Chapter 4: Games

Bob sat on the bench and steadied his breathing. He had looked all around the cell for a way to escape, but so far had found nothing that would offer even a remote possibility. The door was locked, the bars were too close together, there were no openings in the floor or ceiling from vents, and the chute he traveled down was too smooth and set at too steep an angle for him to get a secure hold on to climb.

Admitting temporary defeat on the escape plan, he redirected his attention to his hand. He'd found small scraps of cloth and small pieces of wood that he managed to make about the same size as his finger. He simply needed to reset the break then bandage the wounds.

He leaned his head back against the wall, his right hand holding his left, and his fingers reaching for the damaged digit. Bob took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and-

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Gah!" Bob jumped over to the side, startled by the soft voice and the penetrating eyes that stared at him through the bars. "Don't do that!"

"Don't do what?" the sprite challenged as he unlocked the cell and stepped inside. "Don't stop you from making things worse, or don't question your stupidity when you're full speed ahead?"

"There's nothing stupid about trying to fix myself," Bob muttered, still cradling his left hand.

"There is when you're not doing it right. Move over and let me look at it." The older male nearly shoved Bob off the bench, dropped a bag on the floor, and started looking at Bob's hand. "Hmm, clean break, easy fix. And that cut has pretty much stopped bleeding, but we'll want to clean that before it gets infected."

As the sprite examined Bob's hand, Bob examined him. He was older than the others he had seen onboard, by several hours. His attitude was rough around the edges, but friendly and welcoming to the other treatment he'd been privileged to so far. His hair was white-silver, and pulled back into a long tail at the back. He had a small, well trimmed beard, also silver-white, and his skin was a pale orange. He wasn't remarkably tall, and his build was athletic with a few extra pounds. Unlike the other members of the crew, he was the only one who didn't seem to carry a weapon. The one characteristic that made him so different was his eyes, which were soft purple in color, but full of warmth and actual concern that Bob hadn't seen from the other mercenaries.

Snap! Bob's world went black for a moment, the pain from his finger being set nearly sending his stomach contents onto the floor. Nanoseconds later, the pain and sudden dizziness passed as the sprite finished binding his last two fingers together in a splint. Moments later, his hand was wrapped in a clean white bandage, and the sprite set to work checking over the rest of the prisoner.

"Any other pains troubling you?"

Bob looked at the sprite through narrowed eyes in disbelief. The sprite waited patiently for Bob to continue. "Yeah, now that you mention it," Bob remarked dryly, "I have a real pain in my ASCII named your fearless leader, who's giving me trouble getting home. Can you fix that for me?"

The sprite blinked and reached into his bag. Shaking out something from a white container, he said, "Take two and call me in the morning."

"These are not going to get me home!" Bob argued, not amused by the sprite's response.

"No," the sprite shrugged, "but they'll help you rest, and you can visit your home in your dreams. That's what we all do." He situated his bag and started to stand.

Bob stared at the pills then thought about what the sprite said, picking up something odd in his tone. "Where is home for these sprites?"

"The Escape is our home. Our systems are no longer inhabitable, and so we live here." The older sprite locked the cell as he walked out.

"Wait! Who are you?"

A voice called back to him from the darkened passageway, "A friend."

/

Metal slammed against metal, and Bob's head shot up as he awoke from his troubled slumber on the bench. His vision was blurry as he made out a large dark shadow blocking the light coming in from the cell door. Before he could react, his hands were shackled quickly followed by his ankles, and he was yanked off the bench to stand on unsteady feet.

"Rise and shine, Guardian."

"Morning to you, too, Tower," Bob replied, his voice rough from sleep. He said nothing more as he was dragged down the hallway and down two flights of stairs to a large storage area. There, two other sprites were working along the wall, and Bob was pushed their way.

"Centrino, Dolby, here's your new trainee. Break him in." Tower began back up the stairs.

"Hey, I requested a breakfast when I booked this place!"

Tower only laughed. "You overslept," his voice drifted down from the next deck.

"Great," Bob muttered, turning his attention to his companions. They stared at him, their eyes narrowed and mouths tight. They didn't seem quite sure what to do with him.

Never one for awkward silences, Bob flashed his best smile and greeted them.

The one on the left, a dark tanned male of exceptional build, grunted back at him, and shot an amused glance at the sprite on his left. "Well, Dolby, they weren't kidding when they said he was a strange one."

