Undiscovered Territory
CHAPTER TWELVE: Degrees of Separation
They had never needed to do a cleanup such as this before, even back on the old planet, where many villages had been laid to ruins and were little more than above ground cemeteries. There had been no need to clean up corpses when there had been none, having been revived by a foreign set of Dragonballs. And there had been no time to restore the villages to their former lustre before they were wished away from the world and it was destroyed. No, a clean up like this had never before been necessary.
But now it was. The raid on the village had been taxing. Several buildings had large holes in the sides, punctured by ki blasts or bodies flying uncontrollably through the air. The ground was scorched in many areas, destroying grasses and the Ajisa plants that they worked so hard to cultivate. And the bodies of a few Nameks and a few aliens alike had marred the places where the ground had not been burned asunder.
As bad as these things were, perhaps the worst thing of all was the clear reason that the aliens had come here in the first place: to get the Dragonball. And despite the efforts of everyone in the village, even its best warriors, the aliens had succeeded in this objective. It reminded many quite terrifyingly of the last days of the old planet, and thoughts of doom trailed constantly in a few unwilling minds. They had not been upon this new world long, but they had become attached to it in the brief time that they had. They did not want to lose it. After everything that they had endured, they deserved so much better than that.
And so it was that they cleaned up the village with a cohesiveness and determination that was rare even for their people, who were largely an agreeable sort. They filled in whatever craters they could with dirt mined from the few nearby bluffs, set about upon repairs for the damaged houses. And of course, they cleaned up the bodies that had littered the ground. Those of their people were buried with due honour at the edge of the village, and those of the aliens were merely destroyed so that they would not stain the soil any further in death than they had in life.
One of the bodies, they had found to their surprise, was not dead at all. It might have appeared that from the start, from the pale visage that it had, but they had detected breath in its body. Some of the villagers wished to kill it, for it had done great harm to their people, but the Elder had commanded them to let it live. For what purpose, they did not quite know, but they were a loyal people and gave their Elder his due respect. Rather than kill the alien, they had taken it into the Elder's house. Only the village's warriors remained inside there, waiting to protect the Elder should the alien decide to get violent.
Muuri was much calmer than most in the village, though, and feared little in the way of retribution from this creature. Certainly, that did not mean that he was not glad of the warriors around him, but he was not one to easily give in to any fear that he felt. While he had never been a warrior, he had never been a coward, either. And besides, there were things that he wanted to know. This alien, when he awoke, would be able to answer a few questions, provided that he could persuade him.
The alien stirred a bit, slowly coming to wakefulness. If they'd had a healer present, then said healer could have treated the alien's injuries and brought him to consciousness sooner. But the only healer in the village was gone, and this alien would very likely know where and why. It would have been nice if Muuri had been able to convince himself that finding out about the children was the highest priority here, but he could not allow himself to be deluded in such a manner. The children were his greatest worry, of course, but the raid and its target concerned the whole of his people. Much as he hated to admit it, that was the most important thing to be gathering information on at this point.
Slowly, the alien drew himself into a sitting position, one hand pressed against his forehead. He shook his head a bit, obviously to dispel a bout of dizziness and finally lifted his gaze. His eyes widened and cast about, looking for some form of escape. But there were eight other people in here, Muuri and seven warriors, and the house was not all that large to begin with. His people failed to see the need for extravagance; every building was designed for a specific purpose, and was never larger than it needed to be for that purpose.
"As you can see, you won't be going anywhere," Muuri said as calmly and authoritatively as he could manage. "No one in here is out to harm you. All we want is for you to answer a few questions."
The alien frowned at him for a minute, then turned his thick lips up into a sinister looking smile. "I answer a few questions, and I won't be harmed." He laughed for a second. "Very funny, old slug. You've quite the sense of humour."
One of the warriors opened his mouth to chastise the alien, but Muuri raised a hand to halt him. This was his job, and he could handle it very well on his own. "I speak only the truth. It is up to you whether to believe it or not."
The alien's only response was to chuckle again.
Muuri frowned at this, but otherwise kept his composure. He would not allow this creature to rile him and get him to stray from his goal. "What are all of you doing here?" he asked firmly, noting that he now had the alien's full attention. "Why are you after the Dragonballs?"
