Before I forget yet again, I should point out to some of the more trusting among you, that you really shouldn't believe everything that these characters say or think. They can misinterpret things other characters say or do, and they can also say something in the heat of the moment that isn't necessarily ultimate truth. They can change their minds. They have their own points of view and don't always grasp someone else's. And they don't always understand themselves. This probably isn't always as obvious as I think it is, so forgive them their contradictions.

Note: A "lingua franca" is a language which develops out of the need for communication between people of various different native tongues, a rough-and-ready language used by travellers and traders.

Rayman © Ubisoft Entertainment
Everything else © Rayfan

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Chapter 11: The Tormenting of Elly, Part Three

It was early evening as Elly returned from a trip to pick up some food. Although he ate elsewhere during the day, Piranha still usually took his supper in the cabin. Quietly opening the door, she was startled to find him already there, over near the wall of the galley, lying flat on his stomach on the floor. For a moment she thought she saw a sleek, tiny head lifted up to sniff at a scrap of bread Piranha was holding out, as he slowly reached with a finger of his other hand to -

"No!" she screamed.

Piranha shot straight into the air like a startled cat. The long tail of a small animal vanished behind the cupboard. "Vermin!" Elly gasped. Without thinking, she snatched something heavy - one of Piranha's daggers, lying on the table - and flung it after the fleeing creature. As he touched down, Piranha somersaulted hastily backwards to get out of the way, and the knife point smacked past him into the cupboard. The blade stuck there vibrating, buried an inch into the wood. Landing in a sitting position, Piranha stared at the knife, then at Elly. She blushed, lowering her head.

"They - they're all over the ship," she croaked - her voice had dried up suddenly. "They're horrible pests, they eat up everything, they bite, they carry diseases... Piranha, they're much too dangerous to kill with your bare hands!"

Sitting on the floor, he was looking at her steadily, his head tilted a little. Was that the tiniest hint of a smile on his face?

She hurried over to the pantry to put away the food she had brought. Piranha was quickly scooping up some crumbs from the floor. Then Elly paused and turned towards him.

"Piranha - were you feeding it? On purpose?" The idea was so shocking that it burst out of her before her better judgement could put a clamp on it.

Piranha threw the crumbs away and retreated quickly towards the table. He didn't say anything. Elly didn't push it.

Since he was there already, Elly got out plates and cups and set the supper on the table. They ate without speaking. The momentary lightness had gone from Piranha's face, he looked grim as usual. After they had eaten, however, as they sat for a moment before cleaning up, he said, "Where'd you learn to throw like that, Elly?"

She winced. "I didn't learn. It's just - Well, what else would you do when you see one of those creatures?" Then blushed, as Piranha had done nothing of the sort.

"You ever hit one?"

"No, they're too fast."

His eyes focused on her with that look she dreaded, penetrating and impersonal as an x-ray. "What if you did hit one?"

She looked at her hands. "I think I'd feel awful. I hate those things, but really I - guess I only want to scare them off. I wish they would just stay away and leave us alone."

His impassive gaze stayed on her. "But what do you do," he said, "when something won't leave you alone? When some evil thing comes into your life and won't go away?"

She looked at him in perplexity and some apprehension. Piranha never talked to her like this. And what did he mean? There was a faint sardonic smile on his face, as though it had occurred to him that he could be talking about himself. Was he trying to trap her?

His hands flat on the table, he was regarding her closely. What was he thinking? Had she said the wrong thing? Though he had never, except that one night long ago, raised a hand against her, though he rarely even raised his voice, she lived in continual fear of the moment when he would lose control. Just behind those cold eyes, hot violence seethed like lava. She could see it in his gestures, his motions, she felt it in his silences. And though it didn't touch her, she knew it did come out at times against the pirates.

As she remained silent, he said - his voice so oddly soft in her increasingly panic-deafened ears -

"Elly. What would you do if somebody attacked you?"

She froze. Was he going to attack her? She stared at him, unable to muster a coherent thought.

He turned his gaze away from her, impatiently. Then back towards her again. "You've been attacked before, haven't you? Well, what if nobody's around to protect you? What would happen?" He waited, she didn't say anything.

He jumped to his feet and began to pace rapidly back and forth. He paused, swivelling once again towards her. "It could happen, you know. You - you're kind of a weak point. A vulnerability." He made an angry gesture. "I don't trust that Hacker. He gets ideas, and they're never good ones."

