For ratings and Author's Note's, see chapter two. Two and three were originally written as one chapter, but split due to length and POV.
CHAPTER THREE
Laighn followed the escort through the halls, watching every turn and corner, seeking every side route possible. He loved this house with all its potential. The size alone was inspiring, but the sheer quantity of useless junk was calling out to the thief inside him. So much could be procured without anybody realizing it.
He pushed those desires to the side, trying to concentrate on the true mission. He hoped Rygel would appreciate this. He was surprised how easy it had been so far. All those years of studying his mother and her habits had finally paid off, and now he was being lead to the Elected's chambers.
Until now, his mother's training had served him, but it was almost time to change tactics and switch to his father's teachings. He couldn't wait.
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When he entered the room, the first thing to assault Laighn's eyes was the color, then the bed. It was awful. All of it. The three walls of the room were yellow. It wasn't just a pretty, sunnyish kind of yellow, no. It was an awful, dark, haven't-drank-enough-water-so-my-urine-is-concentrated kind of yellow. The fourth wall was floor to ceiling mirror, exuding the illusion of a bigger room than it really was. The thick, plush carpet was black… with urine yellow hearts. Hearts. Laighn shuddered, and this time it was involuntary.
The bed, which sat in the center of the room, was massive. It was also ugly. Four tall, black poles stood at each corner, holding a vomit green canopy veil. The bedspread matched the veil and everything was trimmed in gold colored cording. Gold ropes with silly long tassels were tied around the black poles, holding the veils back to expose the bedspread and yellow pillows.
Laighn didn't move for 60 full microts before he could force his eyes to shift away from the awful sight. The yellow walls were bare of any adornments, with the exception of the far wall, opposite the door, which boasted a giant set of black drapes laced with tassled gold ropes.
He stood just inside the door, nervous at the thought of being forced to endure any more awful color schemes, but finally he shuffled his way across the floor, the chains of the restraints rattling with each step. Crossing the room, he pulled back one side of the drapes to find three very tall, very narrow, very thick windows. No escaping from there.
Too bad. The jump might not be quite so bad from this height.
Netrijon seemed to be taking his time joining him, and Laighn was getting bored. Looking around, his gaze rested on the giant mirror and he began to study his profile. Was he losing weight? He couldn't afford to be any smaller. A large warrior was more intimidating.
He turned sideways and pulled back his shoulders, standing as tall as his light frame would let him, pushing out his stomach. Scrunching his mouth, he tried to make the same scowl he'd seen on his father in battle. It didn't work as well as it did on the Luxan.
He tried a different scowl; one more suited his facial features. That was a little better.
Now all he needed was the growl. That, he already had down. Dad had spent arns working with him on that when he was small. The Luxan had thought it was funny, but Laighn had continued to practice on his own. He let out one low growl from his chest, just to assure himself he could still do it.
His gray lips changed from the scowl to a half grin, cocky and assured. He still had it.
Bored with his game, he shuffled over to the giant bed, looking for somewhere to sit. The mattress was too tall for him to climb onto with his restraints still on, so he reached down and quickly removed the ankle chains… the ones that the guards had meticulously locked before shoving him in here and slamming the door. Really, they needed to make these locks harder to slip.
Climbing onto the green bedspread, Laighn took the time to reapply his restraints before stretching out comfortably. He laid his head back on one of the voluminous pillows, eyes closed, as he put his hands behind his head. This was ugly, but it was comfortable.
His eyes opened and he found he was staring at himself. The freak not only had a mirror covering one entire wall, but one topped the canopy as well. The bastard really like watching his prey from all angles, didn't he?