"Oh, so that's what they're called, huh?" the alien returned, smirk still not fading from its face. "Funny. The commander never mentioned that."
Though he waited for more of a response, Muuri never got it; the alien fell silent once again. Muuri resisted the urge to growl in frustration. He'd known that this interrogation was not going to be easy, but he had not anticipated that he would so quickly lose his patience. "You didn't answer my question."
"No, I suppose that I didn't."
This drew a soft chuckle from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to Chiton, who was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, body in a meditative posture. A dark, strange presence even at the best of times, and he somehow seemed even creepier now, after the raid. He had been down for a brief time after the rest of the aliens had escaped, his ribcage partially caved in. There had actually been offers to help him to his feet; the unexpected strike on the village had reinforced the sense of community tenfold, and even those who were virtual outcasts were extended the same treatment as the most trusted gardener.
Chiton had refused the offer, of course, and had gotten up on his own. He had followed everyone in here after the alien had been brought in, and while Muuri found his presence as unnerving as anyone else, Chiton was a warrior, and had a right to be at such a meeting as this. There was no way that Muuri could have cast him out even if he had wanted to. And now, with this uncooperative alien making things difficult, the man was laughing.
But his gaze did not remain upon Chiton for long; his head whipped up at a startled cry from the alien, and he found that one of the warriors, namely Whelk, had grasped him under the chin and was now holding him up against the wall.
"That should be the last disrespectful remark you utter," the warrior said coldly. "I would advise you to answer the Elder's questions."
With this, Whelk loosed his grip and let the alien slide to the floor. Muuri gave him a sharp look – he had not wished for this interrogation to turn violent, even though he could understand the warrior's frustration. For his part, Whelk bowed in apology and stepped aside once more, allowing Muuri to resume.
After a long-suffering sigh, he did. "I will ask you again. What are you doing here, and why are you after the Dragonballs?"
The alien glared at Whelk for a moment, anger trying unsuccessfully to hide the hint of fear in his eyes, before turning his attention back to the question. This time, he answered it. "We didn't intend any harm upon the initial landing on this sad excuse for a planet," he began smartly; Muuri frowned at the tone, but did not interrupt. "As for those Dragonball things, you'd have to take that up with the commander. He didn't tell anyone why he wants those ridiculous artifacts."
Years ago, Muuri had not been very good at reading people; always, he would either trust too much or too little, and be forced to suffer the consequences. Rarely were these dire, but they had shaken his confidence and had made him determined to get better at it. And over the years, he had indeed gotten much better, something that served him well as the Great Elder.
And here, he was able to determine that the alien, despite his snide tone, was actually telling the truth. He was perhaps not as well informed as he had hoped. Still, other information could be gleaned from the man; ill- informed did not necessarily mean clueless.
"And where is this commander of yours, now?" Muuri continued after a moment.
"You would expect me to know that how, old slug?" For a second, the alien's eyes slid toward Chiton, with a vague, but angry look in them. "I spent the better part of the raid completely out of it. He could have gone anywhere and I wouldn't know."
Most in the room bristled at the arrogant tone, but Muuri kept his head. Much as he did not like the answer, it made an unfortunate amount of sense. "True enough. But I am sure that you would have some idea."
"Look, old slug . . ." the alien began, but Whelk stepped ahead warningly, and he stopped, shifting his tone and line of responding. "Back to the ship, most likely." The alien frowned darkly. "And don't be expecting me to tell you where that is."
Muuri sighed, softly, in the hopes that none surrounding him would hear it. This was progressing much too slowly, and it seemed that their prisoner was now less willing to talk than he had been at first. They needed the location of that ship . . .
"Elder," came a voice to his side, and Muuri looked up to see the tall warrior Limpet. "We may not need him to tell us that. Remember, we told you that Whelk had sensed something strange while we were out on the search. It could be worth investigating it again."
A snort came from the other side, where Whelk was standing with his arms folded regally. "Oh, yes, you say that now. But back then, it was that I was overstressed and out in the suns too long."
"All I'm saying is that . . ."
"Enough," Muuri cut in, giving each of the two a warning glance. This was the last thing they needed: an argument, and in front of a prisoner, no less. They needed to present a cohesive front.
After a moment, when he was satisfied that things had calmed down to a suitable level, Muuri went back to his interrogation. "This ship . . . Is that where the children are being held?" He could contain his concern for them no longer.
