Chapter Four: Temporary Rift
"All prisoners remain in your cells."
The whole ship was shaking all around her, shaking and screaming, it seemed, with the voices of a thousand prisoners raised in desperate wailing, drowning out the computer interface ordering them to stay where they were—not like they had any choice. The cell block pulsed with red and yellow warning lights, punctuated by flashes of white as the lights on the ceiling blew out in showers of sparks and shards of glass. She could barely keep her grip on her cot; the floor kept lurching upwards, trying to buck her into the bunk above her head. The purple energy field that blocked her freedom held strong, though, and this was what made her angrier than ever. She saw the shadow of a guard from between the fluorescent bars, and immediately she was up on unsteady feet to confront him.
"Ash, what's going on? Why aren't they telling us anything?"
The guard adjusted his ball cap and shrugged, staggering on his feet as another explosion rocked the ship to the side. "I'm not in contact with the bridge," he shouted over the alarms. "The only thing I've been told his to make sure your doors are secure—which they are, so now I'm going to get the hell out of here."
The Vortex Rikers reared upwards, making her knees crumple and forcing her to the floor. Ash barely caught himself against the wall. "What do you mean?" she choked when she got her breath back. "They have to let us out so we can get to the escape pods!"
"There aren't enough escape pods for prisoners. You know that. Only the crew leaves in an emergency such as this." Ash scratched the back of his head. "Come on, 849, don't give me that look. You're a prisoner—a high level 800, remember? There's, what, maybe nine hundred something convicts on this ship, total? Even if we did decide to evacuate the prisoners, we'd get the lower numbers first. It's just that way life is, 849. You resigned yourself to this when you committed the crime."
She couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Not enough escape pods? But of course there had to be—they were told as much before they boarded, and surely, surely, the crew were under penalty of law if they lied to their own cargo—their own prisoners—and she couldn't possibly be trapped here. To leave them here—to leave nine hundred humans to die—it was manslaughter.
Ash turned and wobbled towards the door, but paused as he reached the threshold and turned and looked over his shoulder. 849 was still sitting on the floor of her cell, palms braced against the metal panels, eyes and face blank. Ash sighed and adjusted his hat again. "Listen, 849. It'll be quick. So don't worry, all right?"
He disappeared from the block, and suddenly all of 849's energy came back in a rush. "Ash!" she pushed herself up from the floor, throwing herself against the energy field. It sent sharp electric shocks rushing through her skin. "Ash, come back here!" She added her voice to the cacophony of screams and cries from the other inmates who had heard the guard's words. "Let us out! We can't die like this! You can't let us die like this!"
It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair. He had no idea what landed her in the prison cell, so how could he presume to tell her that it was what she chose? She wanted life. She wanted to choose life, but she wasn't given the freedom to do so. It was maddening, not being able to choose her fate. She raised her voice in one last defiant cry: "I will live, Ash! I will live!"
The floor suddenly dropped out from underneath her, and she flew backwards, and the last thing she saw were the purple lights of her gate as the back wall met her head and her hip at an intimate position and hurled her into unconsciousness.
She came up from her nightmare slowly, breathing a slow sigh of relief as the images faded slowly back into her subconscious, where, although they were still painful to recall, their pain was dulled by time and purposeful amnesia of the more gruesome recollections. She roused herself and stretched, sitting up from her mattress and pushing the straw blanket off of her legs. The alien had set up her living quarters in his attic, pushing trunks and barrels out of the way and giving her his own bed; she had protested this at first, but the alien insisted to the point where, by means of excessive signing and demonstration, he threatened to sleep outside if she did not accept his offering. She smiled at the memory of him sitting on the cold ground, both pairs of arms crossed, resisting her attempts to drag him back inside. His overly zealous acts to make her comfortable were endearing.
She yawned as she crawled out of bed towards the ladder that led from the attic to the lower floor. She paused at the entrance of the trapdoor, staring below; apparently, her alien friend had already started a fire.
"Did'ja catch anything good?" she called as she started climbing down the ladder. She had taken to talking to her four-armed friend, even though he never answered back. He listened very well—or at least he pretended that he was listening. "I've decided that I really like the taste of those little biterfish—"
She stopped suddenly, halfway down the ladder. Her alien friend was standing over a still figure in front of the fireplace, praying to the statue on the mantle, with one pair of hands stretched out over the prone body. As 849 came down the ladder, he turned and held one finger to his lips. She nodded and stepped as softly as she could over to the limp body, standing quietly beside her friend as she studied the figure on the floor. He was still breathing.
