acid from the smothering embrace of her noisome hide. When she glided over to his command post, she watched him cringe in fear.
The pilot would attempt no more escapades, she chuckled, nor would Miko when she had him back under wraps. The electric shocks had humbled this locust, if not nearly killed it. She could not navigate this alien vessel solo with all its incomprehensible symbology and layers of exotic complexity, despite her breadth of scientific knowledge. She disliked being dependent on these creatures, but it was what it was. Nothing to be done.
Audra gave something of a rattling gust through her polyp of a mouth.
Waiting. What a dismal task. Her consolation—only the best of warriors gained the fruit of their spoils through patience...
VI
The surface car buzzed through the streets, plummeting Miko and the others along dim alleys, through public squares, and gathering, waking masses. Miko saw faces gaze through the tinted glass, long sallow looks of beings from many worlds. Varieties of human and humanoid people he knew not despite all his strange time in the future.
The car ground to a halt before a small square bathed in a pale glow of hydrogen lamps. Few folk were about. The near-deserted square had a sterile, lonely look to it. Teebla signalled Ribshot who shoved Fenli out the door, while others guarded Miko and Star. Peering through the glass, Miko saw three men duck out of the shadows to escort Fenli to one of the tall, booth-like machines that delivered cargo. Fenli, prodded along like a steer, sullenly lifted his palm to the black pad on the device, exposing his right index finger. Teebla’s air rifle jammed into his ribs, expediting the procedure.
The machine whirred. A front panel opened and a glass tank was propelled out on a conveyor belt, intact with its contents. The men gripped the glinting glass and Miko caught a glimpse of the Jakru woman’s grief-stricken face as she was dumped in the trunk, tank and all, and the lid slammed tight. The men piled in, dragging Fenli with them, and the gangsters climbed in, crowding them together. The car lurched and jerked up onto an overpass, then swooped back to the blinking lights at street level then underground and up again out of a tunnel and over the heads of scattered, milling people. For a time, the car and its thuggish band seemed to float ten feet off the ground until it shot airborne, engines full out. He saw the desert stretch below them and soon the city retreated from sight. Demen’s setting moon shone a dull bronze in the northeast, a cloudy half crescent.
The car banked. It passed over a long ridge that extended beyond the outskirts, then swung out over the wastes for miles in both directions. The lake, black as obsidian, shimmered in the saffron dawn like some monstrous eye.
The vehicle roared down toward a gaping, wide cavern that appeared in a rocky outcrop. It flew in, swallowed in a haze of darkness.
A henchman of Teebla turned on the car lights. Past Teebla’s shoulder, Miko saw the console panel lit with glowing charts and holographic maps. One thug sat shoulder to shoulder to him, motioning to the yellow-glowing holo map. Star huddled miserably at Ribshot’s side, terror writ in her eyes. Fenli looked resigned, cracking his knuckles from time to time. Usk sat taped in the seat behind, mouth set in a grimace, chittering sullenly whenever he was jostled. Miko did not like the setup one bit.
An armed checkpoint appeared, reinforced with steel girders. Three guards with bandanas draped around their heads and long air rifles trained at their sides, stood at attention. They passed them through when Teebla flashed his ID, a small oval chip, green and glowing.
“Three points to the landing. B & D’s holiday retreat,” announced one guard crisply. The guard’s rifle was angled toward the driver’s head.
The car jolted ahead down a wide corridor.
Teebla sighed, turning to Ribshot. “I hate having to face B & D down, but there’s no way around it.”
Ribshot gave a brief grunt. He elbowed Miko in the ribs, whom he still resented for the stunt at the gambling tables. Miko took the jab, knowing there was little he could do against superior numbers with his arms bound. At some time, payback would be forthcoming.
The car came to a jarring halt.
“Out!” Ribshot growled. He viciously shoved Miko onto the ground. The journey had lasted no more than an hour.
Star and Usk were thrust out next, crawling like ants on their hands and knees. Miko sucked in a breath. His cramped limbs ached and the cut on his left forearm throbbed fiercely from the fight at the casino. The air was thinner here; every breath seemed a labour.