He took a few steps towards her. Involuntarily she tensed a little in her chair, gripping the sides of the seat, eyeing him with the look of a small edible creature confronting five-inch fangs.

He stopped. A small, bitter smile crept into his features. "You really hate me to look at you, don't you, Elly. You hate it when I talk to you." She didn't stir. "Or let's just get straight to the point and say you hate me."

She was too terrified to do anything but stare.

He turned away and began to pace again, slowly this time, rather meditatively.

Elly didn't move. Piranha's moods were always volatile, and right now she felt she was clinging to the edge of a cliff - and the least twitch might set off an avalanche. He kept his face averted from her. His eyes were lowered, half-shut. He was still slowly crossing and recrossing the floor, moving in a slow panther-like stalk that made her blood freeze.

As he paced, he began muttering. It wasn't clear whether he was talking to her or to himself. " 'Always had a streak of the pirate,' he says. Hah! If I did, would I feel like a - bottled genie? Trapped for life in this stifling ship. How can anyone live here? Repelled by everything around you, never wanting to - touch anything, or to have to look at the things in front of you... revolted to be drinking this water, eating this food, breathing this air ... always surrounded by enemies... the constant pressure of - hating and being hated." He stopped, his eyes staring at something invisible, or nothing. "I dream of it sometimes, the relief... of letting go, giving in, just giving in at last, not having to fight it anymore... Just letting it happen... Letting the bastard win. It's what he's counting on, I know he is.

"He's so sure of himself, that smug, smirking, manipulating -" He squeezed shut his eyes, and with alarm Elly saw his hands slowly clench into fists. He went on, still in a quiet tone, though a low growl vibrated deep within it. "To walk into that overstuffed lair of his and hear - oh, my god, it was as though a magical being laid its hands on me in forgiveness. And then ripped me in half."

He glanced at her. She couldn't help quailing, she had no idea what he was talking about. He whirled away impatiently and began to stride up and down the room with increasing rage.

"Him, listening to music! That incredible music! And making snide comments about biological beings. As if he were really alive. Him, bathing in that - that liquid emotion and then acting as though feeling it was something contemptible. What can he want with music? What use is it to him? Can he enslave it? Sell it? Torture it? He's happy enough to smash anything else he can't make a profit from!

"That grasping, murdering, artificial brute! Pretending to be a living being! He's just something somebody manufactured, created for some purpose - a tool, a puppet ..." His voice trailed away. He swallowed. "He can't have any ... desires, or natural feelings, or..." There was an alarming sound in his voice, like a sob, like tears. "He's not a real person. How can he have real - freedom? ... Oh, my god."

He paused, turning his volcanic glare towards her.

But it wasn't a glare. It was a look of pure terror.

She stared at him in panic. Whatever incomprehensible thing he was seeking at that moment, she didn't have it to offer him. She was frozen, she couldn't turn away or hide her face, she couldn't disguise how hopelessly inept she was.

His eyes flicked away. He skittered across the room and halted when he reached the wall, like an automaton. He put a hand against it, lowering his head.

He had been talking crazy nonsense. She had seen the desperation in his face, in his eyes, heard it in his voice. He was standing still now, breathing in slow gasps that shook his body. She didn't understand any of it. The only thing she was certain of was that the craziness in him was coming closer and closer to the surface, and when it ignited, she would be done for. There was only one thing that might work, and it wouldn't work.

It was hopeless, but what else could she do? What else was she for? It was the only thing that might distract that growing insanity, that might give her some protection. Now, while he had quieted for the moment.

Stumbling, she slid out of her chair and crept up to him. Her eyes were filling with tears. She was throwing herself into an abyss. It was hopeless. He would probably kill her then and there.

She stood beside him. She couldn't breathe. He turned towards her, his brow wrinkling. Tears sparkled on her cheeks now.

He was leaning against the wall as though he were almost as weak on his feet as she was on hers. He looked at her with disbelief. "Elly?" he said.

She swallowed. She took hold of his free hand, and he started a little, turning more towards her.

"Elly," he said, softly, "You mean you don't-"

Her arm was trembling. She pulled his hand closer, tried to press it against her body.

And he yanked it away from her, his eyes blazing.

"Damn it, are you insane? Don't do that!"

She cowered almost to the floor, covered her face.

His voice sounded half-choked. "Oh, god, Elly, why? Why do you treat me like this? And yourself? Why the hell?"

