JUSTICE
CHAPTER 12
Sweat was running down his face, chest and back, but John couldn't risk taking off his tunic. The damp material felt clammy and uncomfortable, sticking to him like a second skin, yet the heavy cotton garment was all there was to protect his tender back from the sun.
He could feel the heat searing through the material, but hoped the stiff cotton would limit the exposure. Relentless, the scorching sun blazed down burning the unprotected skin on his head, neck and arms. There was no respite. In the open courtyard there was nowhere where he could hide, gain any relief from it's unforgiving rays. The hot dry air brought more misery as every breath caught his throat and assaulted his lungs. Sick and dizzy, he fought back the nausea. He couldn't give up. The consequences of failure had already been spelt out to him, but that wasn't the overriding force that drove him on. He wasn't going to give Jalune the satisfaction of seeing him beaten.
The palms of his hands were covered in blisters from the constant scrubbing. When they'd started to bleed John had ripped off the end of the tunic into strips to bind the wounds. He was already cleaning up blood stains. He couldn't risk his own interfering with the task. No one had come to inspect his progress. No one had told him to stop. He wasn't finished anyway. John kept working determined that neither the lack of proper tools, nor the conditions would get the better of him.
There was a stubborn red stain on the left hand side of the frame. He wondered if it had come from him. John knew he hadn't been the only one who'd suffered there. Many unfortunates had shed blood before him. This mark however was at the same spot where the cords of the whip had stuck in his skin, before being cruelly ripped away. His side still ached. The memory almost as painful as the wound itself.
Hours passed. When the sun dropped below the fortress walls, John reckoned it wouldn't be long until darkness fell. It was like that in the desert. Brilliant, glaring sunlight one minute, the next the sky so dark you could barely see your hand in front of your face. Exhausted, he went to sit back on his heels but his legs were trembling, so he fell on his ass instead. John leaned back on his hands, too tired to care what Jalune would think. He appraised his day's work with a critical eye. He'd done a good job. There wasn't a mark left on the frame, and the platform was pristine. If the sadist was going to give him another infraction, it wouldn't be for the task he'd just completed.
The heat from the painted stones was burning his ass, so John decided to move. His throat was parched. The trough was nearby. He didn't know how clean the water was, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He cupped his hands into its depths and drank his fill. When he looked around and still couldn't see any guards, he plunged his head in. The ambient temperature was too hot for the water to be cold, but the tepid liquid felt awesome. The relief it brought his burnt skin, instantaneous.
Suddenly he was gasping for air as something hard and strong held him down. The water rushed up his nose and down his throat choking him. His eyes were stinging. His lungs were burning, fit to burst as he struggled to get a breath. His heart was pounding, as the world started to slow down and his brain became fuzzy. Darkness was wavering, the edges closing in, when suddenly a fierce pain seared through his skull. John yelped as he was yanked out by his hair, coughing as a sharp intake of breath forced air into his lungs.
"Nothing like a cool dip on a hot day, is there?" Jalune sneered in his face then released his grip. John fell boneless to the ground. "That's what you get for slacking off."
He was shivering, his limbs shaking as John sprawled on the stones too stunned to move. Water was spilling out of his mouth, his chest tight and sore as he pulled in one stuttering breath after another. He wanted to let rip and give the sadist a piece, then reckoned it was just as well he couldn't speak as some choice words came to mind. Words his mom sure wouldn't have approved of. Words that would get him into deep trouble if he opened his mouth.
Jalune walked all around the frame bent in close, and ran his hand over the rough surface of the wood. When he turned round, he didn't look happy. "I'm sure you must have missed something. I'll check it again later when the sun isn't in my eyes. For now…I suppose it will have to do."
John wanted to wipe the snide smile off his face. Better yet string him up to the damn frame and give him a taste of his own medicine. He realized he'd need to be careful. It was the second time he'd harbored the tempting thought of hitting Jalune in less than twenty-four hours. He would either need to get a handle on his temper, or save it for something worthwhile. If he did lash out, that was exactly what he would get in return.
Jalune grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. His arm was on fire, but he clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. This guy got off on causing pain. John wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing his.