The men opened the trunk and dragged out the tank containing the Jakru woman.
“Move!” called Teebla, gesturing to Fenli.
The four were prodded like cattle down a dank corridor into the dim, artificial light. Teebla brought up the rear, frowning and pulling at his chin.
Miko saw tangles of silver wires and piping running along the ceiling. The place was like a rat’s maze. Corridors streamed off every which way. Soon they arrived at a high wall with an iron-studded door. A single camera loomed over the door like a glaring, cyclopean eye.
Teebla hesitated before pushing his prisoners aside and banging a fist on a grimy red button on the wall by the door.
Static crackles burst from the speaker near the camera. A voice garbled words over the speaker. “Can it be Teebla?”
“None other.”
“I see you are doing well,” the voice spoke, “and making efforts to repay your debts. I was about to send out a scout to remind you of your loan.”
“No need.” Teebla looked up into the spy camera with fatalistic inquiry.
“Have you brought collateral?”
“I have. You can see for yourself.”
“Very well, put the charges in sight so I can examine them. I am indisposed at the moment, so can’t come to meet you personally.” A languorous moan crackled over the com. Whether female or male was up for conjecture.
Teebla winced. Impatiently, he motioned to Ribshot, who obediently escorted Miko and the others to the place before the camera. Miko shook off Ribshot’s hand. Fenli snarled a curse. Star tensed, her back unnaturally rigid, shaking off the rude hands that fondled her ass as she was pulled along. Usk struggled in his bonds while Miko pushed forward to try to comfort her.
The voice sounded over the com. “The crab is an interesting addition. They’ll do. The next freedom race is scheduled in twelve days,” the warbly voice intoned, deeply baritone.
“Race?” Teebla muttered.
“In my theatre of thrills. These persons, in the meantime, will do well in my cellars. At least the males, to cool their heels. The women, well... that’s another thing.”
With a grating creak, the door jerked open, gushing a stale hiss of air. Wrinkling his nose, Miko was appalled to see eight ragged men with fur-flapped helms, mangy beards and tattoos on their bare forearms who laid rough-callused hands on them and pushed them inside a dimly-lit foyer. The hall was colonnaded with crude rock pillars. A small rectangular pool rippled in its centre, catching water that dripped from the ceiling.
Star and the woman in the tank were shuttled down a side corridor to Miko’s dismay.
“Hey, you can’t—” But his objection received short shrift. He was buffeted to the side.
Teebla frowned. “This is where we part ways, gentlemen. Adieu, and I wish you the best of luck.”
Miko growled, “You son of a bitch—” but his voice crackling with a lusty curse, was lost in the darkness. B & D, or whatever he was, likely made his headquarters deep in this cursed ridge stretching like a lizard’s tail across the desert and the lakeshore.
Fenli laughed and saluted Teebla’s sarcasm. “Aye, gambler, you know where to find us should you wish to get trounced again at Sea Battles.”
The e
cho of Teebla’s bleak laugh was the last thing they heard before the door clanked shut with a metallic thud. They blinked in the gloom that spread before them.
* * *
The smell of faeces, sweat and unwashed bodies hit Miko’s nostrils as he was tossed onto a dirty cellar floor. He uncoiled his six-foot frame into a crouch, arm raised to block blows. Usk and Fenli lay sprawled beside him in untidy heaps. They looked up into the unfriendly faces of a dozen flea-bitten prisoners, identifiably human.
“Enjoy your new environment, gentlemen,” grunted the leader of the detention squad. He ducked back with a chuckle, waving his air pistol. His silver helmet gleamed under the dim, flickering bulbs. The door clanked shut and the locks turned. They were left blinking in the reeking confines. Miko glimpsed more of the strange pipes snaking overhead—diagonally across the ceiling and trailing down the walls of this dingy, square room. The hiss of escaping gas echoed from somewhere in the corners. Was it recycled air that they could breathe?
The echo of the closing door had barely faded when six of the inmates swarmed them. Two muscled brutes with blood-stained bandannas tackled Usk to the ground, pinning him there, ready to rip off his pincers. Usk thrashed and howled like a demon, nipping them with his clacking pincers and his sharp teeth. The other four kept Miko and Fenli at bay. Two menaced them with bits of metal, the others pinned their arms.