Laighn closed his eyes again and began visualizing the various methods he could use to overpower the pervert. It shouldn't be too hard. A man that lived the soft and pampered lifestyle Netrijon did couldn't be all that physically challenging to defeat. Laighn gently felt through his hair and located the stinger. If all else failed, that would bring the man down in three microts.Satisfied he was as ready as he was going to get, he let his mind begin to drift to more pleasant subjects, like that Interon woman he'd run into on Vallish III. Slowly, his mind and body relaxed, slipping into slumber without him realizing what was happening. The softness of the bed, the warmth of the room, the long day he'd endured all combined together to lull him to sleep, dreaming of red hair and orange lips.
The sound of the locks on the door turning pulled him from his dreams at the most inopportune moment. Physically frustrated at the interruption, surprised he'd fallen asleep, and still groggy, he forced himself to sit up and move to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side.
Maybe Netrijon would see the effects his dreams were having and think it was for him. He sure wouldn't be able to fake it. One look at the pompous lout, and it would all be over anyway.
Slowly, the door crept open. It seemed as if time slowed down and every dench of that door opening felt like a lifetime. Laighn was suddenly, unaccountably, nervous. Netrijon was not a small man, and from what he'd seen at the meal, there wasn't a whole lot of extra weight on him.
A maroon sleeve appeared and suddenly, there he was, in all his royal glory, wearing a maroon robe, trimmed with maroon fur on the collar and cuffs. He wore black boots and his blonde hair was flowing regally down his back.
The door closed immediately behind him, and he stood in front of it for a several microts, just staring at Laighn with hunger in his orange eyes. The boy shuddered and was appalled that he had no control over his reaction.
This was a powerful man. Abhorrent tastes notwithstanding, he'd risen to his leadership somehow, and Laighn knew it wasn't by popular vote. He was ruthless. And maniacal. And he stood before Laighn with a look on his face that said the boy was about to be dessert.
He smiled with tenderness. "Hello," he said quietly, almost reverently.
"Hello," Laighn responded meekly, not having to try very hard to stay in character.
The man at the door took several steps in to the room, never looking away from Laighn. As he moved, it was as if he glided, surprisingly graceful. "You don't have to be afraid of me, little one."
"I'll… try to please you," Laighn purposely stammered. Just keep coming closer and this will be over in a microt.
"Oh child, I promise you, you will."
Bastard. Laighn dropped his gaze to the floor and Netrijon glided even closer. "I… I could do a better job of pleasing you with these chains removed." With his head still bowed, he held his hands out in the man's direction to illustrate his point.
He merely giggled at a private joke that Laighn had not been told… yet. "No, little one, you couldn't. But I promise not to permanently damage you."
All right, they were going to have to do this the hard way.
Netrijon moved closer and Laighn calculated the distance through his peripheral vision. Everything had to be timed perfectly. Uneasily, he put his hand to his hair, brushing it back in a nervous gesture. Two more swipes and the stinger would be released from its hold on the side of his head and safely hidden in the palm of his hand.
One swipe, Netrijon stepped closer. "What is wrong, child?" the man questioned and Laighn's hand instantly dropped into his lap. "Do I scare you?" He nodded quickly, and a satisfied sigh escaped the Elected. "Good."
A sharp, stabbing pain seared through his jaw from underneath, shooting upward as if a long needle were being thrust through his throat from the outside. He tried to scream, but not enough air would fill his lungs to create the noise. He barely had enough to sustain life functions.
He lifted his eyes to see Netrijon standing before him holding a thin rod that lightly dripped a thick, pinkish liquid. His blood. That bastard! This was going to end NOW! He lunged forward… he lunged forward… nothing happened.
His arms wouldn't move. His legs were stones, immobile. He could feel everything, including Netrijon sliding one hand slowly up his right arm as the other rested on his knee. But he couldn't move.
How the frell was he supposed to overpower him with his entire body immobile?
"Don't worry," Netrijon whispered softly into his ear, caressing his cheek with the back of his knuckles. "It won't last long. But I do need your cooperation long enough for me to… rearrange things."
Things? What kind of rearranging was supposed to happen? It didn't take long to find out. Slowly, the Elected pulled a key from an inner pocket in the robe and held it before Laighn's eyes. Then, with a tender smile, he reached out and released the lock on the arm restraints.