Out of the sun it felt a little cooler, but the build-up of heat had made the prisoners' quarters stuffy and oppressive. Jalune pushed him inside and walked away. John staggered, but managed not to fall. One of the guards was still handing out food. John looked at the stale bread and hard cheese with disgust. It wasn't haute cuisine at any time. Right now with a pounding head and queasy stomach, bed rather than food was a more appealing option.
John glanced around the room looking for Dulane, but couldn't see him. The guy was like his shadow and it was weird he hadn't come over when he'd arrived. Sometimes his constant attention got a bit much, but he liked the little guy. He'd been good to him, and he was pretty much his best friend in this lousy place. John smiled as he remembered how Dulane had taken a risk in trying to help him that morning. He was a brave kid, and he wouldn't forget the act of kindness.
As his eyes accustomed to the gloomy interior the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his senses into overdrive when he noticed a small group around his friends bunk.
"What's happened?"
John didn't care if the guard heard him as he rushed towards them. The other prisoners parted to let him through, and his heart sank when he saw Dulane lying there. He was a mess. A sheen of sweat covered the livid bruises on his face and chest, and there was a weeping cut over one eye. The dark purple discoloration on the side of his torso told John at least one rib was cracked, possibly more. What concerned him most was the odd angle of his arm. Thankfully the bone hadn't split the skin but John knew it needed to be set quickly, or his friend would lose the use of his limb.
He shouted over to the guard. "This man needs a doctor…"
"Quiet! If you open your mouth again, I will report you."
The guard was half way towards the door when John stepped out, stood in his path and grabbed his arm. "Frankly, I don't give a damn. You can do what the hell you like to me but this man's arm is broken. Like I said before – he needs a doctor!"
John waited to be hauled back to the hole. Instead the guard glared at him, shook off his hand and came over. He glanced at Dulane, and for the first time since arriving John saw a glimpse of compassion.
"I'm sorry…but the Commander would never allow it. The best I can do is keep the lights on for a while to let you tend to his wounds."
He was going to protest further, but realized it was pointless. The guard genuinely looked sorry, but by his response it was clear that in some ways, he was almost as much a captive of the repressive system as he was. He had a lousy job, working in inhospitable conditions for a tyrannical boss. John guessed he was basically a decent guy so nodded his thanks for the small concession. He waited until the key turned in the lock before he issued orders.
"I need two slim pieces of wood about a foot long. Break them off my bunk if you have too." He sat down beside Dulane and forced a smile on his face. "It's going to be okay, buddy. I know you feel like crap right now, but there isn't anything wrong that won't feel better in a couple of days. But your arms broken and I'll need to re-set the bone. Don't worry...I've done this lots of times before, but I'm afraid it's going to hurt."
"I…I'll be fine…"
Dulane started to choke. Someone handed John a glass of water, and he carefully raised his friend's head so he could take a sip. Dulane's face was creased in pain, and not for the first time John wished Carson was here. He'd lied to Dulane. The fact was he'd only ever done it once before. It had happened back in his old life, when his chopper had gone down in Afghanistan.
The medic who'd been travelling with him had broken her wrist. When no rescue came after a few hours, she'd talked him through it. It hadn't been a pleasant experience for either of them but with her pain controlled with morphine, he'd managed it. This time he didn't have any drugs to offer his friend, but what choice did he have? John hoped he could do it, but he was no doctor. What worried him most was the heavy bruising on Dulane's chest. If his friend was suffering from internal bleeding, he wouldn't be able to help him.
"Who did this to you, buddy?"
Dulane swallowed, his breath hitched and he looked away.
"Jalune took him out of work detail. We didn't see him again until we came back and found him lying unconscious in the latrine."
John looked from the man who gave him the information and took in the broken body of his friend. He wanted to kill Jalune. Take him apart piece by piece. Right now he needed to put his rage aside to deal with the unpleasant task ahead.
"Please…John….don't…don't do anything. I'm not worth a beating."
Dulane was watching him. John was glad someone handed him the splints. It saved him from answering.