One of the bullies snapped out a small, dull blade and Usk emitted a pained squeal as they clipped off one of his twitching antennae.
“This little pixie screams a rare note,” observed one rat-eared convict.
“And this little piggie goes to market,” said another, reaching a ham-fist for the remaining antenna.
“Leave him alone!” Miko cried. He struggled to break his captor’s grip.
“Says who?” cried Rat-ears. He smacked him across the face. Miko’s neck snapped back; a patch of slitted skin was exposed.
A snort of disgust hissed between Rat-ear’s teeth. “Hey, he’s a mutant too. Look at those little fishy gills under his ears.”
Another grumbled, “Throttle him, Rast! Put him out of his misery. Last thing we want is a pack of half-breeds in the pen with us.”
Rast the Rat-ears turned back to the locust. “Ugly thing. I don’t think he needs this other bug stinger either.”
Usk’s other tormentor, the one with a muff of red chicken hair about his ears, scratched his bald pate and gloated. “Don’t think our bug felt a thing the first time round.”
“Hurry up, Forknar! Kill the thing. I hate bugs.”
“And what, Rast, are you mad? Have it stinking up our pen? Who gave you brains, the sow who spawned you?”
Fenli’s body went limp, and he stopped his struggling, as hands frisked him. The prison rabble let out sullen, disappointed protests.
“They got nothing, boss, except these wee marbles. Look—” he held up the gambling chips. “Nothing but a couple of kids’ toys.”
“Shut up. Those are gambling tokens, you idiot. No good to us here in this dive.” The leader, a stride from Usk’s tormentors, turned to glare at the newcomers. He stroked his bald, gleaming pate. “You freaks have anything else to trade for your lives?”
“How about my knee in your crotch?” snarled Miko.
“Ah, a fighter, hoo, hoo.”
“Wait...magic snow!” cried a man who had been searching Fenli’s left sock. He held up the small wrap, which contained several grams of ground crystal. He poked a hole in it, fingering the gleaming crystals into his maw. His crony snatched the package out of the hoarder’s hands. “Mutant boy and his sidekick have more going on than we thought.”
“Save some for me, pig!” cried the first man.
The other smacked him for the comment. “You’ll get yours when I’m done.”
Miko, seizing the moment, smacked his captor in the jaw while they were arguing. Fenli, likewise, took the initiative, smashed his knee into his assailant, causing him to double over in pain. A thickset man with a dark complexion and a mass of greasy ringlets, grinned ear to ear and cracked his knuckles. He seemed to watch the interchange with amusement off to the side, as an indifferent bystander.
On a signal from Baldie the boss, two more scrambled in from the shadows. They seized Miko but Miko twisted and jammed an elbow into one’s teeth while Fenli struggled half-heartedly, a twisted smirk on his face.
The leader nodded to the grey-faced man holding Miko. “That one will never submit, always wanting to get revenge, put a knife in our ribs while we sleep. The crazy rogue with the moon eyes is juiced up on something—a user. Make yourself useful, Sket, kill the both of them.”
The burly bruiser, Sket, who had stood apart, regarded Miko, moustache bristling. Miko stared him down. A flicker of doubt ran in the other’s eyes. Something stayed his hand. There was a pent-up rage there, but not for Miko or the locust or Fenli. The man was more robust than most of the others, sporting a mat of ratty brown hair hanging past his shoulders, clad in torn dungarees and shod with boots with many holes.
“Kill him. You hear me, Sket? Or I’ll pull your ears off!”
The man spat and growled. “You do your own dirty work, Gyr.”
“You cocky son of a bitch.” The ringleader hoofed Usk in the ribs and launched his muscled bulk over, abandoning Usk and his torturers, sleeves rolled up, a glint of metal in his hand.
In two quick strides, Sket met the boss’s rush and slapped the crude weapon out of his hands. The other tensed, starting to form a fist. Sket’s foot wheeled over his shoulder, a nice hard roundhouse kick connecting with brown teeth. When the other fell, he stomped on his head, snapping the neck like a rotten branch. “Any of you other mutts want to play?”