He looked into the boy's eyes, and knelt down. Reaching out once again, he released the ankle restraints. Laighn was now free. And he couldn't do a frelling thing about it.
Netrijon reached over Laighn's head and pulled two of the gold ropes down to hang from the canopy frame. He secured one rope to each wrist, both held captive high above his head, a gold tassel hanging daintily near each hand.
He was still sitting on the bed, legs draped over the side, although it was a bit of a stretch. He wasn't quite sure if his eema was actually touching the mattress. "There, now. I believe we are all set." Bastard smiled slowly. "Guards!" he called through a communication device on his robe.
The door opened and one of the guards entered, carefully staring at the far wall, away from the boy, hands folded behind his back. "Yes sir."
Without looking away from Laighn, Netrijon threw the chains to the guard, nearly hitting him. "Take these away; they will no longer be needed."
"Yes sir." The guard, holding the chains in his arms turned to leave, but was halted by Netrijon's smooth voice echoing through the room.
"And, Jaul, no matter what you hear, I am not to be disturbed; under orders of banishment to the Wyrm fields. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir." The door closed with a soft click.
Netrijon moved closer to Laighn, their noses nearly touching, and reached behind the boy's neck to push his fingertips against a nerve. Instant mobility returned to his limbs and he wiggled his fingers, held high above his head, experimentally.
"Now then," the man whispered, caressing his neck, softly breathing warm air across his face. "How shall we begin?"
"Like this," Laighn said, slamming his head down as hard as he could.
The loud crack of skulls clashing echoed across the room. Laighn's head exploded with pain and everything in his vision became blurry. He was afraid he would lose consciousness and breathed deeply several times to clear the dizziness and get his bearings.
When everything cleared, he found himself staring into the smiling eyes of Netrijon. "Well, well, little vixen. Isn't this a pleasant development. My turn." His hand shot out and smacked the boy across his face.
Laighn was sure his head was going to fall off his neck. He wished it would, then maybe the searing pain would go away and take the bright pinpricks of light with it. He felt warm liquid slowly oozing from his nose, spreading over his lips. He had to open his mouth to breathe and the blood spread over his tongue. Breathing out, he sprayed the pink mist into Netrijon's face.
He saw the man flinch, and Laighn seized the opportunity to raise his knee as hard as he could, scoring a direct hit to the mivonks. Netrijon doubled over in pain and he raised his knee again, connecting with the Elected's nose.
He stumbled backward, landing on his eema on the floor in front of the hybrid. He looked up and smiled with adoration. "I see they trained you well. I'm glad you like it rough."
He stood then, dropping his fluffy maroon robes to the floor, exposing the full glory of his excitement. His body was covered in tiny bubbles tinted slightly green, matching the bedspread. Laighn wanted to vomit. "Come on over here and see how rough I like it," Laighn growled angrily.
That spurred him on. He rushed forward with a gleeful laugh, charging straight for Laighn. At the last second, the boy lifted himself on the ropes, kicking out his legs and entrapping Netrijon by the neck.
Anger fueled his strength, and although he knew his legs were pushing against pressure points on either side of the man's neck, he couldn't help but squeeze harder and harder. Netrijon's face started turning a yellowish color to match the walls and he clawed desperately at Laighn's thighs. A few of the bumps burst, spurting slimy green ooze intermittently.
His eyes were opened wide and he started to run backward, side to side, trying to pry the boy from around his neck. Laighn held tight and as the man struggled, he felt his arms being pulled against the ropes. It seemed as if his whole body was being stretched and for a microt, he had the wild thought that his arms were going to be longer when this over.
Netrijon finally ran around the side of the bed and Laighn was now wrapped around one of the black poles. Now, not only were his arms and wrists being stretched to disproportionate levels, but his side was being contorted to angles no Nebari or Sebacean was ever meant to accomplish, even ones as limber as his mother.
