Oh no! Is this really the end of Volume 2? But nothing's happened! Ah!! Well, guess I'll just have to change that...
Hope you all enjoyed the cliffhanger, promise not to do it again! (maybe )...)
Thank you to everyone's review for Chapter 2, I really, really appreciate it! You're all too kind.

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, I'm certainly not making any profit off of this, I serve only to amuse.

*Warning* More as a precaution than anything else, I've rated this R for graphic violence. At least, I think it's graphic, later on in the story. Anyway, I hope this does not deter too many people from reading.

Pronunciation: The Irish names, meanings, spellings, and pronunciations are all correct, as far as I know.
Bronagh (Bro-nah)
Kaleigh (Kay-lee)
Eoin (Owe-in)
Declan (Deck-lawn)
Siobhan (Shiv-an)

Volume 2: Chapter 2
The World Turned Upside Down
Age:17&Up

If ponies rode men and grass ate cows,

And cats were chased into holes by the mouse . . .

If summer were spring and the other way round,

Then all the world would be upside down.
-Traditional British folksong

Blood. Blood was everywhere; it was in the air, it flooded the ground, and it seemed to rain from the very sky. The smell of it, the feel of it, could not be detached from one's skin. Death mingled with the blood. Death lent its scent, its coldness, to the blood and the air, to create a kaleidoscope of carnage. Seamus Harper thought that in his fairly short life, he had seen enough death to not be bothered by it; he thought he had become insensitive to the deaths of strangers. Seamus Harper was wrong.

For as he knelt on the floor, mind freezing with fear and breath coming out in gasps, the sight he'd seen outside the door ran through his mind, over and over.

Thousands of magog swarmed the city. Seamus had seen a magog attack before; but this was so much worse. The Nietzscheans were the only ones with the power and weapons to fight against the alien monsters; but instead of allowing the 'kludges' to run and escape for their lives, they decided to harness them in their attack plan. Fences had been raised around most of the city; the same fences used whenever the Ubers thought that there might be some slaves trying to escape. Now they were used to cage the people in, the only entrances filled with magog coming in to take their prey.

The people of Boston Harbor Refugee Camp, Earth, were being used as live bait to make it safer for the Nietzscheans to form their attack. Any kludge who had managed to not get caught in the cage of death was shot--in the leg, so that they were immobilized but not dead. After all, magog had to eat their meat while it was still alive.

The screams of the dying filled Seamus' ears. Struggling not to hyperventilate, his usually rational frame of mind was not obeying his commands. Think of something! Do something! His inner self screamed, but his brain seemed to have frozen. Where were Brendan and Uncle Eoin? Where the hell was Cal? They couldn't have been taken, or else Seamus would not have been left. Why hadn't they woken him up if they'd left of their own free will? He shuddered; his blood running cold at the thought that perhaps they'd gotten caught among the large fences, which before had only signified their lack of freedom, now signified certain death.

Loud crashes from outside the building finally awoke him from his frozen state of mind. Not daring to look out the window, he raced to the back door, pulled it open, and dashed into the chaos of the hell around him.

Now what? His first instinct was to run; but where to? He heard something enter Cal's repair shop, and broke into a run. His heart was pounding so hard he thought for sure it would burst. Even as he increased his speed; the sounds of magog filled his ears. Desperately, he searched his mind. Where did safety lie? The dump? The ship dockings? Loud screams and growls filled his ears, but he kept running, too afraid to look behind him. Suddenly, images of a hidden cave ran through his mind. With a destination in mind, Seamus reoriented himself, trying to remember the way to the ocean, and hopefully safety. Tears of fear were running down his face. In the back of his mind he cursed himself for a coward. He ought to be going the other way, searching for his cousin and uncle, but his legs would not stop running, and his mind overruled his heart: there was nothing he could do for Brendan or Eoin, and he didn't have the first clue as to where to start looking for them.

So he ran; keeping low to the ground until he reached the border regions of the city. Here now were the fields of dead plants that Brendan had taken him over all those years ago, back when Seamus had thought that waking up and finding his father's corpse would be the worst thing to ever happen to him. Still running, near collapse and breathless, he at last saw in the distance that black, rolling mass of water, now sickened and without life after so many years of poison from both humans and Nietzscheans alike.