The others glared, but backed off, clenching their weapons. Miko and Fenli pulled themselves loose from their captors and prepared to fight, darting glances here and there, wondering who was friend, foe, or neither.
Sket grinned and strode over to pat Miko and Fenli’s backs. “Stand down. Don’t mind these brutes. They’re cowards.”
Miko examined his cellmates, his chest heaving. Scarred faces peered at him with ripped ears and gleaming eyes.
In the lull, Usk had clattered to his hind legs and in a vicious lunge, scrambled forth. Red eyes glaring, he scooped up the fallen blade, and with one pincer holding his captor, shore off an ear.
“Aaaagh!” Forknar cried in agony.
Fenli smirked, his voice a hoarse, phlegmy laugh.
Sket growled, “What’s so funny?”
“The look on his face—priceless,” snorted Fenli.
“I’ve seen funnier,” Sket grunted. He jerked a thumb. “That sorry rogue, Gyr, had it coming. Hated him from the beginning. Only reason I helped you is because I can’t stand him ordering me around. Looks like he met his maker earlier than he planned. As for his other henchman—” he waved a hand at the earless man, frowning at the tumult that gibbered from his maw “—serves him right. Far too much strong-arming in this bull pen.”
“Why do us the favour?” growled Miko. “From my eyes, easier to have killed me and kept the peace with your captain, Gyr.”
Sket shrugged. “Could have gone down like that, but it didn’t.”
“What are you in for?” Miko asked.
The man sucked in a sullen breath. “I ended up short-changed on B & D’s extortion list. He wanted to gouge funds out of all of us, the cacti smugglers of Arad’s oasis, even though we’re members of a guild. I refused.”
“So, he slammed you in here?”
“He took my wife and kid. Flaunted it in my face. I despise the bastard. I have no idea where my family is. That was a year ago.”
Miko’s fists curled into knots. “He sounds like a complete psycho. Needs to be eliminated.”
“Yeah, a lot of people do. It gets worse. Wait ’till you see him—or her.”
“What do you mean ‘her’?”
Sket gave an ugly laugh. “You’ll see...”
“We’ve got
to get out of here,” Fenli snorted, looking around the cage with wild eyes.
Sket looked at him as if he were a simpleton. “Don’t you think we’ve already considered that?”
Fenli shrugged off the remark. “Maybe if we surprise the guard, plant Gyr’s corpse by the door. The jailor trips, the others waffle and we—”
“That’s been done before. Oldest trick in the book.”
“At least drag his reeking hide away from the sleeping quarters,” hissed Rast.
Miko pointed to a clear jug on the floor, its fluid a sickly yellow. “Is it drinkable?”
“Be my guest.”
Miko sniffed it and detected a slight odour. He wrinkled his nose.
His mouth was so dry he was tempted to chance it. It felt like years since he had drunk anything, at least since he had last been at the Skull Palace. He took a swig, spat it out in a warm spray in an instant. “Agh! Tastes like piss. I can’t drink this.”
“Then die, idgit. Maybe it is piss. Haha.” Chuckles came from the gathered ragbeards. “It’s the best you’ll get around here.” Sket motioned to a gloomy L-shaped area at the back of the enclosure. “You can take your dumps in the crapper back there.” He indicated a place drowned in shadows amidst the sound of knocking pipes. “Watch your step. It isn’t pretty in there.”
Miko staggered over, holding his aching ribs where he had been kicked too many times. Indeed, the small cubicle was hideous enough to make any man gag. Opening the battered door, he stepped gingerly across a line of trailing slime. Fortunately there was a latch, a dodgy affair, and cracks around the rickety door’s edges admitted some light, but also allowed noxious vapours into the common area.
Bzt. Bad timing. Invisible again! Miko gave a resigned sigh. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. He’d wait it out. He did not relish being branded a full-fledged mutant, to fuel more violence.
He hovered like an old ghost, glad for the freedom of pain from the body. The exhaustion of the last days had slipped away. But he thought he would die if he had to drink foul water like that and live in such filthy conditions with unpredictable villains. If these rogues found out he was an invisible freak...