His face looked so familiar, even underneath the scraped-off skin and caking of mud. Her eyes travelled down his body. He wore a Rikers staff uniform, with the red band around one arm that identified him as a block guard. Her heart skipped as her eyes fell on the bill of a burnt baseball hat that stuck out of the man's pocket.
Ash.
She swallowed, thickly, as her blood began to race. This man left you to die this man left you to die this man had the power to save you and he left you to die—
The alien stalled his praying, alerted to the fact that 849 was clenching and unclenching her hands, visibly trembling. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in a deep breath.
"You saved him," she said in a shaking voice, "but he was going to let me die. He was going to let me die like a rat in a cage and you—you rescued him—oh!"
She turned and aimed a savage kick at one of the low chairs by the table; it flew into the opposite wall and splintered into pieces. The alien flinched away, getting down on one knee and holding his hands out in supplication. He moaned piteously, but 849 would have none of it. There he was, alive and breathing, after leaving her to perish. He could have pushed a button and set you free!—and it mattered not that she was alive, as well, and he was worse off than she was. She expected some sort of vengeance, some sort of heavenly revenge, to deprive him of what he was too selfish to share with her. She hated him for living. She hated him for breathing.
The hut was suddenly too small for the three of them. She let out a strangled scream and threw the door open, running into the sea of grey fog that waited for her beyond the threshold. It was thick and damp, but if she looked up she could still see the engine bell, so she couldn't get lost. The waterfalls roared somewhere off to her right, and she suddenly found herself trying to run through freezing cold, calf-deep water. She stumbled to a halt, panting, and felt her way back to the dry sand at the bank of the river. Once there, she flopped into a sitting position and crossed her arms over her knees, looking sullenly at the wisps of fog dancing across the water and thinking of every dirty word she could hurl at the cell block guard once he woke up.
She was so deep in thought about the tongue-lashing she was going to give Ash that, when a coffee-colored hand came out of the mist from behind to rest on her shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
She did, however, jump up, spin around, and reflexively backhand whatever had touched her. She stood there panting, her hand smarting, as the ground in front of her groaned in pain. When she saw it shift, she let her breath out in a whoosh.
"Holy shit, Ash," she said, her heart in her throat. "Don't do that to me!"
"I stood there for five minutes saying your number, you bitch!" Ash complained, sitting up and rubbing his cheek. "Damn, you made of metal or something? That fucking hurt!" He looked at his hand. "As if my face wasn't busted up enough…what?"
849 stood in the shallows, her arms crossed, glaring at him. Ash slowly began to realize what she was angry—no, infuriated—about. "Would you like to talk about what happened back on the ship?"
"There's nothing to talk about!" 849 exploded, kicking the water and showering Ash with cold spray. "You left me—left all of us—there to die while you cowards turned tail and ran for the escape pods! You are all heartless sons of bitches and I hoped every last one of you died—because that's what would've happened to us!"
Ash stood up, glaring back at the prisoner. "Then why am I still here, dumbass?!"
849 opened her mouth to shoot back a retort, but logic stopped her. Why, indeed? There were enough escape pods for all of the crew, surely? However, pride got the best of her, and she snorted childishly, "I don't know, but I wish you weren't."
"There weren't any escape pods on the Vortex Rikers," Ash snapped. "Are you listening to me? Look at me, 849. There were no escape pods."
"Bullshit!" 849 spat, kicking water at him again. "Do you think I'm stupid? I flew starships like this, before, and all of them had pods! They wouldn't send a crew out into deep space without some kind of escape ship."
"Stop that!" Ash held up his hands to shield his face from the drops of water. "That's what I thought, too, but when we got to the cargo bay, there was nothing. A bunch of boxes, that's it. Captain was pretty pissed, to put it mildly, but we couldn't do anything except ride the Rikers all the way to the ground."
The prisoner stared skeptically at Ash. "You mean nobody got out?"
"Not a damn one."
She stared at her feet for a moment, letting the realization sink in. Then she sloshed out of the river, sitting on the bank next to Ash, and pulled off her boots. "My legs are soaked," she complained, just to break the silence.
All those people.
She set her boots off to the side to dry and stretched her legs in front of her. Beside her, Ash pulled his baseball cap out of his pocket and adjusted the band, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Then he cleared his throat and said quietly, "I heard you, you know."
849 cast a half-lidded glance to the side.
Ash continued. "I heard you scream at me as I was leaving. I was halfway down the hall when you said, 'I will live.' I thought that was pretty stupid of you to say, at the time, but you sounded really ballsy, you know—all determined and all. I knew you were mad, but I couldn't help it. And then, when we crashed, I thought, 'this is it, I'm going to die', and I woke up, and I was all beat up but alive, and there was no way that I could've gotten back to the cell block to see if you were alive, so we started walking—"
"Wait a minute," 849 interrupted. "We? Who's 'we'?"