The alien shrugged. "Probably. I did hear that a couple of kids got brought in. Whether they're okay or not, I couldn't tell you." Pausing, he smirked terribly. "But they're not likely to be unscathed; most of us don't like kids."
A chill went through Muuri's spine. Visions of some terrible fate befalling Dende and Scargo filled his head, and he was barely able to keep his body from shuddering. It seemed that there was somewhat of a chance that the children were still alive, but the idea that they could be suffering was unfortunately alive as well.
He kept his face even; there was too much to absorb, here. Too much going on that had to be dealt with. "Find some place to keep him," Muuri said authoritatively, pointing at the alien. There had never been the need for imprisoning anyone in the lifetimes of many Nameks, but they could not simply allow this creature to walk free. "Whelk and Limpet, you stay here. There are things that we need to discuss."
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Dende did not know what exactly it was that he was huddled under, but it was some kind of protrusion from the wall. Whatever it was, it stuck out far enough that he could wedge himself underneath it and be completely hidden in shadow. He found it difficult to breathe in this hiding spot – at this, he almost cracked a smile; Elder Muuri's advice to play hide and seek seemed to pay off here – and not just because of all of the running that he had been doing previously. No, it was because the space was so cramped, even for him; he was rather small for his age, and usually fit into places very easily.
Biting his lip, Dende kept down a worried whimper. How was Scargo doing, in his absence? He never had been very good at taking care of himself, and Dende felt like a monster for suggesting that they separate, as much logical sense as the idea made. Perhaps he had been captured again already, and had endured some terrible injury in the process. He might need him to be there and protect him, to heal him, to . . .
If he'd had enough room, Dende would have shaken his head. Worrying about these things, while very natural, was not what he needed to be doing right now. He had to try his best to get out of here, and hope with all his heart that Scargo would somehow manage the same feat. And alternately, he had to hope that one of them escaped, and warned the village of what was happening. Preferably, if only one of them could successfully flee from this place, it should be Scargo. As the older brother, Dende should be the one to face the most dangerous situation. It wasn't any fun, but it was his responsibility. How he hated that, sometimes.
The red light had ceased to flash, so that much was easier on Dende's eyes at least. From his vantage point, he could see the occasional set of booted feet walking past his hiding spot. At one point, a pair of feet had stopped directly in front of him, and he held his breath as much as he could, fearful that he had been discovered. But after a moment, the pair of feet had moved on, and a slight relief had swept through his body.
But his body did not feel very good now. He hadn't much noticed it while he had been running, but his left leg ached supremely; the inside screamed its sickeningly hollow sensation, and his skin felt stretched and taut, like it was about to tear open once more. He would have been in deep trouble had that happened; even if he had still managed to find a hiding place, he would have left an obvious trail of blood right to it. That was something that he could certainly ill afford.
How long he had been under here, Dende could not tell, but it felt like a long while. The aches and cramps in his limbs were a painful testament to that. He longed to free himself from his self imposed confinement, but was loath to move. Although . . . It had been a while since he had seen any feet move past him. There was a possibility that it was safe enough now that he could continue on his way to finding an exit. And he had to take the chance that he could find a new hiding spot should the need arise.
Decision made, he carefully wriggled himself out from under the protrusion, grateful for a chance to stretch his pained limbs. But what happened next caused him to take back that thought almost immediately.
"Well, what have we here?"
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He had never hidden in a place like this before, but when there were no trees around, he had to improvise. Of course, he had already planned to stop hiding in trees before they had gotten captured, since Dende said they were too obvious a spot. So when he had seen an oversized bucket sitting on the ground, and heard the sounds of people coming from more than one direction, Scargo had quickly taken it in hand and flipped it over, covering himself. The bucket was the perfect size, big enough for him to sit without hunching over.
Still, he did hunch over, wrapping his arms around his legs as much as he could and trying to calm his heavy breathing. All of the running had taken a lot out of him, and he was actually grateful for Dende's decision for them to hide. The only part about it that he didn't like was that they had to be separated. But this was Dende's plan, and Scargo trusted him completely, even if he did not like it.
Besides, Scargo was sure that if he managed to get out, then Dende would, too. He was too smart to get caught like this again.