John hated knowing he was going to cause his buddy even more pain, and was determined Jalune was going to share it. He nodded to one of the prisoners to hold the young man steady. When Dulane's screams rent the air John could feel tears sting his eyes. He had caused this – all of it. The guilt was overwhelming. These men had already been living a hellish existence before he arrived. Now because of misplaced hero worship, he'd made their miserable lives even worse…
ooooOoooo
As he guided the bow over the strings of his violin, the haunting melody didn't soothe Rualin the way it usually did. Something was amiss in his orderly existence. He could feel the growing tide of defiance within the prison population. It had all began with Sheppard, but regardless of the steps he'd taken, he could still sense the unease amongst his staff.
He stopped, placed the instrument carefully on his desk and wandered onto the balcony. The starkness of the glistening stars against the inky darkness was magnificent. Rualin loved the desert. He enjoyed the isolation of the unforgiving harsh landscape. He even liked the extremes of the climate, but nightfall was his favorite time of day.
Rualin was aware many of his men didn't like it here, but to him this was home. Over the years he'd been offered other, more prestigious postings, but Flenda was his. He had made the prison what it was. It was run by his rules, the prisoners disciplined by the punishments he'd introduced, and he tolerated no interference. He was aware that some in central command considered his methods extreme, but no one had said anything to his face. They were pathetic liberals who weren't prepared to do what was necessary to get the job done.
Here he was the law. Men who were sent to his prison soon learned what punishment really meant. Rualin didn't have time for mercy or compassion. These prisoners hadn't showed either to their victims. He showed none in return. He believed in retribution. Flenda was just the place for that to be delivered in full.
The familiar chill of the cool desert night made him shiver, so he pulled in his jacket a little tighter. It wasn't until he heard a cough behind him that he realized someone was watching him. It was Ceeland. There was pain in the blue eyes, and the young soldier was holding himself a little stiffly. Apart from that, there was no outward sign of the beating he'd endured earlier in the day. Rualin admired the man for returning to duty so soon. He knew how much he must be hurting.
"Why didn't you knock?"
Ceeland's pale face went even whiter. "I did, Commander – twice. When you didn't answer I thought there might be something the matter. Did I do wrong to come in?"
Rualin ignored the question. He walked into the office, reached for the liquor he kept in his top desk drawer and helped himself to a large glass. "What is it?"
"We have received a communiqué from Taluna." Ceeland handed over the piece of paper. "I thought you should see it at once."
He knocked back the remainder of his drink, put down his glass and read it. Rualin's surprise mirrored the look on the soldier's face "Does anyone else know about this?"
"No, Commander. I was the only one in the office when it came in."
"That's good…In which case this will be our little secret for the time being." He locked eyes with the guard. "I trust you will be able to keep the information to yourself?"
Ceeland blushed to his roots. "Yes, Commander."
Rualin smiled. "Good night Ceeland…and get someone to redress your wounds before you retire."
He thought he saw a flash of anger, but put it down to the man's discomfort as Ceeland saluted before leaving the room.
Rualin picked up the paper, crushed it into a ball and threw it into the rippling flames of the log fire. He refilled his glass, sat down in the green leather chair beside the hearth, and watched the missive burn until only the ashes remained.
Part of him wasn't surprised at Sheppard's innocence. From the moment the prisoner walked into his office Rualin had been able to tell there was something different about him. It wasn't just because of the way he'd spoken to him. There was no question John Sheppard was arrogant, but he'd sensed another quality. There was a nobility about him - Sheppard was an honorable man.
He'd witnessed part of the brutal punishment Sheppard had endured in the hole. Ceeland and Jalune had beaten him senseless but despite the injuries they'd inflicted, his dignity had remained intact. They hadn't been able to break his spirit.
Now he had a dilemma. If he let Sheppard go there was every likelihood that without his disruptive influence, things would return to normal. It was a tempting thought. Then again the man had caused a lot of trouble.
It went against the grain to simply let him leave. Rualin sipped his drink and stared into the flames. It had been a long day and tonight he was too tired to think. He left the glass half-empty, doused the fire and retired for the night. He needed a clear head to decide what to do with the troublesome man. The decision could wait for another day.
ooooOoooo
TBC
So now Rualin knows about John's innocence, what's he going to do about it?
I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please let me know what you thought. And many thanks to all of you who have left reviews - they are much appreciated!