Dolby nodded. "Yup, this is gonna be interestin'." Bright yellow in color, taller than Bob and about as muscular, Dobly grabbed a repair tool and tossed it at Bob. "You know how to weld?"

Bob nodded. "I'm much better at repairing tears, though."

"The ship don't have tears, she's got cracks." He pointed to a long black line along the floor. "Web damage, breaks through the outer hull. We fix it. Now you fix it." He tossed him a pair of goggles. "So git hot."

Centrino and Dolby went back to their repairs, leaving Bob standing unobserved. Bob's initial reaction was to turn and bolt, to attempt escape, but he hesitated. The two sprites began talking about some brawl that had occurred in the last system, and gave little acknowledgement to him. He realized he had two options: attempt to escape when he didn't know the layout of the ship, didn't know the number of sprites on board, and didn't know the consequences of attempted escape, or he could work alongside these sprites and try to gain as much knowledge about his environment as possible.

The latter would fall in more with a plan of attack. That really wasn't his style, and as he looked at the welding tool in his hands, he realized he didn't have time for a plan. With a shrug, he confirmed no one else was with them, broke off the battery charge, stepped up between the two sprites, and waved the tool in front of their faces. When they turned back to him, he gave them a look of helplessness.

"I can't seem to turn the thing on," he said with perfect innocence. When both looked closely at the tool, he accidentally dropped it. "Oops!" As the two sprites reached for it, their heads came close together. With a little nudge from Bob, their heads cracked against each other, and both collapsed to the floor in instant slumber. Bob quickly grabbed one of their tools, set the mending torch to its highest setting, and proceeded to cut through his bonds.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Bob muttered when he searched the downed sprites to find neither had any weapons. Scanning the room, he found a piece of pipe that would have to serve as a bat until he could find something better. He began climbing the stairs, his ears attuned for any sounds from higher decks. At the top, he found several doors along the hall, and guessed they were cabins for sleeping quarters. He continued up, pausing at the sounds of laughter. It resonated from a large area to the right of the stairs, and Bob peaked around the corner.

The room was large and open, with several tables set near the middle. Crates and boxes were stacked along the walls, and there was a serving area farthest from his spot. Several sprites were gathered around three of the tables, cheering on a game Bob couldn't see. It appeared to Bob that he had found the dinning hall. The problem presented itself in getting up the next flight of stairs without being spotted. From his hiding place, Bob could not see any sprite whose line of vision was facing the stairs, but one glance towards the stairs could give him away.

Suddenly the room roared with laughter and cheering, and Bob took the chance to jump up to the next stairwell, making his footfalls as light as possible, though he doubted anyone would hear him over the noise of the game. At the top, he paused again to catch his breath, and to listen. A quick glance revealed another hallway, this one empty, but also familiar. Off to the left, at the end, was Blackadder's quarters. To the right was where his shuttle was retrieved. If they were able to beam him onboard, the controls must have been there.

At the beginning seemed as good a place as any to start, so he moved cautiously in that direction. He could see no other doors along the way, until he came to one at the end, partially open. On the other side he could see his shuttle, now upright in a corner. Silently moving into the room, he could see a control board with navigational readings, and communication equipment. However, this did not appear to be the main control room, as he could see no means of steering the ship. He could make out a tractor beam control board, verifying how they captured him.

While all of this was well and good, it did nothing to help Bob figure out a means of escape. He moved to the control board, hoping to pull up some information on escape pods or defense vessels that he could use to abandon ship-'There!' Bob smiled as he pulled up a lifeboat roster, showing the locations of each of the six vessels. The closest was one deck up, on the port side. Bob was currently near the aft of the ship, on the starboard side. He had to travel maybe 10 meters, and with luck, he would be off the ship.

Where he would go from there was another story. But he would deal with that as it came.

Bob shut down the file with the escape pod info, and slowly made his way out of the room in the direction of the stairs. Once again, luck was on his side as he made it to the stairs and climbed up. From the diagram, he knew he needed to go right and then left two doors down, and from there he entered the small launch pad that housed the lifeboat.

