Title: What Hope Gave Back
Author: Tuxedo Elf
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence, slavery, injury.
Summary: Arkillo stumbles upon a young Astonian in a dark corner of his sector.
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Chapter One
Darvix V was not a place where good people went. Not unless they were very lost and very unlucky. It was a backwater, the local non-sentient life no more than bugs and snarling beasts, most of the planet given over to bars and drugs dens and activities illegal in much of the galaxy – and beyond. Pirates, slavers, dealers and mercenaries all flocked here, for drink, entertainment and whatever else they desired. The stench of the place hit any being with functional nasal cavities the moment they arrived. Unwashed bodies, waste and the constant smoking of substances all mingled to create a foul odour that would send any civilised alien running back to their ship.
It was a common relaxation spot for Arkillo of the Sinestro Corps. Located at the edge of his own sector, he was familiar with many of the races and willing to acquaint himself with those he was not. Some of them could be a good fight and he greatly enjoyed a good brawl.
However, fighting was not much on his mind today, though he would take the opportunity if it arose. Drink was foremost on his thoughts and food, real food, not whatever slop Sinestro's pathetic excuse for a cook churned out. He'd have killed the talentless worm if Sinestro hadn't forbidden it. Apparently, he'd finally found a cook he trusted and that was a rare occurrence indeed. Certainly enough to keep the wretch's blood within his body.
He snarled as he went to the packed entrance, shoving his way through the crowd in order to get inside. His size and bulk were enough to make most people move, but he was not adverse to using his ring – or his teeth - if they didn't.
Forcing his way into the nearest bar he called for a drink, the bug-eyed alien behind the counter scurrying to obey quickly. More than one server had died here for not being quick enough and he had no wish to be next.
The drink arrived and he downed it quickly, letting the foaming liquid bubble on his throat before demanding another. This one he drank slower, rising from the tall bar seat to move around. It wasn't uncommon to meet someone he knew here – he made it his business to have contacts in as many places as possible.
Various races filled the large room and, at the far end, a side door led into an interlocking complex, full of other bars, gaming dens and trading posts. The top rooms of the structure were given over to rooms, ranging from the basic to the most luxurious. Below the settlement were dark and dank cells, where those who failed to pay their debts were deposited – if they were unlucky enough to live that long. The whole place carried an undertone of fear and despair which he drank in as though it was another ale. That was why he came here, why to him, it was an ideal spot for shore leave.
His drink finished, he moved out into the corridor. The metal hallway was packed with aliens, even a few he didn't recognise. That annoyed him and he made a note to find out. Knowledge was power, after all.
All of a sudden, a small creature ran past him, grabbing at the knife on his belt and actually succeeding in taking it. Foolish he thought, the ring glowing on his finger as the four legged thing ran off. He snarled, giving chase until he had a clear shot, then using the ring to create an oversized construct of that same knife, plunging it into the alien's spiny back.
The creature squealed as its body was pierced, thick, dark blood flowing from the wound. Arkillo let the construct fade and the blood flowed more freely as the light faded from the alien's eyes. "You do not steal from Arkillo of the Sinesteo Corps!" He said, taking his knife back and watching the creature go limp before casting the body aside.
No one nearby even gave the incident a glance – murder was common here and getting involved would only create more victims.
Once he had reattached the knife to his belt he glanced around, unsure as to where he had ended up. Ah, the trading halls. Here goods, mostly illegal were bought and sold. Everything from drugs to slaves could be found here. He smiled. Might as well take a look around.
Traders called to him as he walked through, offering the most exotic wares. His uniform to them was not only a symbol of fear, but of wealth and they tried their hardest to get a little of it. He ignored them for the most part, unless something caught his eye, but in truth he had little use for material possessions. Even the best weapons paled when you had a yellow lantern ring at your disposal.
He wandered idly, in no hurry as people moved around him. A few pleasure slaves tried their luck, but he pushed them off with barely a glance. Maybe later, if the mood took him.
It was the familiar sound of a fist hitting bone that caught his attention. Turning, he looked around in anticipation of a fight. Instead, he saw a young slave girl getting to her feet, a trickle of purple blood oozing from her already bruised mouth as a Gordanian slaver loomed over her, ready to strike another blow.
That in itself was nothing unusual, he'd seen such scenes many times before. What did surprise him was the girl herself. Tall in comparison to his people, she was slender, eyes dark and her face defined by deep lines that intersected her features. Her skull led into a head tail that ended just before her shoulders. An Astonian, one of Saint Walker's people.
Never before had he heard of slaves being taken from there. From what little Walker had told him, they were not an advanced society and did not have space travel. Gordanians rarely bothered with such planets as they believed the people were often too weak to adapt. (Though he thought that an idiotic sentiment, having witnessed many so-called weak races cause no end of trouble.) Until now, he thought Walker the only one of his people to leave his world.
Curious, he walked over to get a better look.
The slaver turned as he approached. "Like what you see?" He grinned, his green skinned face wrinkling with the action. "Rare one, this. Look how pretty it is. You give it a bit, let it grow. Be a fine pleasure slave. Give you a good price."