Voices echoed along the outside of the bucket, and for a second, Scargo put his hands to his ears at the magnified sound and the ringing of the metal. It hurt to hear these things, and because of the distortion, he was not quite able to make out what was being said. Hopefully, these people were giving up on finding him and Dende and then they would be able to escape. It was a nice thought, but not enough of one to cheer him up without his older brother around. Things always seemed a little more hopeless without Dende.
The voices stopped after a moment, and Scargo lowered his hands from his ears. He held his breath, silently waiting for any other sounds to arise that would force him to stay underneath the bucket. When no noise came for several minutes, he relaxed, letting his breath out in one big sigh.
Carefully, he lifted the bucket over his head and glanced about just in case. He saw no one coming. Thus reassured, he set the bucket aside and climbed to his feet. His steps slow and deliberate, he walked down the hall, wary at every turn that he might be discovered. As he walked, he passed by round bulbous windows which poured sunlight into the otherwise dull corridors. He stopped at one of these for a second, his eyes feasting upon the outside world that he had not long ago feared he might never see again.
He was so distracted by this in fact, that at first he didn't notice the reflection slowly growing in the glass until it was almost too late. With a gasp of fright, he spun around, back pressed against the glass. Standing before him, tall and angry and dripping wet for some reason was one of the aliens that had captured him and Dende. It was that creepy purple one with the flat black eyes.
"Well, isn't this a surprise?" the alien asked flatly.
Scargo's mouth worked, but no words could come out. His throat was dry from exhaustion and fear, unable to produce anything but a hoarse whimper. He glanced worriedly from side to side, searching for some sort of escape. Despite his efforts, he found none; the hallway was too narrow for him to make a break for it without getting caught. The only way out of this that he could conceive was to shatter the window somehow, but he knew that he didn't have the strength for it. If he wanted to get out of here, he had to be smart, just like Dende.
"Look, I'm in no mood to deal with a struggling, screaming brat like you," the alien said, an annoyed look on his face. "So how about I make this quick and easy for the both of us?"
For a second, Scargo was confused about what the alien meant. But this confusion was quickly allayed, as the alien raised its hand, and that hand began to radiate a bright, familiar glow.
CHAPTER TWELVE: Degrees of Separation
They had never needed to do a cleanup such as this before, even back on the old planet, where many villages had been laid to ruins and were little more than above ground cemeteries. There had been no need to clean up corpses when there had been none, having been revived by a foreign set of Dragonballs. And there had been no time to restore the villages to their former lustre before they were wished away from the world and it was destroyed. No, a clean up like this had never before been necessary.
But now it was. The raid on the village had been taxing. Several buildings had large holes in the sides, punctured by ki blasts or bodies flying uncontrollably through the air. The ground was scorched in many areas, destroying grasses and the Ajisa plants that they worked so hard to cultivate. And the bodies of a few Nameks and a few aliens alike had marred the places where the ground had not been burned asunder.
As bad as these things were, perhaps the worst thing of all was the clear reason that the aliens had come here in the first place: to get the Dragonball. And despite the efforts of everyone in the village, even its best warriors, the aliens had succeeded in this objective. It reminded many quite terrifyingly of the last days of the old planet, and thoughts of doom trailed constantly in a few unwilling minds. They had not been upon this new world long, but they had become attached to it in the brief time that they had. They did not want to lose it. After everything that they had endured, they deserved so much better than that.
And so it was that they cleaned up the village with a cohesiveness and determination that was rare even for their people, who were largely an agreeable sort. They filled in whatever craters they could with dirt mined from the few nearby bluffs, set about upon repairs for the damaged houses. And of course, they cleaned up the bodies that had littered the ground. Those of their people were buried with due honour at the edge of the village, and those of the aliens were merely destroyed so that they would not stain the soil any further in death than they had in life.
One of the bodies, they had found to their surprise, was not dead at all. It might have appeared that from the start, from the pale visage that it had, but they had detected breath in its body. Some of the villagers wished to kill it, for it had done great harm to their people, but the Elder had commanded them to let it live. For what purpose, they did not quite know, but they were a loyal people and gave their Elder his due respect. Rather than kill the alien, they had taken it into the Elder's house. Only the village's warriors remained inside there, waiting to protect the Elder should the alien decide to get violent.