"Oh, I was with a couple of my buddies at the time, and we decided that the Rikers's hull was way too unstable to use as a shelter, so we loaded up with some Enforcers and Dispersion Pistols and just started walking. Ran into some nasty sons of bitches in this mining facility—Skaarj—see?"
He pulled a rectangular computer out from his leg pocket. It was about the size of a small notebook pad and glowed fluorescent green in the fog. He tapped the pad with a forefinger and it flickered to life. "This is a universal translator," the guard explained as his fingers danced over the screen, pulling up subscreens and tapping buttons on the sides of the instrument. "It's standard issue for military personnel. I found it in the Captain's jacket. He was dead, of course, but this thing is really useful. It's got all sorts of information about this planet. I think it's a newer release, because we were communicating with another guy with one of these from the ISV-Kran and he said he didn't have a clue as to what Skaarj were or whatever. We lost contact with him a couple days ago, but—here."
He handed the translator over to 849. Rotating on the screen was a holographic image of a hulking, muscular creature with mottled green scales and a whiplike tail. It sent a thrill down her spine. "I saw one of those as I was leaving the Rikers," she said, the memory leaving her cold. "It slaughtered a roomful of people."
"Yeah," Ash said. "They're everywhere, and they've got other aliens to do their dirty work. Not that they shirk in that department, either, but who am I to know about what they do?"
"Do you know what that four-armed man calls himself? Or what this place is called?"
"Oh! See, this is something you've got to remember. Skaarj aren't the natural inhabitants of this planet, the four armed guys are. They're called 'Nali' and this planet is Na Pali. The Skaarj are like, oh, I don't know, parasites? They came here about the same time that the ISV-Kran crashed and started farming the Nali like animals. It's terrible what these people are subjugated to, but for some reason they welcome the humans and try to shield us from harm. It's sad—they could be putting their energy into saving themselves, but instead they choose to help us."
849 thought about how she had treated her Nali rescuer. She turned red from shame. Poor guy.
Ash flicked the power button on the translator. "Anyway, when we ran into the Skaarj, we got our asses handed to us. I hightailed it out of that place and came straight back here, but I must have passed out. I woke up in that hut when you started screaming. I was actually surprised that you lived, but I felt happy, too. I mean, you came through on your promise to me."
"It wasn't a promise," 849 said slowly. "It was a threat."
"Come on, now," Ash said, slapping the prisoner on the back with a broad hand. "You lived, I lived, and now we're all going to live happily ever after, right?"
"Don't touch me," she snapped. "You left me to die. You could have pushed a button, Ash—it would've been that easy!"
Ash blew out a heavy sigh of frustration and stood up. "No, 849, it would not have been that easy and you know it. And we were all in the same situation, either way."
"You didn't give me a choice!"
Ash looked down at her, his face dark with anger. "None of us had a choice!"
His voice echoed on the canyon walls. 849 stared up at him with smoldering eyes, her lips twitching, trying to think of something to say. She wasn't angry with him any more; indeed, she was glad to have another human to vent her anger and fear and frustration to, but she didn't know how to express her sentiment in words. What could she say? The fact of the matter was, she couldn't accept that none of them were in control of their fates. There was no driving purpose to their suffering, no method to the planet's madness. It was all happening just…because.
She wanted to say that she was glad he survived the wreck, and she wasn't mad at him because as long as he was alive then she had a friend, and that somehow she hoped they'd make it off Na Pali alive, but all she could grind out was, "I'm going inside to apologize to my friend."
Ash watched in silence as she hurried off to the hut, and then followed, not wanting to remain alone in the thick morning fog. He had a horrible, sinking feeling that they all three of them were being watched.
Dark Arena
High General Shas-ulhara of the first Great Talon ("General" to his troops and "Shas" to his particularly ugly Terran whore locked down in the basement somewhere) braced his hands against the metal edges of the hologram projector and closed his eyes for a moment against the harsh glare of the computer generated graphics. Behind him, one of his lower gunner generals, Chakti 'Narj or something like that—he didn't pay much attention to names—, shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Shas cleared his throat and said, without turning around, "Would you mind explaining to me why I work with such a group of idiots?"
Chakti didn't say anything. Shas stepped back from the screen and pointed with a taloned finger to the spinning image. "What is this, Chakti." It was a statement more than a question. "Please tell me what it is."