"Huh," he whispered as he the door. "That was easy." He set down his pipe at the control panel, programming the release of the life boat in 3 nanos. As the timer counted down, Bob moved to the lifeboat. It was large enough to accommodate at least 20 sprites, and was designed with a compartment for food, water, spare clothing upgrades, and a small propulsion system to get the craft moving towards civilization.

Opening the pressure door to enter the boat, he had a sudden flashback of Dot, during a game they won together when they had their large and lasting fight. It was Starship Alcatraz, and Dot had barely managed to get the keycard from the escaped prisoner before the self-destruct reached zero. Bob frowned. Why would he think about that now?

He stepped inside and turned to close the hatch when he felt the presence in the room. Too late he turned to block the strike to his head, and he fell to the metal floor, seeing a flash of stars. 'Trap!' Bob's mind shouted uselessly, just like Dot used in that game.

He regained his bearings quickly enough to see the large object flying down at him, and he brought his arms up to block. Catching the baton between his crossed wrists, he kicked his leg out and tripped the sprite. Bob had a moment to recognize the sprite as the white bald one from yester-second before he was up and out the door, diving for the pipe he left at the control board.

It wasn't there.

"Looking for this?"

Bob spun around to see Centrino, Dolby, and the tall, gangly sprite leaning against the back wall. Centrino was spinning the pipe in his hands. "Well, I was, but I don't think I'm going to need it anymore."

"Yup," Dolby agreed, stepping forward. The three sprites approached from the front, and the fourth sprite was beginning to come out of the lifeboat. Dolby reached his hand out to grab Bob, and Bob feinted to the left, swinging a strong left hook into Dolby's jaw. The yellow sprite toppled backwards into Centrino, who fell into the wall.

This left the tall one who charged Bob, his fist pulled back to deliver a crushing blow with his metal knuckles. Stepping straight into him and turning his body, Bob grabbed the sprite's arm and used the momentum of his punch to flip him into the fourth sprite, causing both mercenaries to fall back into the lifeboat.

Bob's eyes caught the timer counting down to zero. If he wanted to escape, he had enough time to get into the life raft and close the door, but the mercenaries would be left at the mercy of the web's atmosphere upon its launch. His Guardian protocol kicked into overdrive, and he dove for the panel, frantically typing to abort the countdown.

"Launch aborted. Counter reset." Bob let out his breath at the comforting confirmation of the computer before his arms were seized and his hands pulled behind his back.

"It ain't nice to leave wit'out saying goodbye," Dolby mocked.

"Goodbye!" Bob replied cheerfully as he knocked his head back into Dolby's, stunning the sprite long enough for Bob to get his feet on the control board and push them both back onto the floor. Dolby threw out his arms to break his fall, and Bob rolled off him just as 'Knuckles' drove a punch down toward Bob, hitting Dolby's stomach instead.

Bob punched 'Knuckles' across the face, used a side block against Centrino as he attacked from the right, then flipped him down on top of Dolby as he tried to rise. Centrino's legs came down across the top of 'Knuckles' back, driving him back to the floor as well. Bob half turned at the shout that came from behind, and he grabbed the fourth sprite by his shirt and lifted him up and over, causing him to land on his back on top of his downed companions.

All four groaned as they collided, and Bob made a hasty retreat for the door.

Bursting through, he ran towards the stairs, sliding down the banisters to the deck below. He saw no one to the left but was punched from the right as he turned, and he tumbled down the next flight of stairs, landing on his back and struggling for air. He noticed the openness of the room, and realized he wasn't on the crew quarters deck anymore. Glancing to his left, he groaned silently.

He had only managed to gain the attention of the 20 some sprites in the dinning hall. Though he fought gallantly, it didn't take long for him to be overrun by the mercenaries, and he soon found himself back in his cell, unable to remember how he had gotten there. Several new bruises and a gash along his arm gave him a clue. Sighing, he sat up on the bench and dropped his head back against the wall.

'Back to the paint window.'

/

Seconds turned into cycles, cycles into minutes. The routine was getting monotonous, and Bob's patience was beginning to crack. Each second started the same: He would be woken to do something around the ship, an opportunity would present itself for him to escape, he would get close, get busted, a fight would break out, and he would end up back in his cell, a little worse for wear, but never worse than the other sprites. He always managed to get the best of them, and they seemed to keep coming back for more.

The only time anything went differently was when they ported to a system, but Bob never knew what happened then. He was kept in his cell for seconds at a time, only seeing sprites that brought him food. By his count, they had visited four systems in the past 3 minutes.