She moaned, "I'm sorry - I thought - it's - it's to calm down the men-"

There was silence. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

After a moment, he whispered, "Oh, my god, how I hate this place. Oh my god, how I hate this place. Everything and everyone in it. Oh, my god-"

She crouched there, longing with every cell in her body only to be able to melt into the floor and disappear.

He glared down at her. "It's not your fault, is it? You don't know any better, do you? But by all the gods on all the planets, Elly, don't you have any self-respect? None at all? And what must you take me for?"

She shivered. He growled.

"Calming down the men. Who taught you that? Him? You think I'm like him, don't you? In fact, you think I am him. Don't you?"

She didn't stir, only held still with her hands over her face.

And a palpable gust of rage swept over him. He grabbed her arms, yanked her to her feet. She averted her face, shaking all over, but made no sound, no resistance.

He snarled at her. "Look at me, can't you? Look at me! What, can't face me? Don't like the Boss's eyes on you? Goddam it, Elly, will you look me in the face for once?"

Abruptly he flung her staggering away from him, swung his body around and with a resounding crack slammed a fist against the wall. Elly groaned, cringing away. That blow had split the wood nearly from the floor to the ceiling, and a large splintered dent was bashed into the thick panel around where his fist had struck.

He stood suspended for another moment, nervously flexing his hands. He looked wild, ready to crash the other fist against the wall, or madly throw his whole body against it, or perhaps turn his violence in some other direction...

Then without a glance at her he spun around, tore across the room and out the door.

Elly stood where she was, gasping. Her eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, as though that black fireball might magically explode from the shadows.

She'd never seen him so angry. She'd never made him so angry. She'd finally done it, overstepped some unknown line, somehow done something unforgivable. What would he do to her when he came back? He hated everyone, everything... and he was capable of anything.

She looked at her cloak, hanging by the door. The ship was a huge place, but there was nowhere safe from prying eyes, from tattling mouths, from big groping hands. If she left without permission, she was a runaway, she was fair game, it would be open season... She shivered. But it was almost curfew, and who would know she didn't have permission, if she hurried, if she hurried... Or perhaps...

There was only one place where no one would tell, where she might be absorbed in the crowd, comforted for a while. They couldn't protect her, but - She straightened. It was hopeless, she knew that, but ... at least she'd see a few friendly faces before death came for her in some unimaginably savage form.

Piranha was charging through the ship's halls, leaving a swath of pale, rather shaky crewmen behind him. Though he didn't look directly at anyone, his mere presence was almost enough to stop the average heart beating. Some swore that they could see a black glow emanating from him, like a negation of light, darkening the whole area. Regardless of that, it was certain that very few pirates missed their curfew that evening. The corridors emptied magically even before the lights began to dim.

He made his way to the top level of the ship, the tenth, where the entrance to the engine room was - the other half of that level being reserved for the quarters of the robot officers and crew - and he pushed past the startled guard and swept into the huge space, empty except for the enormous hulks of the engine casings. He threw off his coat, hat, and his metal-filled vest, and proceeded to spend the better part of the next two hours tearing up and down and all over the basket-shaped energy grid like a stir-crazy monkey, not pausing for a moment, silent save for the occasional snarl when a particularly high-powered discharge snapped at him.

He slowed down finally, panting, and descended. He crouched on the floor until his breathing calmed. He wiped the sweat from his face. Then he stood up, put his things back on, and walked out of there.

And for several hours more he paced through the long halls of the ship, as he had on many other nights. He wandered in and out of different areas, now all empty except for night guards and a few other attendants. He worked his way from the top down: the navigational and war-room level and administrative sections; the recreational areas, otherwise known as the officers' and crewmen's bars, now securely locked and gated for the night; the mess halls, occupied only by a few small automatons finishing the daily cleaning-up; the several levels of officers' and men's dormitories, all dark and quiet; the gigantic kitchens; finally arriving back at the old section, on the fifth level. He didn't go down to the lower decks, where the slave quarters and other things were. For a while he walked through the old section, contemplating its wooden panels and branched wall-lamps, so different from the variety of metal bulkheads and ceiling lights in the rest of the ship.

And finally arrived at his own door. It was about time, he noted, that they moved to another cabin. He'd been here too long, someone might get a fix on him. And they needed more escape routes, safer locations ... So much he had been neglecting. It was time to take care of a number of neglected things.

He unlocked the door and went in. "Elly," he said. And felt instantly that the room was empty.

