Slaver's Story: Chapter 3
Taul Hi'si spent the rest of the evening with his new charge, planning their exfiltration. They already detailed how they would walk out of the manor. Now they poured over a map of the region, going over the various mountain passes and service stations they would use on their way to the Fron caves. Taul had his timetable planned carefully. By nightfall tomorrow, they would arrive at the base.
V'rell was becoming more interesting. When Taul, disguised as a human, first met him at Trade Town, he had resolved to give the faux-noble the benefit of the doubt. Later, however, Taul's disgust came back as the defector callously downplayed his complicity. Where renouncement of slavery was concerned, Taul had little use for half-hearted convictions. Now, it was as though a switch had been pulled. V'rell was displaying a kind of peace about him. Not the resigned kind. One that was eager. As though a terrific opportunity lay just around the corner. It was uncertain how strong this change in him was, but he was no longer the stoical cynic he was hours ago.
Hopefully, this was a transition. A prelude to the Zygerrian's true self.
It reminded him of a changeling in disguise for too long. The Shi-ido were galaxy-renown anthropologists. But what many didn't know was they had a tendency to "go native" in ways other races couldn't imagine. A Shi-ido's projections did not fatigue the mind. If left engaged for too long, the telepathy would start to influence the one creating it. Some would lose their sense of self. Only the life they assumed would matter. Many Shi-ido found themselves so acclimated to their imagined species that they were unable to turn their projections off. After that, it was only a matter of time until their physical bodies fused into place, unable to skin-shift. They would utterly become their mimic, no longer Shi-ido in mind or body.
V'rell reminded him of one of those. He was trying to unlearn the constructs of his race, lest his form lock into place around him. As a rebel, Taul believed no species was born to dominate others. It was a taught behavior, a construct that people grew comfortable with. V'rell, like all others of his class, was shaped into a slaver from childhood. It was hard to break free from such a life, but he was determined to do it anyway, even if it killed him. Given that, Taul could forgive his callousness.
He returned his thoughts to the matter at hand, "So, are we clear? You understand our first steps?"
They went over how they would lie to Tu'lok. They would leave under the guise of securing funds from the Ferros, at the consulate to the south. Then they would vanish. No cover up. No crashed speeder to fool the Zygerrians into thinking they were dead. Just a disappearance.
V'rell nodded as they finalized the plan. Still seated across the table, the one-time slaver spoke, "While we're on the subject of disappearance, where is the real Seka? I know the Di'aks were attacked last cycle, and your human counterpart told me your people had them."
Taul pursed his lips, "We do. They are safe."
V'rell raised his eyebrows, "Is that so?"
Taul took the implication in stride, "War has rules, Ferro. If we get off planet, we intend to ransom our prisoners to the Zygerrian state. If we don't escape, they die with us."
V'rell shrugged, "Sounds reasonable."
"Anyway," Taul continued, "Getting out is phase one. The rest should be easy."
V'rell leaned back in his chair, half a smile on his face, "Yes, about that. Can that speeder of yours handle a sandstorm?"
"Yeah, provided we ground it and lock down. But we'll navigate around them where we can."
Truth be told, Taul Hi'si was ignorant about Yoland's storms, spending most of his time in space. But that's why Iwo, the Duros he had arrived here with, was driving.
V'rell shrugged, clearly doubtful, "If you say so."
"We'll take what comes. This sort of thing is what I do."
The Zygerrian nodded "Of course," there was an eagerness to his eyes. He stood up from his seat, "Well, if that's all…"
Taul held up a hand, "Just one thing before we retire for the night. It's for the report."
The smile vanished from V'rell's face, "Yes?"
Taul looked at V'rell sternly, "Doing this will ruin your father. He has no heir after you. I've been told he thinks well of you, likely the only sentimental figure you've ever had. So tell me. Do you love your father?"
V'rell returned the gaze for a moment, then turned around, pacing slowly across the room, to his desk. Taul could see datapads, a stylus, and filecards strewn about. V'rell seemed to study the mess intently, a focal point for his thoughts. I'm sure he thought the interrogations were over. Not quite. He has the spark, but now I need to see just how deep it goes.
The answer came after a moment's pause. "Once, I did," The Zygerrian's eyes were not glazed over by emotion. They were fixed on the stylus on his desk. Perhaps he was recalling all the forms he had filled out. Forms that held the fates of thousands. V'rell continued, "Yes, taking pride in his love was the closest to filial sentiment I've ever felt, agent. But that was a long time ago. He still loves me. He doted on me more than our culture encourages. But it's empty love."
V'rell attempted something of a sardonic smirk as he continued, "Oh, no, it's not unconditional. It's only because I haven't disappointed him that he cares. It's essential for him that I succeed in life, you see. I'm his project. His legacy." V'rell continued, his voice wavering a little, "He is a true believer in all this, in love with money and efficiency, blind to what is right. You deal in projections? He wishes to project himself, his culture, onto me. And I, to spend the rest of my life as a construct of this man, just because he was kind to me?" Emotion was bleeding into his words, "That's an abhorrent thing to suggest, agent. To live in old age, having only become him? Even worse," He turned away from the desk, suddenly looking Taul in the eye, "Maybe he needs a taste of heartbreak, considering his wretched life. He's raised me to be heartless. So yes. To blazes with him."
