TITLE:The Long and Winding Road
AUTHOR:L. C. Brotherton
DISCLAIMER:No copyright infringements intended. I just like to bring some of these characters out to visit my playground and promise to put them back when we've finished our game.
REVIEWS/FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
HISTORICAL NOTE: The events in this story take place near the end of season 4.
When Dylan Hunt heard the slaver's introductory auction call and the crowd's answering cry of anticipation, he knew there would be trouble, just not to what magnitude. He'd even purposely and loudly tried to distract his companion, attempting to divert his interest to some insignificant collection of baubles for sale at a nearby merchant's tent. It had almost worked, would have worked with anyone else had that person not had the benefit of genetically enhanced hearing.
"Slavers," the Nietszchean growled, gravel grinding beneath his boots as he did a complete about face toward the direction of the announcements.
"Rhade, we don't have time for a rescue mission or to wreak havoc on slavers—"Hunt hissed, making a grab for his companion's arm, catching only air as Telemachus strode beyond his grasp, disappearing into the milling crowd.
Dylan rushed after him, cursing under his breath, hoping some miracle would occur to prevent Rhade from doing anything conspicuous . If that miracle happened to be the ground opening up into a gaping maw beneath the unsuspecting man, then so be it. Dylan didn't get his miracle, although Rhade did stop his angry march near the front of the crowd, powerful arms crossed over his chest, glaring menacingly at the scene developing before him.
A small, make-shift stage sat in the center of the market, the human-looking auctioneer leaned casually on the makeshift podium, smiling broadly at his growing audience. His silky clothing, which failed tohide the rotund physique beneath, vaquely reminded Dylan of an explosion at a paint factory, failing to hide the rotund physique beneath. Behind the stage, a small, enclosed cart was wheeled into position.
With a quickly barked order from the auctioneer, two burly men in distressed leather vests and leggings unlocked the doors and dragged a bony old human man into the bright light of twin suns. The old man coughed and squinted at everything. The bidding began slowly and without enthusiasm.
"Rhade, we really can't—don't have time for this—not now," Dylan whispered, trying to sound compassionate, hating the idea of slavers nearly as much as the Nietzschean, but he knew it was a battle he'd already lost. "I understand your stance on slavers, but we have to choose our battles," he added pointedly.
Telemachus cast the human a withering glance and would not be moved. "Go then. I'm staying." Dylan could almost hear the other man's words being engraved in stone on some distant world.
"We can't really do anything about this—not here, not now—we're sort of outnumbered, in case you hadn't noticed," Dylan pressed.
"Wait," Rhade insisted, the tension in his voice rising to a dangerous level, his demeanor changing in a way that Dylan could almost touch, but didn't understand.
"A fine morsel next up," the auctioneer promised, snapping his fingers at the handlers.
The pair reached inside the cart and drug out a lifeless corpse, a dark-skinned demi-human male. The auctioneer frowned, gesturing quickly. The handlers tossed the body back into the cart amidst protest from the occupants. At a signal from the auctioneer, the handlers drug out another equally limp body.
"Ahh...here is the promised morsel," he announced excitedly as the pair mounted the stage, their cargo equal as limp as the previous.
Rhade's reaction wasn't specifically what Dylan had expected, although he wasn't certain what his expectations should have been. The other man made some dangerous gutteral sound, visceral and deep. Dylan grabbed Rhade's arm as he began to move forward, not missing the sudden bunched tension or bone blades threatening to explode from some heated instinctual reaction.
Long, dark blond hair matted in blood stuck to a dirty female face that the auctioneer gently raised with his gavel. Her eyes remained closed as he peeled back her lower lip. "Lovely teeth," he commented, his thumb lingering on her lip for a moment. "Don't let her current state fool you. This one healthy young female, a fine addition to any household or harem. Too highly spirited for some of the more delicate members of our audience, we were unfortunately forced to sedate this prize." He then began an expose of her skills and talents, clasping his hands now and again with a clap.
"You don't need a personal slave-girl," Dylan nearly exploded, exasperated, but Rhade would not be deterred.
"...finely ornamented as well, " the man continued, nodding to one of his workers who unlocked a metallic gauntlet on the girl's arm. It clanked to the deck of the stage. Gingerly, the man pulled a delicate bone blade from its slumber at the base of her wrist, and its companion blades flared in agreement down her forearm. There were mutters of surprise and the enthusiastic bidding began almost spontaneously.
"How much do we have?" Rhade demanded quickly, dark eyes intense, countenance strangely fevered.
Dylan puffed his cheeks and exhaled, "Probably not enough to buy you that girl and get the supplies for Andromeda's repairs, if that's what you're getting at," he replied as he listened to the bids grow higher.
"Repairs can wait," Rhade announced, throwing his hand into the air, barking out a bid of his own.