He was afraid his back was going to break, but he continued to hold on, screaming in the pain. His captive's eyes continued to bulge and his gasps were watery, until finally, he dropped to the ground as far as Laighn's legs would let him, body limp. His eyes closed and he appeared to be unconscious.
He held on with his legs for long microts, just to be sure the Elected wasn't faking. At last, he let go and as his body swung around to the proper side of the bed, he heard the thump of a body hitting the floor.
He wanted to sit and relax for a microt, but he had no idea what time it was or how long it would take him to get out of the castle. Despite what Sethya had threatened, he knew the man would come searching for him if he took too long and Laighn desperately needed to accomplish his half of the plan on his own.
It was a matter of honor, and honor was everything.
He pulled hard against the ropes and managed to grab hold of the left one with his right hand. Using all his upper body stretch, he began to climb the rope, hand over hand until he reached the canopy frame of the bed.
His back was to the inside of the bed, his hands holding the frame backwards. If the mirror wasn't there to act as a ceiling, he'd be able to do chin-up exercises. Instead, he began swinging his legs higher and higher, until finally, he gave one large push and circled the bar, landing on the mirror.
He heard a slight crack when he landed, so he kneeled and quickly pulled his knife from his boot. Two microts later he was free of the ropes. He was elated. Finally, after 30 arns of being shackled, he could roam free.
After tucking his knife securely back into his boot, he jumped down, missing his footing and falling hard to the floor. He rolled a few times and finally settled on his stomach. This was not going well. If he didn't stop injuring himself, he wouldn't make it out of the room, let alone out of the castle.
He rested for a microt, letting deep breaths rejuvenate him. He was entirely too close to the urine hearts, but it was the best he could do at the moment. Breathe in, breathe out, let the pains wash away.
Time to get up. He placed his hands flat on the floor near his shoulders and started to push up. Instantly, he was shoved back down by a hard boot in the small of his back, followed by a large, rough hand at the base of his neck, pinning him to the carpet.
A knee replaced the boot and soft lips grazed his ear. "I definitely got my money's worth with you, boy. That was the best I've had in a very long time. Now it's your turn. I always take care of my boys."
Laighn felt the hardness of Netrijon's groin press into his side at the same time he felt a large, wet, warm tongue dive into his ear. Great Cholack, this can't be happening. This is not happening. Panic surged through him for a moment before he was able to calm himself and think of a rational plan.
The stinger.
Quickly, he reached up and swiped his hair one last time. The small cylindrical object fell into his palm and he hoped that it was facing the right direction. It had to be. Something had to go right tonight.
He reached up over his shoulder and blindly threw his palm against the nearest skin of his attacker he could find, Netrijon's shoulder. Contact was made and instantly, the man began to shake with minor seizures as the current of energy rippled through his body. More green bumps burst, shooting green slime onto Laighn's face and clothes.
Three microts later, the Elected slumped over, once again unconscious. He was also lying on top of Laighn. At first, the boy tried to crawl out from under his burden, but that only dragged the body with him, so he was forced to roll over. He didn't have the strength to simply roll, so he began to sway back and forth until his momentum was great enough to slide the body off him.
The microt Netrijon was off, Laighn jumped up, not willing to make the same mistake again by wasting time. He ran to the bed and pulled a rope free, then went back to Netrijon and tied the man's wrists together tightly.
With great satisfaction, he grabbed the other end of the rope and pulled the unconscious body to the bed as roughly as he could. Not that it would matter; freak-man would probably just get more excited. He threw the rope over the canopy frame and slowly hoisted the man up. Dench by dench the body was elevated, until Netrijon hung by his arms, naked except for his booted feet dangling several denches off the ground.
Laighn wasn't finished yet. He grabbed another rope and secured it tightly around the President's face, making sure to stuff a knot into his mouth at an angle to leave one of the tassels hanging daintily out. Lastly, he tied the ankles.