Muuri was much calmer than most in the village, though, and feared little in the way of retribution from this creature. Certainly, that did not mean that he was not glad of the warriors around him, but he was not one to easily give in to any fear that he felt. While he had never been a warrior, he had never been a coward, either. And besides, there were things that he wanted to know. This alien, when he awoke, would be able to answer a few questions, provided that he could persuade him.
The alien stirred a bit, slowly coming to wakefulness. If they'd had a healer present, then said healer could have treated the alien's injuries and brought him to consciousness sooner. But the only healer in the village was gone, and this alien would very likely know where and why. It would have been nice if Muuri had been able to convince himself that finding out about the children was the highest priority here, but he could not allow himself to be deluded in such a manner. The children were his greatest worry, of course, but the raid and its target concerned the whole of his people. Much as he hated to admit it, that was the most important thing to be gathering information on at this point.
Slowly, the alien drew himself into a sitting position, one hand pressed against his forehead. He shook his head a bit, obviously to dispel a bout of dizziness and finally lifted his gaze. His eyes widened and cast about, looking for some form of escape. But there were eight other people in here, Muuri and seven warriors, and the house was not all that large to begin with. His people failed to see the need for extravagance; every building was designed for a specific purpose, and was never larger than it needed to be for that purpose.
"As you can see, you won't be going anywhere," Muuri said as calmly and authoritatively as he could manage. "No one in here is out to harm you. All we want is for you to answer a few questions."
The alien frowned at him for a minute, then turned his thick lips up into a sinister looking smile. "I answer a few questions, and I won't be harmed." He laughed for a second. "Very funny, old slug. You've quite the sense of humour."
One of the warriors opened his mouth to chastise the alien, but Muuri raised a hand to halt him. This was his job, and he could handle it very well on his own. "I speak only the truth. It is up to you whether to believe it or not."
The alien's only response was to chuckle again.
Muuri frowned at this, but otherwise kept his composure. He would not allow this creature to rile him and get him to stray from his goal. "What are all of you doing here?" he asked firmly, noting that he now had the alien's full attention. "Why are you after the Dragonballs?"
"Oh, so that's what they're called, huh?" the alien returned, smirk still not fading from its face. "Funny. The commander never mentioned that."
Though he waited for more of a response, Muuri never got it; the alien fell silent once again. Muuri resisted the urge to growl in frustration. He'd known that this interrogation was not going to be easy, but he had not anticipated that he would so quickly lose his patience. "You didn't answer my question."
"No, I suppose that I didn't."
This drew a soft chuckle from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to Chiton, who was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, body in a meditative posture. A dark, strange presence even at the best of times, and he somehow seemed even creepier now, after the raid. He had been down for a brief time after the rest of the aliens had escaped, his ribcage partially caved in. There had actually been offers to help him to his feet; the unexpected strike on the village had reinforced the sense of community tenfold, and even those who were virtual outcasts were extended the same treatment as the most trusted gardener.
Chiton had refused the offer, of course, and had gotten up on his own. He had followed everyone in here after the alien had been brought in, and while Muuri found his presence as unnerving as anyone else, Chiton was a warrior, and had a right to be at such a meeting as this. There was no way that Muuri could have cast him out even if he had wanted to. And now, with this uncooperative alien making things difficult, the man was laughing.
But his gaze did not remain upon Chiton for long; his head whipped up at a startled cry from the alien, and he found that one of the warriors, namely Whelk, had grasped him under the chin and was now holding him up against the wall.
"That should be the last disrespectful remark you utter," the warrior said coldly. "I would advise you to answer the Elder's questions."
With this, Whelk loosed his grip and let the alien slide to the floor. Muuri gave him a sharp look – he had not wished for this interrogation to turn violent, even though he could understand the warrior's frustration. For his part, Whelk bowed in apology and stepped aside once more, allowing Muuri to resume.
After a long-suffering sigh, he did. "I will ask you again. What are you doing here, and why are you after the Dragonballs?"
The alien glared at Whelk for a moment, anger trying unsuccessfully to hide the hint of fear in his eyes, before turning his attention back to the question. This time, he answered it. "We didn't intend any harm upon the initial landing on this sad excuse for a planet," he began smartly; Muuri frowned at the tone, but did not interrupt. "As for those Dragonball things, you'd have to take that up with the commander. He didn't tell anyone why he wants those ridiculous artifacts."