Taul took the emotional venting in stride, nodding, "All right then. That's what I needed," Taul, still sitting, motioned for the man to leave, "We get up at 800."
V'rell nodded, stood there for a moment, then walked off to his bedroom. Taul smiled to himself. No love lost between the two of them, apparently. There's rebel fire in him, after all.
The Shi-ido reminded himself why he was doing this for Serafim. The general's group wanted Rebel sanctuary. He was here to prove they were viable and asses their situation, not do favors for them. Not every resistance movement could be helped directly. Or at least that was the calculus. It galled him that the rebel fleet would not come to support their escape. A few light cruisers, perhaps, enough to occupy the Imperial task force while the convoy of transports slipped away…
It was dangerous to stay, but Taul had grown fond of this isolated little movement. Without changing his skin, he had all but gone native. In his mind, it felt only right. Here was rebellion at its essence, distilled into its simplest form. Fist against whip. Slave against slaver.
So when Serafim asked him to extract a certain disaffected FN, Taul couldn't resist offering his talents.
The Shi-ido smiled at the memory. A slaver turned freedom fighter. Looks like Serafim will get her symbol after all.
That night, V'rell slept better than ever before. He dreamt of glories. He was waging righteous battle with an army of diverse beings, on some forest planet. Crest-helmed Zygerrian guardsmen, armed with lightwhips and blasters, fell to the ground from rebel crossfire. The blaster in V'rell's hands spat from behind a fallen log, scoring a hit. Many of his comrades were dirty and bleeding, emaciated even. But they were smiling, their purpose being fulfilled. Unbeknownst to him, however, the endorphins he worked up from last night's events began to run dry. Like a foul wind, V'rell's battle started getting desperate. His enemies, earlier in the night so easily brought down by his rebel friends, started to intensify their fire. A shoe-shaped Zygerrian fighter spat through the treetops. A clump of rebels flew away in the blast like dolls.
Outside this drama of the mind, the light of morning glowed through tinted glass. The young faux-noble shifted in his sleep. His REM became disrupted, as the sudden turnaround brought minute amounts of adrenaline to his bloodstream. The Zygerrian guardsmen surrounded his band of comrades, and V'rell prepared to receive the burning plasma of his tormentors. At the last moment, fear crested his subconscious, shattering the façade. He awoke with a start. Unfocused eyes scanned the new world before him. He saw the cheap but grand wallpaper on the walls, the fake crystal chandelier hanging from a high ceiling. His fear turned to disappointment, as if he were transformed into some lesser thing.
V'rell's waking mind sought to filter delusion from reality. This manor, his father, and the quarry. Memories of signing procurement forms. Slaves. This was his life, only hours ago, and yet he remembered, last night he changed. Right? The ugly girl skin-shifted him. No. That wasn't right. He had a talk with a rebel agent. He chose to crush his father's dreams. A traitor to everything he'd ever known. Adrenaline still in him, the realities of the present grew clearer.
He was a defector, working to free himself and kill for freedom. And die for it. It would be a good way to perish. A part of him wondered if this was healthy, or if his waking mind was still being influenced by his dream. The rest of him didn't care. V'rell welcomed the feeling, the liberation of self that came with not being afraid to die. It gave him purpose. Meaning, for the first time in his life.
And I was afraid to die, wasn't I? Afraid of dying here. I told Hi-si as much. V'rell smiled to himself, I'm beginning to see just what this place could never give me. Now, I wake in my bed for the last time. He smiled, taking in his room, seeing it in a new light. It excited him. This is it. I should savor the moment. The manor has been my entire existence.
With a buzzing feeling of eagerness, V'rell performed his normal washroom routine, dressed in his typical clothes, and groomed as he had every day of his life. It was a surreal feeling. Nothing would be the same after this. He would live under a new ethos, a new roof, and new friends. He hoped. As he padded across the same carpet he had since childhood, V'rell smiled at the sense of finality in every step.
He had woken early, as per his plan. V'rell, now dressed in his typical business casual, walked over to his window, clicked his teeth twice to de-tint it. Light poured into the room. A fat red sun blazed from behind an ozone horizon, shimmering over the flats. Above it, pinks and greyish blues fought with patches of black, today's stratosphere proving fickle. V'rell smiled. A rising star for a new life. Like the red giant before him, probably a rather short one, ending in a great blaze. V'rell smiled. I guess there is poetry there after all. He turned from the view, fixing his cuffs as though about to entertain a guest. Striding forward, he opened the door to his study, and stepped through.
Taul Hi'si was there on the couch, still sleeping. The windows here, of course, were opaqued. he was still the Zygerrian throw-rug from before, illusions sheathed. One arm hung disjointed off the couch. Not appealing to look at in a nightshirt, but V'rell was used to grotesque sights.