He stepped back and viewed it his creation with immense satisfaction. It was a beautiful sight indeed. Too bad he had to cover it. With reluctance, he artfully draped the veils over the Elected's body, effectively hiding the evidence. Netrijon's feet were showing slightly, but he figured it would pass a casual inspection.
Now what? He couldn't go out the front door, the guards would call for back-up and he'd be locked up faster than a star-bursting Leviathan. He couldn't go out the window; even he wasn't small enough for that.
Sighing, he began to take mental stock of his assets once again. He had a useless stinger, a boot knife, his belt whip and that clear packet that Sethya had told him not to use unless absolutely necessary, the cloaking device.
What did he say would happen? Oh yeah, a rash. Big deal. He could handle a little itch. He couldn't handle those windows or those guards outside. Besides, Sethya wouldn't have given him anything that would have killed him, right?
Eagerly, he pulled the small, clear packet from under his belt and held it before him. Finding the opening clasp was easy enough and he unfolded a large, clear, square sheet with a hole in the middle of it. How was this thing supposed to work? Instructions would have been helpful.
He pulled his head trough the hole and let the fabric drape over his shoulders, chest and back, the points dangling near his knees. His head was uncovered, as were his shins and feet. This was supposed to be a cloaking device? He was still visible!
Angrily, he stomped over to the mirror to see how ridiculous he looked. All he could see was a slightly distorted image of the room behind him. He was gone. He looked at his hands, his body. Everything was visible to him, but checking once again in the mirror showed that he was not there.
He took a few steps and watched the distortion in the mirror move with him. Drad! Now it was time for a little fun. He unclasped his belt, coiling it ready in his hand, and moved to the door.
He threw it open hard, letting it hit the wall with strong force, nearly bouncing closed again in its momentum. He caught it with his hand before it could slam shut and slowly opened it wide.
He had the effect he wanted. The guards were standing across the hallway, staring at the door wide-eyed, unsure of what they should do. Jaul, obviously the senior officer, stepped forward slightly.
"Uh, sir?" The room remained silent and he took another tentative step forward. "Sir? Are you done already?"
He received no reply, so he waved to his subordinate to follow him and he edged closer to the door, nervously peeking inside. He didn't have a view of Netrijon from the doorway, and all he could see was an empty room. Concerned, he stepped inside with a wave to his partner to follow.
Carefully, they moved farther inside, and as soon as both of them cleared the doorway, Laighn slammed the door shut. Both spun around terrified, unable to see their attacker. Two loud cracks echoed across the room, and both men fell to the floor, unconscious.
He had to waste several long microts tying their hands and feet and gagging their mouths. The longer he had before the alarm was sounded, the better. He now had free access to the hallway. Grabbing a set of keys from the belt of Jaul, he absently scratched his ear and headed for the door.
Once outside, he closed the door quietly behind him and locked it. It should be a while before the three were discovered, giving him plenty of time to find his way to the roof. He started down the hallway and soon found himself passing group of citizens and guards.
He was having fun watch them and it was almost a game to see how close he could pass by without getting caught. His attention was diverted occasionally by the luxurious decorations and, for his mother, he snurched a gold plate with intricate designs lacing the edges.
He tucked it into the waist of his pants and set himself to the task of finding a stairwell. After several turns, he finally found what he was looking for and ascended the stairs as far as they would take him.
Unfortunately, they didn't lead as high as he needed. Where would the next set be hidden? Probably clear on the other side of the building. Sighing, he set off down another corridor. They all looked alike. The one he was in started circling around on itself, and it was becoming apparent he would have to pick a new avenue of escape soon. He was lost.
Frustrated, he turned a corner and nearly ran directly into a green skirted soldier. Sucking in his stomach, he pulled himself as flat against the wall as far he possibly could. Instead of the soldier passing by, though, he stopped. He stared. Directly at Laighn.
Frell.