The screams still rang in his head, and sobs racked his body as he stumbled down the steep cliff overlooking the beach. Ironic that such a place, void of life as it was, would serve as a haven for Seamus. He reached the end of the cliffs and now searched for the entrance, pulling at odd-shaped stones for what seemed like hours until at last a hole opened in the face of the cliff. With a loud grinding noise, the door began to slide open, and Seamus crawled inside. A stench hung heavy in the hair and he nearly retched, but managed to only gag as he looked about him. A few streams of light came in through the cracks in the wall and the doorway. Quickly he realized what had made the awful smell; bodies, dozens of them, were stacked up in the cave, some mostly bones, others merely half rotted corpses. One of them he thought he recognized as the brown haired leader of the small group of child gang members. There was no sign as to what had killed them, and Seamus had a feeling that their story would go unheard for eternity.

Turning away, Seamus huddled near the entrance, wondering how long he would have to stay before it would be safe to leave.

Despite his terror and the smell of the horrible bodies only feet away from him, Seamus managed to sleep, lulled by the sound of the waves crashing against the dark beach. It was a restless sleep; his past merged into a stream of horrors. The magog attack on his village; watching his cousins, Siobhan and Declan, slowly dying and wasting away. Listening to his mother being killed above him, waking up to find his father dead. Holding Kylie as she shuddered and died...Just when he was about to wake up screaming, his dreams suddenly changed. He was flying; the stars spinning around him. A beautiful figure walked towards him, smiling and holding out her hand. Seamus couldn't see her well, but he saw that she had red hair: First she looked like his mother, but no, it was his cousin Siobhan-or was it Kylie? The last face it took was Beka's, forming in his mind just as he awoke.

Drenched in sweat, he shivered and tried to look through the cracks of the wall. The sleep had left him more tired than he'd been before. Still, he tried to remember that feeling of peace he'd finally felt as he was waking up. He was so tired of it all...life had become more pain than pleasure. Feeling angry, he pushed the door to the cave open and stumbled out into the dark night. With half a mind to simply go somewhere and die, he walked forward, towards the dark ocean. The cool breeze blew against him and then he felt the water enclose his feet. Still he kept walking, wondering if the stories were true and the water would poison him. In the dark, he couldn't see where he was walking, and the ground was slippery. Losing his footing, he slipped and with a curse fell into the water. For a moment it sheltered him entirely; then he broke to the surface, floating on his back. Spitting out the water, he opened his eyes and felt a moment of confusion. He was staring up at the stars, which suddenly seemed brighter than normal.

Wondering if he was dying, Seamus tried to stand up. A glow of light caught the corner of his eye. Turning he saw a large cloud of smoke and a red haze coming from the city. All thoughts of dying gone, he hurried back to land. What did the fire mean? Was it a good sign or a bad one? Ignoring the chill of the wind against his dripping wet self, he knew that he had to go back. There was nothing else he could do. Certain death by starvation or dehydration lay in one direction, while only highly probable death lay in another.

Steeling his nerves, he began to walk back to the city. Gathering speed, as he drew closer he broke into a run; a cautious run, but still a run. Chaos appeared to still reign over the city. Staying in the shadows of the taller buildings; he avoided the Nietzscheans running around. To his relief, he didn't see any magog; but then, neither did he see any normal people. Almost too terrified to look, he made his way slowly to the center of the square. The gates were still up, but there were no longer any screams. Falling to his knees, Seamus threw up automatically. Numbly, his mind tried to process what his eyes saw. Instead of hundreds of trapped people screaming for release, there were hundreds upon hundreds of corpses all heaped into a pile. They were the fuel for the fire he had seen nearly three miles away.

Mixed in with the humans he saw bodies of magog, but it was the humans that had shocked him so. Although he was sure he couldn't bear it, he went still closer. The body of a little girl was pressed up against the metal gate; her sightless green eyes open as the fire spread. Staring at her for either an eternity or a mere second, he wasn't sure which; Seamus at last dragged himself away. There were so many dead; their twisted bodies packed against other. How could there be so many? Cynically he wondered if Brendan or Eoin were trapped somewhere in the tall pillar of bodies. His family...he had to find them. Checking to make sure there weren't any Nietzschean guards nearby, he again broke into a run. If either were alive, they would have returned to Cal's. As he ran through the eerily empty streets, he shuddered in fear at the sight of all the magog bodies. To his bitter relief, there were almost as many Uber bodies lying on the ground as well. It was only a small comfort however.