Years ago, Muuri had not been very good at reading people; always, he would either trust too much or too little, and be forced to suffer the consequences. Rarely were these dire, but they had shaken his confidence and had made him determined to get better at it. And over the years, he had indeed gotten much better, something that served him well as the Great Elder.
And here, he was able to determine that the alien, despite his snide tone, was actually telling the truth. He was perhaps not as well informed as he had hoped. Still, other information could be gleaned from the man; ill- informed did not necessarily mean clueless.
"And where is this commander of yours, now?" Muuri continued after a moment.
"You would expect me to know that how, old slug?" For a second, the alien's eyes slid toward Chiton, with a vague, but angry look in them. "I spent the better part of the raid completely out of it. He could have gone anywhere and I wouldn't know."
Most in the room bristled at the arrogant tone, but Muuri kept his head. Much as he did not like the answer, it made an unfortunate amount of sense. "True enough. But I am sure that you would have some idea."
"Look, old slug . . ." the alien began, but Whelk stepped ahead warningly, and he stopped, shifting his tone and line of responding. "Back to the ship, most likely." The alien frowned darkly. "And don't be expecting me to tell you where that is."
Muuri sighed, softly, in the hopes that none surrounding him would hear it. This was progressing much too slowly, and it seemed that their prisoner was now less willing to talk than he had been at first. They needed the location of that ship . . .
"Elder," came a voice to his side, and Muuri looked up to see the tall warrior Limpet. "We may not need him to tell us that. Remember, we told you that Whelk had sensed something strange while we were out on the search. It could be worth investigating it again."
A snort came from the other side, where Whelk was standing with his arms folded regally. "Oh, yes, you say that now. But back then, it was that I was overstressed and out in the suns too long."
"All I'm saying is that . . ."
"Enough," Muuri cut in, giving each of the two a warning glance. This was the last thing they needed: an argument, and in front of a prisoner, no less. They needed to present a cohesive front.
After a moment, when he was satisfied that things had calmed down to a suitable level, Muuri went back to his interrogation. "This ship . . . Is that where the children are being held?" He could contain his concern for them no longer.
The alien shrugged. "Probably. I did hear that a couple of kids got brought in. Whether they're okay or not, I couldn't tell you." Pausing, he smirked terribly. "But they're not likely to be unscathed; most of us don't like kids."
A chill went through Muuri's spine. Visions of some terrible fate befalling Dende and Scargo filled his head, and he was barely able to keep his body from shuddering. It seemed that there was somewhat of a chance that the children were still alive, but the idea that they could be suffering was unfortunately alive as well.
He kept his face even; there was too much to absorb, here. Too much going on that had to be dealt with. "Find some place to keep him," Muuri said authoritatively, pointing at the alien. There had never been the need for imprisoning anyone in the lifetimes of many Nameks, but they could not simply allow this creature to walk free. "Whelk and Limpet, you stay here. There are things that we need to discuss."
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Dende did not know what exactly it was that he was huddled under, but it was some kind of protrusion from the wall. Whatever it was, it stuck out far enough that he could wedge himself underneath it and be completely hidden in shadow. He found it difficult to breathe in this hiding spot – at this, he almost cracked a smile; Elder Muuri's advice to play hide and seek seemed to pay off here – and not just because of all of the running that he had been doing previously. No, it was because the space was so cramped, even for him; he was rather small for his age, and usually fit into places very easily.
Biting his lip, Dende kept down a worried whimper. How was Scargo doing, in his absence? He never had been very good at taking care of himself, and Dende felt like a monster for suggesting that they separate, as much logical sense as the idea made. Perhaps he had been captured again already, and had endured some terrible injury in the process. He might need him to be there and protect him, to heal him, to . . .
If he'd had enough room, Dende would have shaken his head. Worrying about these things, while very natural, was not what he needed to be doing right now. He had to try his best to get out of here, and hope with all his heart that Scargo would somehow manage the same feat. And alternately, he had to hope that one of them escaped, and warned the village of what was happening. Preferably, if only one of them could successfully flee from this place, it should be Scargo. As the older brother, Dende should be the one to face the most dangerous situation. It wasn't any fun, but it was his responsibility. How he hated that, sometimes.