"Who the hezmana are you?" he asked in an authoritative voice.
"I'm lost. I'm looking for the stairs to return to my chambers on the tenth floor," Laighn bluffed.
"Guests do not leave their room unescorted."
"Yeah, well, you see, I uh, got hungry, and I…didn't want to disturb the servants and, I, well, thought I'd try to find, you know, the kitchen and…" he stammered, kicking his foot as hard as he could into the soldier's bare knee. He watched the man fall to the floor in pain while he cursed Sethya for not telling him the effectiveness wore off.
He took off running as hard as could while scratching at a burning itch on his stomach. One turn, two turns, he was in a long hallway. Not stopping for air, he continued on.
"Hey, you!" he heard yelled from behind, and multiple sets of boots were pursuing him.
He turned a corner and ducked into an alcove, just a few microts before three soldiers ran past. He stepped back into the hallway and cracked his whip twice, effectively knocking out two of the soldiers. The last was too quick and moved away before the tip could contact.
He rushed toward Laighn at an alarming speed, and Laighn did the first thing to cone to his mind, he pulled the plate from it's hiding place in the back of his trousers and threw it hard directly at the soldier's knees.
He fell, but was getting up quickly, so Laighn rushed forward, picking up the plate and pounding the man over the head as hard as he could, putting a dent in the gold in the process. The soldier fell into a heap and Laighn rushed past him, his mind already turning to the question of escape, his hands instinctively tucking the treasure back in its hiding place in his pants.
He continued through the corridors at a more discreet pace, scratching his arms, chest, face and neck. Eventually, he ended up in a hall that was lined with mirrors. He didn't pay attention at first, concentrating on listening for approaching soldiers and looking for potential stairways, but a bright purple flash in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to face a hideous sight.
Staring back at him in the mirror was a bloated purple image of the man he once was. He barely recognized his face, contorted by its puffiness, his neck nearly non-existent. And to make things better, now that he'd seen how bad the "minor" rash was, his itch increased exponentially. Every dench of skin burned.
He pulled a fuzzy flower with a hard stem from a nearby vase and began scratching his back. Now he definitely needed to escape, so he could go beat Sethya for doing this to him.
The sound of boot steps in the distance spurned him on and he began his search again. Luck was with him finally and the third door he tried led to a stairwell. Anxiously he began the dark climb and it reminded him of another set of stairs on another planet. Only those had led downward and he'd nearly killed himself falling down them. Hopefully, this would have a different ending.
He climbed for a long time, the number of steps seemingly endless. Upward he went, until they finally ended at a small wooden door. Using the keys he'd taken from Jaul, he tested ten before the lock clicked and the door opened.
Before him was one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever witnessed. He was high on a turret, overlooking the ocean far below. Walking to the edge he could see for metras, possibly even the island he wanted. Overhead, flying creatures circled, hunting their breakfast, screeching occasionally to each other in encouragement.
He stood on the edge, a silhouette against the sun slowly rising in the distance. In its magnificence it was throwing orange, red and purple streaks across the darkened sky. Below him the waves crashed against the rocks, spitting a wide spray of mist high in the air. A breeze picked up and rustled the black and blonde spikes of his hair.
He closed his eyes for several microts, letting the cool air caress his face and neck, soothing the burning itch. His grey lips parted and he breathed in deeply, almost tasting the salt water from ten stories below. These could very well be his last moments alive. Behind him were the guards, soon to discover where he'd escaped to. Before him was the unrelenting ocean, beating against the boulders below.
He might survive. If he could dive out far enough, he'd miss the rocks. Supposedly, the ocean floor dropped away steeply several motras out. This had been the plan the entire time. Jump out far enough, swim two metras to the rendezvous island. But looking at the reality before him, the decision suddenly seemed brash.
He'd been so full of himself; he'd committed to this suicide without a microt's thought. Sethya had tried to warn him, but in his arrogance, he'd supposed he was indestructible. Now his mortality lay before him.