Reaching Cal's workshop, the place he had reluctantly called 'home', he ran inside the dilapidated building with much apprehension. Obviously magog or Nietzscheans or both had gone through, but there was no sign of any humans. Where were they? Tears of anger welled up in his eyes. Walking out the back door-the same one he'd run out of earlier-he slammed it shut behind him. What now? He asked silently, staring up at the starry sky.

"Sea-Seamus..." A hoarse voice said softly. Eyes widening, Seamus looked around furiously. His heart stopped; there was a still form lying near the store. Too choked and worried to say anything in return, he rushed over to the side.

"Uncle Eoin?" Staring at the still form of his beloved Uncle, Seamus' voice broke. Covered in blood, Seamus wondered how he had managed to escape death.

"Seamus...my nephew," Eoin's eyes focused slightly and Seamus nodded encouragement.

"I'm here, you're gonna be ok," He said softly, trying to look over the older man's body.

"Seamus...I've been infested, there's nothing you can do," Eoin said softly. Shaking his head angrily, Seamus didn't answer. Instead he tried to pick up Eoin, but he didn't have the strength. "It's ok Seamus, I didn't intend on lying here and waiting for death," Staring at him in incomprehension, Eoin gestured weakly to his stomach. Hands trembling, Seamus raised the tattered shirt. The dark had masked the well of blood coming from Eoin.

"No...why..." Seamus couldn't finish. Dammit, it wasn't fair, what had Eoin done to himself?

"Seamus, I'd have died anyway, I was able to kill the magog that did this, and then I was able to kill its offspring. I can't think of a better way to die," Still shaking his head slowly, Seamus squeezed his eyes shut. "I wish...I wish Brendan were here. Tell him, I love him, will you? And...and stay here with me, will you boy?" Nodding numbly, Seamus slumped to his knees and grasped Eoin's hand. Neither said anything more. All Seamus could hear was the faint, angry call of Why? Running through his mind.
)***(

It occurred to Seamus, some hours later, that he ought to bury his uncle's body, but at the moment he didn't have the strength. He didn't even have anything to cover the body with. All he could do was close Eoin's eyes and slowly make his way back inside the shop. Just as he entered the building, he slumped to his knees and threw up, again. Although he had eaten nothing for almost 48 hours, he kept retching until, exhausted and shaking, he climbed up the stairs and collapsed on one of the bed mats.

Seamus would never be sure how long he slept; it could have been weeks for all he knew, but it could not have been more than a few days, since otherwise he probably would have starved to death. However long it was, Seamus later awoke to the sounds of heavy boots tramping through the small building. Opening his eyes, he brushed away a few flies that had made a home on the dried blood of some small cuts. Trying to focus his thoughts, he was too weak from lack of food or drink to sit up, he called out dumbly,

"Brendan? Is that you?" His voice was dry and his throat ached; he didn't even recognize his own voice.

"I heard something upstairs, come on," Groaning, Seamus turned over onto his stomach. The voice wasn't Brendan-to his ears it sounded like a Nietzschean. Several other deep voices answered and he heard footsteps climbing the rickety stairs. Desperately, he tried to crawl into a corner so he could hide. Nothing good could come of his being found by Ubers.

"So, crawling away like the worm you are?" The Nietzscheans had reached the small upper floor and were sneering at Seamus' pathetic attempt to get away. They all carried heavy guns, and the one that had spoken stepped forward to kick Seamus in the ribs. The force of the kick made him roll and hit the wall, where he decided to simply lie. Perhaps dying wouldn't be too bad.

"Do you know how many of our finest warriors died fighting the magog? And for what? So that the likes of you could escape?" The one that had kicked him shouted. Please, just go away, Seamus thought silently. "Well, never mind that. The return of an escaped slave may help to boost morale. We shall find some use for you, and you may thank us for sparing your miserable life," Dimly Seamus was aware that forms were approaching him, he felt another swift kick to his stomach and then he was thrown over a muscular shoulder, the room going dark around him.

Seamus' living nightmare seemed to keep getting worse. When he came to, he was chained along with other kludges in a small metal room. The other forms around him were pale and silent, and Seamus felt no desire to break the silence. It soon became apparent however that they were in some sort of transport vehicle. One woman broke down and started screaming that they were all going to be killed.