The red light had ceased to flash, so that much was easier on Dende's eyes at least. From his vantage point, he could see the occasional set of booted feet walking past his hiding spot. At one point, a pair of feet had stopped directly in front of him, and he held his breath as much as he could, fearful that he had been discovered. But after a moment, the pair of feet had moved on, and a slight relief had swept through his body.
But his body did not feel very good now. He hadn't much noticed it while he had been running, but his left leg ached supremely; the inside screamed its sickeningly hollow sensation, and his skin felt stretched and taut, like it was about to tear open once more. He would have been in deep trouble had that happened; even if he had still managed to find a hiding place, he would have left an obvious trail of blood right to it. That was something that he could certainly ill afford.
How long he had been under here, Dende could not tell, but it felt like a long while. The aches and cramps in his limbs were a painful testament to that. He longed to free himself from his self imposed confinement, but was loath to move. Although . . . It had been a while since he had seen any feet move past him. There was a possibility that it was safe enough now that he could continue on his way to finding an exit. And he had to take the chance that he could find a new hiding spot should the need arise.
Decision made, he carefully wriggled himself out from under the protrusion, grateful for a chance to stretch his pained limbs. But what happened next caused him to take back that thought almost immediately.
"Well, what have we here?"
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He had never hidden in a place like this before, but when there were no trees around, he had to improvise. Of course, he had already planned to stop hiding in trees before they had gotten captured, since Dende said they were too obvious a spot. So when he had seen an oversized bucket sitting on the ground, and heard the sounds of people coming from more than one direction, Scargo had quickly taken it in hand and flipped it over, covering himself. The bucket was the perfect size, big enough for him to sit without hunching over.
Still, he did hunch over, wrapping his arms around his legs as much as he could and trying to calm his heavy breathing. All of the running had taken a lot out of him, and he was actually grateful for Dende's decision for them to hide. The only part about it that he didn't like was that they had to be separated. But this was Dende's plan, and Scargo trusted him completely, even if he did not like it.
Besides, Scargo was sure that if he managed to get out, then Dende would, too. He was too smart to get caught like this again.
Voices echoed along the outside of the bucket, and for a second, Scargo put his hands to his ears at the magnified sound and the ringing of the metal. It hurt to hear these things, and because of the distortion, he was not quite able to make out what was being said. Hopefully, these people were giving up on finding him and Dende and then they would be able to escape. It was a nice thought, but not enough of one to cheer him up without his older brother around. Things always seemed a little more hopeless without Dende.
The voices stopped after a moment, and Scargo lowered his hands from his ears. He held his breath, silently waiting for any other sounds to arise that would force him to stay underneath the bucket. When no noise came for several minutes, he relaxed, letting his breath out in one big sigh.
Carefully, he lifted the bucket over his head and glanced about just in case. He saw no one coming. Thus reassured, he set the bucket aside and climbed to his feet. His steps slow and deliberate, he walked down the hall, wary at every turn that he might be discovered. As he walked, he passed by round bulbous windows which poured sunlight into the otherwise dull corridors. He stopped at one of these for a second, his eyes feasting upon the outside world that he had not long ago feared he might never see again.
He was so distracted by this in fact, that at first he didn't notice the reflection slowly growing in the glass until it was almost too late. With a gasp of fright, he spun around, back pressed against the glass. Standing before him, tall and angry and dripping wet for some reason was one of the aliens that had captured him and Dende. It was that creepy purple one with the flat black eyes.
"Well, isn't this a surprise?" the alien asked flatly.
Scargo's mouth worked, but no words could come out. His throat was dry from exhaustion and fear, unable to produce anything but a hoarse whimper. He glanced worriedly from side to side, searching for some sort of escape. Despite his efforts, he found none; the hallway was too narrow for him to make a break for it without getting caught. The only way out of this that he could conceive was to shatter the window somehow, but he knew that he didn't have the strength for it. If he wanted to get out of here, he had to be smart, just like Dende.
"Look, I'm in no mood to deal with a struggling, screaming brat like you," the alien said, an annoyed look on his face. "So how about I make this quick and easy for the both of us?"
For a second, Scargo was confused about what the alien meant. But this confusion was quickly allayed, as the alien raised its hand, and that hand began to radiate a bright, familiar glow.