Hard boot steps sounded on the steps behind him. They'd found him. Taking another deep breath, he backed up a few motras and sprinted as hard as he could, raising his arms above his head at the last microt and pushing off the edge at a dead run.
He flew outward from the castle, hearing the shouting of the guards left behind on the turret. Adrenaline poured through his system, instantly settling his stomach while letting him enjoy the sensation of flying freely through the air. The rush outweighed any concerns and he felt liberated of all worries. Letting out a loud victory "WHOOP" of joy, his laughter echoed back up to the stunned guards above.
Silently, gracefully, his outstretched fingers touched the water. Next his head, then his body, legs, legs, feet all disappeared beneath the surface with very little splash.
The guards watched the boy enter the water directly between an outcropping of three boulders. They waited several hundred microts for the boy to rise, but the water continued to slosh around their natural barriers, uninhibited by any living creature.
Worried about having to report, they abandoned their watch to deliver the message that the boy had died. Netrijon wasn't going to like this.
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Sethya sat on a boulder, head held in his hands, gritting his teeth. If Laighn didn't show up soon, his Hynerion Uncle Rygel was going to die. He'd be merciful; he'd make it quick and painless. But the incessant grumbling was grating on his very last nerve.
"This was the most frelled up plan I've ever had the misfortune of being apart of. And I've been part of the worst plans ever conceived. What were you thinking, leaving him in that castle alone? And you didn't even bring anything to eat with you! I haven't had a decent meal in…"
The tirade continued on, but Sethya shut out the sound of the pompous voice and looked at the island around him, trying to divert his attention. It was difficult, there wasn't much to see, and they'd already been waiting for a couple of arns.
Laighn's small reconnaissance ship, bought specifically for this mission, covered nearly a third of the rocky island's land mass. The animals that normally sunbathed on the sunny beach had squealed their displeasure at being displaced, but relocated without incident. There was no vegetation, no trees, not even a shrub growing on the small islet.
There were just blubbery animals, rocks, and this frelling Hynerion. Sethya suddenly received a detailed vision of tossing that hovering thronesled far out into the ocean. In his mind, he saw it flying through the air and landing with a loud splash many motras out.
"What are you grinning about? I see nothing humorous about this situation. I've just been freed and I'm forced to wait here in the middle of a wasteland, because you felt it was all right to send a boy into an impossible situation…"
Sethya had had enough. In a split microt, he had the Hynerion pinned by his earbrows, a knife to his throat. Slowly, concisely, he issued an edict. "Shut the frell up."
The little green man, completely unfazed, simply stared back at him. His eyes narrowed and his answer was quiet. "Better men than you have done far worse. You don't scare me, boy. You don't intimidate me. If you're going to do something, hurry up and do it, and by the yotz, quit wasting my time."
Sethya stared at him for a long moment before dropping him to the ground. This was now over. He'd waited long enough; he'd given the boy a chance to get out on his own. Now he was taking matters into his own hands. The slug was right. Too much time was wasting.
"Are you coming, or are you going to stay here and play with the Redarding Fish?" he hollered over his shoulder as a hurried up the ramp of his ship.
Rygel was right behind him and it only took a few moments to start the ship and take off. Sethya had no idea what he was going to do, but inaction was not an option. He flew low, purposely deviating to the other small islands, in case Laighn had not been able to swim as far as he'd thought.
He was in dangerous air space now, the closer he drew to the castle, the more the chances of them being spotted by the compound's defense system. That was why they'd chosen the island they had. But like every other plan, it hadn't worked.
Just when he thought they were going to end up landing on one of the turrets, Rygel poked him in the back. "There, over there." His short finger was pointing to a single boulder rising out of the ocean.
On it was a purple and red bloated boy, jumping and waving madly. Laighn? The figure stopped to scratch his chest and stomach. Laighn. The boy had used the cloak. As Sethya kept the ship hovering over the boulder, Rygel opened a side hatch and threw a cable down to the boy.