"Hush woman! We are not going to die; didn't you hear them? We're slaves for the palace," A man nearby finally said in a firm voice.

This did not help Seamus to relax at all. It seemed as though his dreams of escaping Earth were slipping through his fingers like so many grains of sand. The palace was where the leaders of the Drago-Katzov pride living on Earth stayed. No one really knew much about it, and those who had been taken as slaves to work there had never returned.

When they arrived and were led out, still chained in long lines to one another, they could see that the Palace was not as fine as the name might have led one to believe. It was little more than a concrete building, with few adornments, and many thick wires of fence. Guards streamed around the grounds, along with well dressed aliens and Nietzscheans. Obviously this was where all official business was done. The new slaves were not brought in through the main gate; they were taken to a side door near the back.

The rooms inside were small and dank, and once inside they were divided into groups. The different groups seemed rather random to Seamus. There was an overweight, tall Nietzschean with a scowl who was directing where to take the different groups, with younger Nietzscheans scurrying to lead them away. Seamus felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as his group was led down a dark hallway. He was near the front and heard clearly as the young Nietzschean began to explain what there duties would be for.

"You should consider yourselves privileged. You will be the house slaves, serving food, drink, cleaning, and entertaining all the leaders here. Each morning you will report to the kitchen for your daily chores, the other slaves will show you where it is, as well as the serving hall and officials' quarters." Pausing to eye the slaves, the boy Nietzschean sneered. "You will also be given uniforms." The slaves remained silent, though Seamus sneered right back at the Uber, who he was sure couldn't be any older than he was. Angrily he tried to slip his hands through the chains, but they were too tight. The Nietzschean smiled at him as he pushed open a heavy door.

"Here are your quarters. Welcome to your new home," The Nietzscheans eyes and remained fixed on Seamus' as the people in front of him moved into the room, dragging him along.

The next few days seemed like some sort of bizarre circus to Seamus. Everything was a blur in his memory later. Apparently the Nietzscheans didn't plan on taking any chances with rebellion: Part of their uniform were long manacles that gave them just enough room to be able to carry and serve food or drink, with a long chain that reached to their feet, where there were more manacles keeping their feet together. The rest of their uniforms were clearly meant to keep them humble; all were plain white sleeveless tunics, the same for the men, women, and children. In days, Seamus could no longer quite remember what it was like to not wear the degrading clothing and cumbersome chains. Each night the slaves lined up and had their manacles taken off so they could sleep. First thing in the morning they lined up again to have them all put on. After that they filed silently down to the kitchen where they were given orders. Some days Seamus served food to sneering Nietzscheans in their great hall, some days he served food to Nietzscheans in their private quarters. Cleaning was also part of their duties. With each day the exact same, Seamus feared that he would soon go mad.

Three weeks after he'd been taken in, Seamus was serving breakfast to the captain of the guards in his bedroom. The Nietzschean was no where in sight, and Seamus found himself wandering to the large window, staring outside. He had not seen the sky or sunlight in days. In some ways his new predicament was a lot like his stay at the lab, only here no one wanted to make friends. Not when your friend could be killed or tortured for the amusement of Nietzschean guests the day after you met them. The worst of it for him was the boredom though. Seamus had nothing to occupy his mind with. There was no chance of escape, and he didn't even have the will to find a way to get his chains off. So he stood and soaked up the weak rays of light that streamed through the crystal glass.

"What do you think you are doing?" The deep voice nearly caused Seamus to jump out of his skin. He turned around just in time to be backhanded to the floor. Marcus, the captain, was glowering down at him. Marcus was tall, well over six feet, and had broader shoulders than Seamus had ever seen. His skin was a dark tanned color; he was the picture of athleticism.

"Since when do you own the sun too? Last time I checked it wasn't a crime to catch a few rays." Seamus spat out blood, as he stood up, glaring up at the larger man. Marcus smiled and gripped Seamus' jaw in his hands. He stared at the kludge for a few moments, perhaps thinking how easy it would be to crush his skull, but he calmly replied.