He searched quickly. He went to Elly's bed, to his own, to the bathroom, and every dim corner. Nothing was missing, except for Elly's cloak - and Elly herself. He stood in the middle of the room and looked around in astonishment.

"Well, what do you know," he said. "Didn't think she had it in her."

It wouldn't be long till morning. He needed to track her down before the crew got active again. People were accustomed to see Elly making brief trips about the ship, but it wasn't a great idea for her to be aimlessly wandering the halls. Where, in a place this size, could he possibly find her?

His mind boiling with possible places to look, he dashed out of the cabin and headed for the elevator. He paused at the exit of the old section to speak to one of Bubo's guards.

"Did you see Elly go out?"

The guard looked at him apprehensively. "Uh... she went out, First Mate? I didn't see her. I swear I was awake the whole time, but I didn't see nothing. Maybe she's in one of the cabins?"

Piranha raced back into the old section.

He strode through the hall back towards his cabin. Searching through all these rooms would take forever. If she was even there. But where else could she have gone without being seen? Where...

He stopped and smacked his forehead. Where? Where else?

He raced back to the cabin, threw off his clothes and put on a long, coarse grey shirt that hung loosely on him, partly obscuring his lack of limbs. He tied it with a belt. It didn't disguise him in the least, of course, but it did give him a less intimidating look than his usual clothing, and it minimized the alienness of his body. He paused for a moment, seeing his black clothes heaped on the floor, and sighed.

Then he jumped up and crawled into the vent system. He sighed again - this time with exasperation. He hadn't even noticed before that the vent was open.

For somebody to emerge from the vent at all was unheard of enough, but for it to happen twice in one night was ten times as alarming. A stir rippled through the whole vast space of the slave quarters. Slaves who had fallen back to sleep after the first intrusion were woken by others, they gathered around the small being who was standing there dusting himself off. They stared at him, looked perplexed at each other. First a slave escaping into the slave quarters, to be rapidly hidden from the guards, and now -

"F-First Mate?" an old man said, hesitantly.

Piranha looked at him sharply. "Yes," he said. He waved away a couple of guards who had also become interested, then looked around the crowd. "Does anyone know where Elly is?"

The slaves, coming from many different societies on many planets, all spoke different tongues, but they had worked out a sort of speech that was a blend of many languages mashed together with a stripped-down version of the galactic lingua franca used by the pirates and other interplanetary travellers. Except for the small number of slaves who worked at complicated tasks with the pirates, most of them knew only a few phrases of Galactic. And it was often convenient for them not to know even that much. They gave him blank looks, futile gestures.

Piranha was watching them carefully. He set off in a direction that caused a few startled gasps among the crowd. (It was simply the direction that the fewest of them were looking in, that many of their bodies were blocking or slightly averted from.)

The ship contained two separate levels of slave quarters, each one an enormous area crowded with thousands of people, not to mention that around the perimeter of each level were hundreds of small closed-off rooms, some of which were used to house ill or very young or very old slaves. Elly could be anywhere. At most he had the general hint of a direction.

He moved slowly forward, peering through the dim light, taking care not to trip over or step on the many sleeping bodies scattered about. He was followed by a number of slaves out of curiosity or apprehension, while others who were awake studiously avoided meeting his glance. He didn't try to force any of them to talk to him but went on picking his way across the floor, examining everything closely.

Now and then he did stop and speak to a man or woman who didn't shy off from him too much. Some of them knew who he was, and if they didn't, they were wary of his strange appearance; they answered only in monosyllables if at all. He moved on.

He caught sight of a slight, small form pushing itself into a sitting position on the floor - much too pale in the skin and hair to be Elly, but vaguely familiar. It was a young man who had been sleeping among some others apparently of his own kind. The dark eyes in his light face were looking steadily at Piranha with an expression impossible to make out in the poor light.

Piranha stopped, looking distractedly back at him. Then he noticed a young child standing only a few paces away. A black-haired, ragged little boy, grinning up at him, almost ready to burst with excitement. Piranha smiled.

Disregarding the surrounding adults who were inconspicuously attempting to sidle in front of the boy or edge him away, Piranha came up close to him and crouched down so their faces were on a level. He smiled more, looking the boy in the eyes. The little boy looked confidently back at him.

"Hi," Piranha said. "What's your name?"

The little boy grinned. "Dotillo."

"Oh yeah? Mine's Piranha."

The boy poked a finger at Piranha's sides. He at least seemed to have no problem with the language. Nor with speaking to the First Mate. "Where are your arms?"