What was driving Bob to insanity was their treatment of him. With all the fights he started, all the damage he caused, all the trouble he raised, they never roughed him up worse than a few kicks and punches, with the occasional knock out by Tower or Centrino. They always gave him the chance to escape, as if to see if he would go for it, and he always did. Much to their amusement, it seemed.

Bob was pacing back and forth in his cell, unable to sleep, these thoughts constantly running in circles behind his eyes. 'Why?' he thought. He remembered what Blackadder had said. 'You'll be a fun one.' Was this supposed to be the fun part? Driving him random with their mocking gestures of freedom?

Bob had to give them credit. It was working.

He paused as he thought of their leader. He hadn't seen or spoken with the red sprite since he first arrived. He had told Bob he would find a way to make him useful. And yet, he had done nothing so far to make good on that threat… as far as he knew.

Bob sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair that had grown past his ears. The silver strands snagged on his hand, and he worked his hand out gently, before grimacing at the dirty bandaged that was beginning to peal from the meaty part of his hand between his thumb and first finger. His chaotic thoughts paused as he stared at the patch…

…"You're going to run me out of supplies, ya know," the old sprite reprimanded him as he again treated the newest wound from Bob's last attempted escape. "Keep this up, and I'll have no choice but to let you bleed to death."

"I didn't ask for your help," Bob snapped before he could catch himself. The sprite paused in his treatment, and Bob muttered an apology. "I'm just tired," he tried to justify his rudeness.

"Forget it."

But Bob couldn't forget it. "Why do you keep doing this?" He stared at the numerous scars on his arms, his Guardian uniform torn in more places than he cared to admit. The scars told of his struggles for freedom, though many of them were nearly faded from this sprite's kind ministering.

"Because it's my format, and I can't go against my programming," the sprite answered simply. "And because I want to."

Bob looked up at him in surprise. "You want to? Everyone else on this cursed ship hates Guardians, why are you so different?"

The sprite laughed. "I've never heard one sprite on here say he hated Guardians."

"Have you talked with Blackadder, lately?"

The sprite mellowed at the mention of the leader. "You just don't understand him yet."

"I don't want to get to understand him, I want to leave," Bob argued.

"So you've told me, hundreds of times." The sprite finished the bandage and moved Bob's arm at the shoulder. "Feel ok?"

"Yes. Hundreds of times, huh? Funny, you've treated me so much, and I don't even know your name."

The sprite turned down to his ever present bag and closed it. He looked back up at Bob, leaned one arm on his knee, and stuck out his right hand. "Fair enough. Guardian Bob, they call me Patch."

Bob took his hand in a firm shake. "Patch. Rather fitting."

"Indeed," Patch said with a smile. "And now I will bid you good night."

"You still didn't tell me why you're helping me all the time."

Patch shrugged as he shut the cell door. "I guess," he said, staring at Bob with his soft lavender eyes, "you remind me of someone I knew, a long time ago." With that, he nodded, and headed off to his quarters…

In the growing despair of his seemingly hopeless situation, Bob took comfort in the knowledge of the one thing he was sure of: he had a friend in the medic. Though they didn't talk much, he provided Bob with a sense of comfort, and the willingness to keep trying to get out, if for no other reason than to take the aged sprite with him. Bob couldn't believe he was willing to stay with these mercenaries on his own terms. He was too different…

So caught up in his thoughts, Bob never heard the footsteps come up to his cell. He jumped at the voice.

"Can't sleep either, huh?"

Bob smiled slightly. "Guess it's just one of those nights."

"Thinking about home?" Patch asked.

Bob's smile faded. "Not as much as you might think," Bob remarked, slightly surprised at the truth in the statement. "I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing here."

"Wearing a hole in the floor," Patch smirked.

Bob rolled his eyes at him. "That's not what I meant." He walked over to the bars and leaned against them across from Patch. "Why is this crew toying with me? This is like some big game, and damnit, I keep losing."

Patch smiled, but said nothing.

"My misery amusing you, too?"

Patch tilted his head. "You don't seem miserable. I've seen prisoners much worse off than you. You've still got a sense of humor."

"Exactly!" Bob proclaimed. "I'm not that bad off. Why? Why am I not chained to a wall and beaten with sticks or dragged out behind the ship in the web?"