V'rell moved in front of the couch, checking the time on his desk's chrono. The day's timeline was set to start in an hour, but he needed him awake now. He'd explain why later, "Agent Hi'si! Time to…"
There was no warning. Midway through his sentence, the rebel agent exploded.
An eruption of limbs, heads, and absurdly proportioned bodies flashed in front of V'rell's eyes. His sense of smell was assaulted by a kaleidoscope of overwhelming odors, and his brain interpreted shrill screaming. Shock took control, and he froze where he stood. When he regained his senses, the sheer horror of the experience kept his face in a state of pained shock.
That, and the hand constricting his windpipe. From three meters away.
Taul was sitting up, dazed, what appeared to be a brown rope stretching from his right shoulder. His face still sported the same deformities as usual, but his eyes were just starting to focus. After seeing who he had in his grasp, Taul let go, leaving V'rell gasping for air. A heavy thump sounded on the floor. He saw the Shi-ido's offending arm snake backwards, contracting like lazy rubber, thin fingers following. At some point several joints rapidly clicked into place, and it was back to normal, fur rippling unnaturally as muscles reconfigured.
The trauma of the event washed over V'rell, and his legs gave way. After a few seconds of pained wheezing, V'rell tried arching his back for a deep gasp of air. He repeated this process, something he learned as a guard for getting over long exposure to Yolandi air. Of course, usually one stood up for that.
Through it all, the rebel agent laughed. Hysterically.
"That, friend," Taul began, "Was a defense mechanism. Sorry about that. But my first thought was I'd been compromised. Then I see your ugly face," he laughed again, "Seriously boy, are you OK?"
V'rell was on his side now, still gasping. Blood had only just returned to his head. Somehow, he was struggling not to laugh as well.
"You didn't piss yourself, did you?"
V'rell did laugh then, in between coughs, staring at what was now Taul's Seka projection, underdressed and beautiful. It was interesting. He knew what this being actually looked like, but could not shake the false image of a beautiful woman from his eyes. Some ability. The Zygerrian wheezed sharply to clear his thoat, "Luckily… no. I took… care of that," More laughter. He stood up, shakily regarding the being on the couch, "Blast it, Shi-ido!" he coughed again, "You're enjoying this!"
Taul smiled toothily, his illusion vanishing as he did so. The smile he wore suddenly looked manic, "An intelligence agent takes what perks he can on the job," he rolled his shoulders in a way that did not look comfortable, "Well. That happened."
V'rell, finally getting his lungs back under control, managed to snigger, "Indeed."
The changeling rose from the couch, "Yes. Might want to give me some privacy, though. My kind need to perform some… contortions after sleep. Keeps our forms sound," He let out an alien sort of snicker, "Unless it doesn't bother you. It's your study, after all."
"I take my leave." V'rell bowed playfully and beat a hasty retreat to his room. Grinning, he shut the door and sat heavily on his bed. He rubbed at his neck. It didn't feel like it would be a bad bruise. Then he laughed. He supposed this was what the kids in the wider galaxy called a misadventure. More than that, it was his first altogether friendly interaction as a rebel. I feel my new life has just begun, right there in the study. Not exactly a trial by fire, but then, that comes next. My own personal rebellion. I will not fail.
As the throbbing of his head passed, he remembered why he got up so early in the first place. Last night, V'rell surprised himself with how he felt for his father, the conflicting, but in the end, overwhelmingly ill feelings he had for him. As he laid out his emotional answer for the rebel agent, the germ of an idea took root in his mind. A plan for revenge. He was developing it as he fell asleep last night. Now, with the agent in question currently preoccupied, he knew that this was the last chance he had to fine-tune it. Taul would not approve, of course, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he needed this. Closure. For the man who abandoned his mother to exercise more control over his life. The being that took pride in his son every time he committed an act of evil. Who beamed when V'rell explained how he would prey on the misfortune of another house. He did hate his father. And Taul wanted them to depart the manor without any fuss. That would not do.
The problem, of course, was convincing Taul of the change in plan. V'rell didn't get quite that far in his planning. He was content to wing it just minutes ago. Did Taul even notice that he had woken him up an hour early? No, he didn't. In fact…
It was obvious. The opportunity was now. He'd steal away and do it now. Taul would forgive him later. He'd be angry, yes, but he couldn't blow his cover, either. In fact, the rebel agent may turn out to be an effective wild-card. Back-up if this didn't go the way he hoped.
V'rell grit his teeth and rose from his bed. He walked over to the bedside mirror, hitting the switch on its frame. The wall behind it retracted and slid down, revealing an emergency passage for egress in the case of a slave revolt. All Zygerrian manors had them as standard. Many of the nobility included auto-blasters in key rooms for good measure. Not this manor, though. V'rell stepped past the threshold and down the simple ladder. No spiral staircase or compact turbolift. After all, ladders were retractable, and removing it would slow down a mob long enough for the defenders to try something desperate. Musing at the appeal of low-tech solutions, V'rell descended into the dark.