"Forgive me for hitting you; I didn't realize you had such a pretty face, I'd hate to leave a scar on it." Seamus kneed the man in the stomach; he finally seemed to have woken from the trance his surroundings had put him in, and he didn't even care if he was killed. Marcus only laughed, having not even flinched at Seamus' blow. Instead he simply let go of Seamus, who was startled and off balance so that he fell against the bed.

"And I didn't think we had a spirited slave left anymore. What entertainment." Seamus was shaking, wondering what Marcus meant to do with him, but the Nietzschean only looked at Seamus curiously, then sat down at the small table laden with food and began to eat. "What is your name, kludge?" Marcus asked at last.

"Seamus Zelazany Harper," He replied defiantly, regaining his footing. Marcus laughed, appearing delighted.

"The Seamus Harper? Well well, the one who escaped the labs?" Seamus nodded slowly, confused. "And if you could do anything right now, what would you do?" Seamus stared at Marcus, wondering what game he was playing.

"I'd escape," He said snappishly, trying to cross his arms, but the chains prevented the movement, so he simply stood and glared at the Uber.

"Yes, of course. But after you escaped, what would you do? What would you dedicate your life to?" This was ridiculous; Seamus had half a mind to simply walk out and stop this nonsense, but instead he thought a moment before answering.

"I'd build things, and fix them." Marcus nodded slowly, an odd smile on his face. "Very good. You may leave me now," And with that, Marcus didn't look at Seamus, who left quickly, his mind spinning.

The next morning he had almost forgotten about the episode, but when he reported to the kitchen he was told that Captain Marcus had requested to have Seamus transferred as his personal slave. Finding himself again in the Nietzscheans quarters, staring up at him, Seamus felt more than a little nervous.

"Relax boy, I don't plan on harming you, not today at least." Seamus didn't move, and Marcus gestured to a table at the end of the room. Piled on it were tools and various gadgets. Seamus stared in disbelief at the table. "Build something. Anything, build whatever you want. Any tools or materials you need, I'll have them sent for," Seamus backed up against the door.

"What do you want?" He asked harshly, but Marcus only laughed.

"Don't ask questions. Just do as you're told." As Marcus cracked his fingers, Seamus nervously approached the table. Exploring the different tools, he found himself becoming excited. He could build a weapon, a weapon stronger than any of the Nietzscheans' and he'd disguise it somehow so it would appear harmless. Marcus sat and watched with amusement as Seamus quickly began to sort through the materials, his mind already far away from the small room and his captivity.

When the light grew too dim to see well, Marcus laid a hand on Seamus' shoulder, causing the younger man to jump.

"Enough for today. Fetch me dinner and then return to the slaves quarters," Disappointed, Seamus nodded and left. His excitement wasn't gone though, and he began counting the days it would take before he could break free.

Almost eagerly Seamus reported to Marcus' rooms the next morning. After Marcus ate breakfast, he asked Seamus to stand before him.

"Hold out your hand," Marcus was staring at Seamus in a way that made him feel ill.

"Why?" He asked stubbornly. Marcus scowled and grabbed Seamus' wrist.

"Don't ask questions," And with that, he broke Seamus' right pinky finger. The pain was excruciating. Seamus screamed, feeling his legs buckle, but Marcus held him up. "Be quiet. Now, return to your work," Gasping for breath, Seamus cradled his right finger and slowly returned to his tools, more determined than ever to escape. As he worked diligently, Marcus leaned back in a char and watched him. Carefully he studied the joy that was apparent on Seamus' face as he fit different pieces together. A few hours later, Marcus again sent Seamus away.

The routine remained the same; to Seamus' intense pain however, each morning after he'd worked on his machine for a few hours, Marcus would call him over and break another finger. Each time the pain seemed worse, and each time Seamus had to work slower, since he couldn't move his broken fingers. On the tenth day, Seamus bit his lip unit it bled and tried not to scream or cry as his left pinky was broken. Marcus told him to work, and angrily Seamus screamed at him,

"What's wrong with you?! How do you expect me to work?" Marcus only narrowed his eyes and jerked his head towards the table. Seamus couldn't help but cry furiously and silently as he struggled to use his tools. His machine was almost done. When it was finished it would be a large gun, able to kill the Nietzscheans silently. Bitterly, he decided to test it on Marcus first. After a few hours of working though, Marcus again called him over in an almost gentle voice. In his hand he held a sharp knife. Seamus almost hoped that Marcus intended to kill him as he slowly walked over to where the Captain stood.