He made no reply, but looked at the girl, grasping her face. She looked back at him, eyes full of fear but defiant nonetheless. He gave a bark of laughter. He liked this one.
"Still unbroken," the slaver said. "Too much spirit in the scrawny thing. But it will go. Few more beatings should do it."
Arkillo considered. Compassion was not his way and this was just another slave but - she was one of Walker's. The Blue Lantern was sure to hate slavery in all its forms, but Arkillo suspected he would be even more horrified to see one of his own subjected to it. And despite himself, he liked the Blue Lantern. Walker had given him back his tongue, had offered friendship even when it was not returned. He could respect such conviction, even if he did not understand it.
"How much?"
The slaver grinned. "To you, just three hundred."
Arkillo snorted. "Three hundred for a half-grown, unbroken slave? You are insane."
"Ah, but this one is rare, from a species yet unnamed! A special and exotic creature."
Arkillo rolled his eyes at the sales pitch. "It's an Astonian. Not an endangered species." He snorted. "Not any more. Your price is too high."
The girl looked shocked at having her people recognised and something like sadness flickered over her features as Arkillo mentioned her people no longer being endangered. She was smart though, and said nothing. Words led to beatings.
"Well, I've never heard of them. Still for you... Two hundred and fifty. That is a fair price, no?"
"No." Arkillo was growing impatient. "Last warning, Gordanian scum."
"Fine, fine," the slaver growled, clearly frustrated. The universe was growing more civilised and slaves were not as profitable as they used to be. "Two hundred and that's my final offer!"
Arkillo let out a low growl, looking for a moment like he might be reaching for money, but then lashed out with a beam of yellow light.
The Gordanian made a sound of surprise as the beam hit him and looked down at the gaping hole in his chest before falling to the ground, dead before he could make so much as a sound of protest. Arkillo snorted. Doing a Walker a favour was one thing, paying for it was quite another.
He turned to the girl, who was staring in wide-eyed terror at the dead slaver. Grabbing the chain, he tugged at it. "Move, girl."
She did, not knowing what else to do in that situation.
He growled again and took her out of the hall, already wondering what he'd got himself into. It was unlike him to be... Sentimental. He'd dump her on Astonia and be on his way, the sooner the better. He had a reputation to maintain and this wasn't going to do it any good. He certainly didn't want it getting back to Sinestro.
He needed to eat first though - and so did she, by the looks of her. So he dragged her into a tavern, ordered food and drink and shoved the bowl of thick soup at her. "Eat."
She looked surprised but complied willingly, clearly ravenous. Slaves didn't get fed much and to him she seemed skinny already. Though Walker always looked underfed too, damn wormy races. He grumbled as he ate, debating on the best way of getting there. Certainly he wasn't going to carry her all that way and constructing a ship for that distance would be exhausting. Damn it, but he was going to need a vessel.
He was sure he'd lost his mind.
As soon as they'd finished he took her along to the spaceport and cast his eyes over the assembled vessels. Frigates, cruisers... Nothing quite right. At last he found a small shuttle, older than he'd have liked, but armed and not too big. There was a single pilot inside, but that didn't deter him as he barged in. "You. Out. I am commandeering this vessel in the name of the Sinestro Corps."
The pilot seemed about to protest, until he took in Arkillo's size and uniform, the ring already glowing in readiness. With a squeak of dismay, he (if it was a he, Arkillo wasn't sure) scuttled out, leaving the Lantern to the craft.
The girl followed when he tugged on the chain, clearly wondering if her fate had just got better or worse. He ignored her for now as he looked over the controls which, thankfully, seemed simple enough. It was a moments work fire up the engines and turn the craft out into the stars.
Once they were a couple of hundred miles from the planet, he finally turned to where the girl was huddled on the floor. She flinched as he went over but he took no notice as he removed the chain.
"Look at me."
Reluctantly, she did and he saw the defiance under the fear, the refusal to be broken. Good.
"You are afraid."
She hesitated before nodding. "Yes."
"Good. Fear is power. Fear keeps you alive. Remember that."
She looked unconvinced but he was used to that. Many people doubted it until they were touched by its power.
"Hope is stronger."
He stopped in his tracks. He hadn't been expecting her to say anything at all, much less something so eerily familiar. Were all Walker's people inclined that way?
"You think so?" He asked suspiciously.
She nodded, seeming to find confidence all of a sudden. "Hope gets you through the darkest days. Keeps you fighting for a better tomorrow. It...stops you from giving up... Giving in."
"That's why the slavers didn't break you I suppose." He snorted, unconvinced.
"Yes." Her voice went hard, something he hadn't expected. "You... You won't break me either."
Arkillo narrowed his eyes. "You'd be wise not to challenge me, girl, though I like your fire. What's your name, Astonian?"
She froze. It had been so long since anyone asked her that. Since anyone cared. The last time she'd even heard her name was a dark memory, filled with death. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "Peesh, sir. Peesh Walker."
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