Chakti balked at the direct question. His anxiety was understandable, of course; General Shas-ulhara, the GeneralShas-ulhara, cut an imposing figure in the dark room. Easily soaring over eight feet, with a tattooed body scored with countless battle scars that outlined his bulging muscles, and a reputation that earned him the nickname "The Walking Death" on his first month on Na Pali, Shas's ranking as third only below the Source and the Warlord was well deserved. He struck fear into the hearts of his own men; their respect for him was out of abject terror rather than admiration. True, though; Shas had proven his worth as an honorable warrior in previous battles with the Krall and the Brutes, but once faced with Terran opposition, Shas acted as if he was one possessed. One Skaarj general had gone so far as to accuse Shas of being frightened of such an intelligent enemy—quite a foolish move. Shas had actually gotten an admonition from the Source after she heard about the unfortunate general's fate. The other soldiers learned quickly from example—never say anything to Shas that he didn't want to hear.
Too bad I'm not a fucking mind-reader, Chakti grumped, stepping up to the hologram. "It's a map of NyLeve's Falls, about three clicks southwest of the Rajrigar Mines."
Shas nodded thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what is that I see—that small metal boxy-thing. Glowing." Another statement, demanding to be answered.
Chakti suppressed an irritated growl and bent closer to the hologram. "It's a ship, sir."
"One of ours?"
"No. A Terran vessel."
"Ah," Shas thrummed. "I see, I see."
Without warning, he flexed his wrist and slashed his Razick blades across Chakti's face, watching passively as his lieutenant's face disappeared under a wash of blood. The unfortunate Skaarj howled and brought both hands up to cover his wounds.
"Is that not in your patrol section?" Shas continued. "Is that not a major occurrence that needed to be reported? Tell me why I didn't know about this Terran ship, soldier. Are there Terrans still alive living in its ruins? What have you not told me?"
"I sent a team out to investigate but they hadn't replied back to me," Chakti hissed, his lips spattering blood on the floor as he spoke. The Rajrigar team found the ship first. This is not my doing."
Shas twitched his tail. "It is if I say it is," he said quietly, dangerously. "Now," he continued, reaching out and wrapping his claws around Chakti's neck, "I want you to drag your ass out to that crash site yourself and report back to me what you find, within the next pass of the sun, or the cut you will receive will indeed be fatal. Now get out of my ship, and out of my sight."
Chakti didn't bother saluting Shas as he exited the room. The General be damned, he thought as he stalked down the hallway. This has gone on long enough.
Shas turned back to the computer and closed the hologram projection screen. Once the room was dark, he pushed his lower lip out in contemplation. More Terrans, always more Terrans. And the Nali were getting even more skittish with every shipment of two-legged creatures that the Skaarj managed to capture.
Word had gotten out among the Nali, spreading like wildfire, reaching the ears of the lower Skaarj captains and finally made its whispering way to Shas's ship. An uprising. A Nali uprising, even, and that was even more laughable. At least, it was laughable until he realized that the entire world of Na Pali was holding its breath and waiting.
They believed the crashed ships to be a sign. Word was out that a warrior princess had come to free the Nali from Skaarj rule. A Terran.
Shas clenched his hands. Any source of hope to the Nali was cause for concern. Total domination was key to their rule on the planet. If the Nali thought their savior had come, then they would certainly do anything to help the Terran. With useless soldiers like Chakti on the job, there were sure to be slip-ups. The Terran would slip through the cracks and that would mean bad business for Shas—or even worse, for the Source.
This was going to take finesse, something he never had the patience for, and subtlety, which was laughable. He had to test Skaarj control over the Nali; had to find out if the Nali were really hoping for deliverance or too concerned about their lives to worry about helping any Terrans, which, according to Skaarj rule, was strictly forbidden. He had to bait them. He had to trap them.
He thought for a moment, and then his tail swished from side to side in an almost comical wagging motion.
Well. Perhaps Happy had a greater use after all.
Nyleve's Falls
Myscha's Journal:
I found another one today; he was lying at the entrance to one of the mining tunnels and moaning.
The bald one is healing much better, and the one that's dark like coal is up and speaking his strange language with the girl. They don't understand me, but it's only a matter of time before they realize that they are still in very great danger. The Skaarj will come investigate the crashed Star Chariot, and my friends will be captured and taken, like all the rest. I hardly know how I evaded capture, myself, but I am not confident about holding off my enemies for long. All I can do is pray to Chizra for balance, and perhaps make a trip to the temple if the Terrans get away safely.
But—I have heard the rumors, the beautiful, terrible rumors, and I look at my two Terrans every day, and I think—that if he—that if she—
I must not give up. I must keep on praying, and hoping, and perhaps everything will work out for my people, and theirs.