"Don't have any."

The little boy laughed delightedly. "You look funny!"

Piranha grinned. "You're right! Hey, Dotillo - do you know Elly?"

Dotillo put on a triumphantly secretive look.

"Do you know where she is?"

The little boy nodded. (Surrounding adults silently winced.)

Piranha stood up. "How fast d'you think you can take me to her?"

The adults were turning away despairingly. They didn't try to interfere. The little boy set off across the room at a run, Piranha close behind.

It wasn't that far. The boy led Piranha across the floor on a winding trail around many groups of slaves, then into the corridor along the side of the room and finally to a door. Slaves watched glumly but kept their distance.

The door was closed. Piranha knocked politely. After a moment, the door opened.

The darkened room was full of children, mostly asleep. There were also a number of women, some obviously pregnant, sitting or lying on the floor. All of them had their faces concealed by shawls or cloaks.

"Let me in, please," said Piranha to the woman who'd opened the door.

Sadly she stood aside. He paused, however, to crouch down and quickly hug Dotillo. The little boy hugged him back with enthusiasm, as though he'd known Piranha all his life. Piranha held onto him for a moment. Then he got up, put his hand briefly on the child's head, and walked cautiously into the room, avoiding with some difficulty the sprawling arms and legs of sleeping toddlers.

He walked straight up to the smallest adult in the room, lying wrapped in a cloak, apparently asleep on the floor. Her back was to him. "Elly," he said quietly.

Slowly she turned over and peered confusedly up into his face. Waking out of an exhausted sleep. Or perhaps she'd been crying. Her face paled, but showed no emotion otherwise. Without hesitation she got to her feet. She gazed at him with some perplexity, perhaps because of his clothing; and with the composure of complete despair.

He took her hand as though she were a child herself. "Come on, Elly."

He led her out of the room and then at a quick pace across the floor to the exit, as she scrambled awkwardly after. The slaves stood aside as they passed. Some lowered their heads solemnly, as if to show respect for a prisoner going to execution.

After leading her without a word through the dark corridors and up a flight of stairs, he arrived at the cabin. At the threshold, she balked a little at being dragged back in, but he paid no attention. He opened the door and pulled her through it. Then he walked her over to her chair and sat her down. Stunned, she stared at him. He went around to the other side of the table and sat in his own chair.

"Elly," he said, quietly, as though picking up a briefly interrupted conversation. "Look. You have to get over being terrified of me. It drives me crazy. Maybe you have no idea how it feels to be treated that way, as if I were a mindless beast about to devour you. Or a - or an evil god demanding virgin sacrifice."

She gaped. How could she be doing anything to him?

"I'm not Anaconda, you know. I don't like being grovelled to. And I don't get any kick out of being treated like a - like a slaveowner. I can't stand that."

She watched him closely, tensing at every slight move of his body and hands. She couldn't understand why he hadn't torn her apart the moment they came through the door. What was he waiting for?

He leaned back a little in his chair, those dark eyes half-shut, a hint of bitterness in them. "I can understand if you hate me. I know I'm very - impatient. It's so hard for me to - to unwind much. I know it hasn't been easy on you. But regardless of that, you have got to get it through your head that I'm not your enemy. And... I keep thinking... I do have enemies on this ship. That means you do, too. I think a lot about that." He leaned forward again, his eyes fixing sharply on her. She shrank back. "In short, Elly... We need to toughen you up."

She straightened with a jolt. "What?"

That bright black gaze glinted with irony. "That's right. We're going to strengthen our weak points." A wry, faintly mischievous smile crossed his face.

"I'm going to teach you to fight," he said.

At first she didn't even grasp what he'd said, it was so unconnected to reality.

He smiled again, that sardonic little smile, and got out of his chair. "We might as well start now, come on."

"Wh-what?" she stuttered. Then it hit her. "Fight?"

"I've been thinking about what to teach you," he went on serenely. "Just how does a solid-body fight? I think you can learn something like what I figured out when I was a kid. How to deal with stupid, oversized jerks. That's what you need."

She couldn't stir from her chair, she was paralyzed. This was worse than being straightforwardly murdered. "I can't. I can't fight."

"I know. That's why I'm going to teach you."

"Piranha. I can't. Oh, help - please, please, Piranha, no, I can't."

He took hold of her arm. His smile was terrifying to her. Particularly when, as he continued to look into her face, the smile widened slightly to show his teeth.

[End of Part 3]