As soon as Laighn had both hands and feet securely twisted around the cable, Sethya took off, Laighn towed beneath. The kid took a long time crawling up the rope and Sethya was getting impatient. The sooner they broke atmosphere and docked with Shadow, the sooner they could go get Tean. Time was running out.
Finally, Laighn's hands grasped the floor and the bloated figure pulled himself inside, breathing heavily as he lay helpless, exerting only enough energy to scratch. Rygel slammed the door closed and turned on the boy.
"What the frell happened to you? You look like a Wyfag berry. And what the hezmana did you think you were doing? "
"Saving your eema. You're welcome," the boy managed to say as he lifted himself on to his elbows.
"I don't need you to save my eema. Where are your parents?"
"I don't know."
"So you did it, you left. You always were headstrong and foolish. You're going to get yourself killed, boy. Go home to your mother. Not that she'll be much help. Trouble is her middle name."
"You left."
Sethya, trying not to get involved in a family argument, sat quietly at the controls. The argument continued on and he tuned them out until they finally reached Shadow and docked.
All of them exited the smaller ship and before they could leave the small landing bay, Rygel turned on his negotiating charm. "Thank you for your assistance. If you drop us off at the nearest commerce planet…"
"The boy stays with me."
"Why would you want him? He'll be useless to you."
"He has a debt to work off. But you can use his transport to go where you need. The nearest system is only a few arns away."
Rygel turned to Laighn. "Is this what you want?"
"Yes, it's a matter of honor," the boy answered quietly.
"Honor. You sound like your father."
Laighn's chubby face broke into a smile and his eyes fell. "See you around the universe."
"You too, boy." With the dignity of all his royal breeding, he stepped back onto the vessel and piloted it out of the hanger.
Laighn watched the ship depart with a sad, longing smile on his face as he scratched his stomach.
"Let's go," Sethya said, interrupting the boy's reverie. "We've got to get Tean. We're running late." He hit the boy on the arm and smiled when he howled in pain.
"You said a rash!" Laighn hollered, his thoughts diverted, as Sethya had intended. "You never said anything about a frelling plague!"
----------------------------------------
Tean sat in the Pilot's seat, monitoring the controls. They had roughly one solar day until the rendezvous time with Gweer on the command carrier, and his nerves were starting to fray. He still wasn't fully recovered from the fiasco with Klune's men, and his mind kept going back to the fact that he hadn't been on a Peacekeeper ship in over two cycles. He was nervous, excited, homesick, and torn in two. He never regretted his decision to rescue Sethya from execution, but he missed his lifestyle onboard.
The monitor started to beep, and he leaned forward to get a better look at the object the sensors had picked up. A Leviathan. "Seth, get up here!"
"What now? I'm trying to sleep."
"Fine, I'll contact the Leviathan that just came within range on my own. Sleep well." He began to count to himself. "Four, three two, one…"
"How long has she been there?" Sethya asked from directly behind Tean's head.
"About fifteen microts. Want to read the logs?" he asked sarcastically, and got thumped on the back of the head for it.
Sethya reached past his shoulder and punched the transmit button on the control panel. "This is Sethya Miskaahl of the cargo ship Shadow. We are searching for the Leviathan ship Moya. I am willing to pay for any information as to her location, or any information on the status of her crew." He let go of the transmitter, carefully placing his hand flat on the console, still bent over Tean's shoulder. His head hung low, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow.
They were greeted with silence. Five microts passed. Ten. The speaker remained impassive. Slowly, deliberate in his movements, his hand stretched out to the transmitter again. "This is Sethya Miskaahl of the cargo ship Shadow, hailing the approaching Leviathan. We are not armed and are merely seeking information. I will pay for any information you might have on the Leviathan Moya or her crew."
"It's about time you bastards came home," a familiar drawl broke over the speakers. "Hurry up and gets your asses on board. And welcome back."