"Now then slave, tell me; what is your machine to be?" Mumbling, Seamus looked down at the floor.

"A heater. It gets cold in the slaves' quarters." What happened next was so fast that Seamus at first didn't understand what had happened. Marcus reached out and grabbed Seamus' right hand, turning it so that the palm was facing up, and ran his knife through it. Seamus screamed, falling to the floor as Marcus turned the knife and then jerked it out. Feeling the muscles tear and the blood pouring out from his hand, Seamus was staring at it in disbelief.

"Now, what is it you are really making?" Crying and rocking slightly, Seamus held his hand close to him, staring at the blood falling to the floor.

"It's-it's a weapon," He at last gasped out. Marcus nodded as though he had known what Seamus was going to say. With his eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the pain, Seamus didn't see Marcus grab his other hand, but he felt the pain as Marcus again ran his knife through the palm, twisted it, and withdrew it. Placing his hand over Seamus' mouth to block out the sound of his scream, he leaned over and whispered.

"Know this: you are a slave. You belong to us; to me. You will never build or fix another 'gadget' again. Those hands of yours are useless now. There are medicines that could heal them, but you will never be able to get them, not now, not in fifty years. You are fit only to be a slave." Seamus tried to shake his head, eyes still shut, but Marcus tightened his grip on his mouth. "So tell me, do you accept that you are now nothing but a worthless slave? I would hate to leave scars on your fair face as well," Seamus was too numb with pain to even register the insult; he only nodded, willing to do anything to make the pain stop, but there was no end. Marcus let him lie on the floor, bleeding, as he broke Seamus' machine, tossing the delicate pieces onto the floor carelessly where some of them shattered. He then pulled Seamus, who was still silently screaming, to his feet and shoved him out of the room.

"Now, return to your quarters, slave." He shoved him to the floor of the hallway and shut the door. Tremulously, Seamus stood and made his way to the slaves' room, staring down at his broken and bleeding hands through eyes blurred with tears.

Months passed, and Seamus still did not heal completely. He lost more weight than he thought he had since slow slaves were not given full meals, and his hands turned purple and swollen from the broken fingers. Eventually they stopped bleeding, but left dark scars that made his hands look more like gloves than actual hands. Marcus had been right; he might as well have had rocks for hands; he couldn't move his fingers and the slightest movement of his hands caused agonizing pain. So it was that when he received the shock of his life, he almost didn't even care.

Some sort of illness had been spreading through the slaves, several had already died from it, and Seamus had come down with it quickly. The fever sent chills through his body and his head ached. Thoughts of suicide had occupied his mind more and more frequently. He knew that given the chance for a quick and fairly painless death, he would take it. Marcus still summoned him almost every day, and he'd sent word that he was receiving a guest. Seamus carried a tray with wine and glasses on it. He wished Marcus dined in the great hall, but the captain preferred his privacy. So Seamus made the long walk to the rooms where Marcus entertained his guests. Standing outside the door, he listened to Marcus talk as he poured the drinks and prepared the plates of food.

"I need at least three hundred more of those weapons, think you can find a few more shiploads?" A voice, Seamus assumed it was his guest, replied with a laugh.

"Sure, but I'll need more pay and more time if you want three hundred. I've only got two people running my ship, and I'm one of them." The voice sounded feminine, but tough, and Seamus would have smiled if he hadn't been so tired.

"I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. Ah, good, the wine is here. Have you ever tried this variety?" Seamus pushed the door open with his back, carrying the heavy tray with both his hands. Turning, Seamus kept his head bowed and set the tray on the table. He was about to leave when Marcus called out,

"Stay here Seamus, I might need you," So he nodded and turned back, hands clasped behind his back. Seamus couldn't see, but he was surprised to hear Marcus say,

"Haven't you seen a slave before? Come here Seamus; show my guest how obedient you are." Eyes still glued to the floor, Seamus walked over to Marcus, who stroked his arm fondly. Curious, Seamus looked up at Marcus' guest and then froze, staring in disbelief. The woman was a human, none other than Beka Valentine. She didn't appear to recognize Seamus at first, looking at his broken hands and body with disgust, before looking up at his face. Their eyes met and hers widened in recognition.