Patch's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, you want us to do that to you? You've got a dark side, don't ya, Guardian?"

"What? No! I'm saying I don't understand why you haven't done that. I mean, isn't that what the bad guys do to the heroes? Pillage, torture, make people beg for mercy?"

Patch stared at him for a long moment. His face was neutral, but his mind seemed to be turning behind his eyes. "You think we're the bad guys?"

The question surprised Bob. "You have a Guardian prisoner. What do you think?"

Patch said nothing more as he opened the cell and walked away.

Bob stared at the open door and didn't know what to do. 'What kind of a trick was this?'

"You coming?" Patch's voice called from the end of the hall.

Warily, Bob stepped out, looking around for a surprise attack from every dark corner. He stepped carefully up behind Patch, who lead him up to the crew quarters deck. Five doors down, they turned into a large area with several beds. Medical supplies lined the walls. Patch gestured toward an empty bunk and offered it up as a seat. Bob chose to stand. He did take the offered cup of Bandit Backup Patch handed to him.

"They are placing bets on you."

"What?" Bob asked, unsure if he heard correctly.

"The crew. It's a way of passing the time. They place bets on how long it'll take you to break out, how many sprites you can take down at once, how long until you go random. You name it, they're betting on it."

"So this is a game," Bob muttered.

Patch settled on another bunk across from him. "Well, not in the sense that you think."

Bob tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Patch took a swig and smiled. "You'll learn. Eventually." He laughed at the sullen look on Bob's face. "It'll all make sense in the end. But it helps to recognize that you are being taken care of here, and that you could have it much worse."

"Yeah, being taken care of like a pet, given commands, expected to obey, and reprimanded when out of line…" Bob flinched as he recalled what Tower had told him after being brought onboard. 'I am not a pet!' 'That's what you think, but you'll soon learn.'

"Even pets have places of honor in the family."

"Ok, Phong." Bob's hand paused in the air as he went to take a drink. At Patch's confused stare, Bob only shook his head in reply. "Sorry, you sounded like someone I know."

"Oh." They sat in silence for a few moments, before Bob started looking around the room. "This is my quarters, the crew sickbay."

"No kidding."

Patch smirked. "It's a lot of work, tending to a crew of 30 sprites, especially with a brawler of a prisoner." He chose to ignore the glare from Bob as he walked over to a tiny desk. "I'm not as spry as I used to be, and I'm having a hard time keeping up with the work. I could use an extra pair of hands."

Bob stared at him. "Me?" He scoffed. "Yeah, right. Prisoner, remember? I break the sprites, not fix them."

"You mend and defend, do you not?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is I help the people I care about."

Patch dropped his eyes to an open file on the table, where he started to make some notes. "People like those from your system?" He moved another file over.

"Yeah."

"And what about people like the crew?"

"This crew can get nullified, for all I care."

"And yet, when given the opportunity to delete a few "bad" mercenaries, you did everything you could to save them." He filed away another document and typed something on a small organizer on his desk, quite sure Bob had no idea what he was talking about. He looked up, confirming his thoughts from the confusion on Bob's face. "Did you not have the chance to delete four sprites by launching them into the atmosphere with that lifeboat during your first attempted escape?"

Bob's eyes lit up with recognition.

"And yet, the first thing you did when you noticed the count down was to prevent the launch, risking recapture, which did eventually happen. Am I wrong?"

"How did-"

"Did you think your escape easy, Guardian?"

Bob stared at him. "It was a trap."

"Yes, and we were watching, to see what you would do." Patch stepped around the desk to stand in front of him. "You can't go against your programming anymore than I can. 'To mend and defend,' and you did that, so naturally, in fact, you don't even remember doing it."

Bob could say nothing in reply.

"Even for those who would harm you, you still would put yourself in danger to save another. That is why I think you would be best suited working with me."

Bob had a hard time buying this. "And the rest of the crew would go along with it? Yeah, right."

"I wasn't the only one who saw what you did, Bob."

Bob's reply was cut off by a klaxon alarm. "INBOUND VESSEL, PORT SIDE!" a computer voice called out over the decks, and suddenly the silent hallways were filled with the clatter of boots and weapons.

Patch grabbed two large bags from the walls and tossed one to Bob. "Come on!"