"Oh my god. Is that you-Seamus Harper?" Her voice was hesitant, and as he nodded Marcus suddenly gripped his arm tightly. His voice was falsely pleasant, sending shivers up Seamus' back as his fingers made little bruises on his arm. "What happened to you?" She was staring at him aghast now, pity evident in her eyes. Seamus knew she meant well, but he felt angry. Who was she to give him pity? Still, he hadn't seen a friendly face in so long...

"The magog attacked-"Seamus began to explain, but Marcus cursed under his breath and stood, opening the door and literally throwing Seamus out into the hallway. Seamus slammed into the stone wall and slid to the floor, dazed.

"Hey! What the hell are you-"Beka stood and shouted at Marcus, hands planted on her hips. Marcus turned to face her and said coldly,

"Slaves are not permitted to speak unless bidden. Now then, if we may return to our business-"But Beka shook her head angrily.

"I don't think so. I know that kid, not very well maybe, but he's the best engineer I've met-ever. He doesn't deserve to be a slave, so maybe you could add his freedom to the deal," She was glaring up at Marcus eye for eye, and Marcus suddenly smiled. Seamus' heart sank; it was the same smile Marcus had had when he'd broken Seamus' fingers.

"Seamus, you're no longer needed. Wait for me in your quarters." Seamus nodded curtly to Beka, and almost ran off. Marcus turned to Beka and laughed.

"Perhaps once he may have been a passable engineer, now however I assure you he is quite useless as anything more than a slave. Don't forget that you are a kludge on a planet where kludges are our property. Now, if you wish to return to your ship safely, we can resume our discussion in the morning. I trust by then you will have a respect for our...culture," Beka was about ready to kill Marcus, but he was too damn big. Wishing she had asked Bobby to accompany her, she scowled. At last she nodded and left. She couldn't help Seamus-or Harper, as he'd asked her to call him-by getting herself killed. She had a feeling that she'd already caused him trouble. Normally she looked out for herself and only herself, with the possible exception of Bobby, but now she had a strange desire to see Harper free, if only to spite that stuck up muscle headed Uber.

"Damn it all, I hate planets..." She muttered, fists clenched as she retrieved her gun from a guard and began the walk back to the Maru.

It was one of the worst beatings Seamus had had in a long while. When Marcus had finally been satisfied that he'd learned his lesson, Seamus couldn't breathe right and he wasn't sure he could stand. His only comfort was that in the morning the cook looked him over and declared him unfit for anything other than watering plants. This was a job always envied over, for although the Nietzscheans had a large courtyard with extensive gardens in the center of the Palace complex, it was the easiest task and the one where a kludge was least likely to encounter a Nietzschean. Later that night as he lay awake on his cot, squeezed between two other bodies, he wondered if what Beka had said about his skills were true. He also wondered if she would find a way to free him. Quickly he dismissed the idea; Beka had no good reason to risk her life for him. Dejectedly he sighed; there was no way out except death. Smiling weakly to himself, he remembered a phrase his father had once told to him...

'Give me liberty or give me death...'

It seemed as though Seamus would be stuck with the latter of the two choices.

)***(

"Well? What do you think?" Beka brushed away a strand of red hair from her face as she waited for her boyfriend's reply. She stood in front of him; he was leaning back in a chair by the kitchen counter.

"Let's see if I understand...we cheat the Ubers, trick 'em into giving us this whats-his-name—"

"Harper," Beka supplied.

"Harper, who's a slave, an' then we simply take off and never come back?"

"Yep, that's about it,"

"And the Nietzscheans'll hate it?"

"I think so,"

"Hell, sounds good to me," Bobby smiled up at Beka, who, as she grinned back, was reminded why she loved this guy. Don't worry Harper, we'll have you out of there in no time. A small voice added quietly, Provided nothing goes wrong, that is...

End of Chapter 3
Volume 2

Man...I wanted to finish this! But it's getting awfully long, isn't it? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, I'm sorry it took so long to write. Okay, so maybe it didn't need to be rated R, but my beta reader said I'd better do so just to be safe. Also, I wanted to get this chapter done because I'm going away for about a week and half, I wanted to give everyone plenty of time to read it, mull over it, and tell me how it was! (hint hint) lol, anyway, hope it wasn't too bad.

Au revoir!
-Luna Sealeaf