Chapter 25

"That ain't no woman. That is a force of nature."

- Cody from The Young Riders

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"Move, Kludge!" Javan yelled, gleefully shoving Harper forward with the barrel of his gun. When Harper hesitated, unable to see where the Nietzschean wanted him to go, Javan pushed him hard enough he went down on his knees.

"He can't see, remember!" Dylan ground out, reaching down to help the engineer up.

"Did someone say you could talk?" Javan glared at Dylan. "Shut up and walk, both of you!" he added, rushing them through a doorway in the hall and into a large room. "I don't have all day!"

Shoving with one hand and holding them at gun point with the other, Javan man-handled them over to a desk. This was clearly the receiving room, designed large enough to hold long lines of slaves.

"Rosie!" the Nietzschean bellowed, pounding on the desk.

They heard noises and a muffled voice coming from a back room behind the desk, but no one came out.

"Woman! Where are you?"

"I told you I was coming!" a gravely voice bellowed from the back room. A few seconds later a woman emerged.

Now, in the real world, little girls in bright dresses with pigtails were named Rosie. Kittens with pink noses were named Rosie. Women with soft lips and full curves were named Rosie.

This was no Rosie!

She was large. No, scratch that; she was massive, and solid. In fact, she gave off the appearance of a small boulder, and looked about as immovable as one. She wore an ill-fitting, loose dress of the same brown material as his and Harper's pants, a prison number painted on the back. Her black hair was cropped short like a man's and the familiar slave tag graced her left ear, but she didn't act like any slave Dylan had ever seen before. Her eyes glittered beady and mean in her fat face, and she moved with authority. Even Javan seemed to hold her in some sort of respect. There was no doubt about it, this woman was scary.

"Ah, Master Javan," she soothed, seeing who was there. Dylan noted she received neither warning nor reprimand for her earlier disrespectful tone. "What do you need?"

"New recruits," Javan explained, pushing Harper forward again with an evil smile. He might as well have said 'fresh meat,' Dylan thought, the way they were being looked at by both of them.

"This time of year? It's not recruitment season," Rosie said, eyeing Harper with disgust.

"Prized possessions of Commander Felix himself," Javan said.

Dylan was getting really sick of being talked about like he wasn't even there, or worse, he was a chair or table, but he clamped his mouth shut and held his tongue. Harper was being strangely silent, and Dylan figured he should follow his lead.

"Anyway, they're all yours," the Nietzschean said, smirking one last time as he went to walk away.

"Master, wait," the woman called after him. "Their shackles? Aren't you going to remove them?"

Javan laughed. "Not for these two! The chains stay; Felix's orders. The scrawny one is a runaway, here to set an "example" for the rest. The other thinks he's someone rather special, and the Commander feels it's important to remind him he's not. So, the shackles stay; you'll have to work around them."

"You've got to be kidding me," Dylan muttered under his breath as he watched Harper's shoulders sag even further. He knew how he felt; he was also so sick of the cumbersome fetters he could scream.

Laughing one more time, Javan left the room with a carefree jaunt.

"All right you two, over here," the imposing woman ordered, pulling a large book from a shelf and opening it on the desk. "And don't think you can try anything with the guard gone. Not only is there nowhere to go, you don't want to make me mad."

Somehow, Dylan believed her.

She picked up a pen and looked pointedly at Harper. "Name?"

Of course Harper didn't answer; he had no idea she was speaking to him. Gently, Dylan nudged him in the back.

"Name!"

"Seamus," Harper spoke, anger on his face. Dylan was surprised by the answer.

"And you?"

"Dylan Hunt," he answered firmly. He watched for it, but no flicker of recognition or curiosity passed through her expression, and he realized she'd never heard of him; she didn't know him from Adam.

She finished writing and closed the book with a snap that caused Harper to flinch.

"From now on, you're no longer Seamus or Dylan Hunt. You're prisoners – numbers 6557 and 6558. Your old identities cease to exist right here, right now. This is your life now. You're slaves of the Drago-Kazov and you'd better remember your place. They're your Masters and you're nothing more than trash. Don't expect to be treated any differently."

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, and Dylan realized she enjoyed this, gleefully stealing the lives of helpless men and women. He watched her replace the book on the shelf and round the desk. "Follow me," she ordered and strode toward a doorway on the far side of the room.

Briefly, Dylan considered jumping her, or making a run for it, but he put the thought aside. There were at least forty Niets with guns between them and freedom, not to mention three locked gates and a friend who was blind.

"Come on, Harper," he said, carefully taking his friend by the arm. "We've been summoned."

"Not sure I'm excited to be invited," Harper murmured, letting Dylan guide him from the room.

They followed Rosie down a bare, stone hallway and into a windowless room that smelled strongly like a swimming pool.

"Strip," she ordered unceremoniously, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

Harper ducked his head, but Dylan had had it.

"And how do you expect us to do that wearing these chains?" he demanded.

"Like this!" she growled. Stepping up to Harper, she grabbed the hem of his shirt and jerked it up, over his head, and off his arms until it was only dangling from the chain that connected his wrists. His eyes, when he emerged, were wide with surprise, indignation, and embarrassment.

"Now, lose the shirt and pants before I do it for you!" she spat at Dylan.

Dylan was prepared to argue, but he felt Harper's hand on his arm.

"Strip on down, Boss," he spoke with a smirk. "I promise not to look." It was a joke, but it was also a warning, Harper-fashion.

Knowing this was meant to further humiliate them, Dylan tried not to give in to his anger as he reluctantly complied. As he pulled his shirt off, however, he was careful to hide Harper's rabbit's foot in its folds, twining the cable round his fingers and hoping it wouldn't be noticed. Soon he was standing in his shorts next to Harper, his pants bunched round his boots and his shirt round his wrists. He hadn't felt this ridiculous since freshman initiation at the Academy. One glance at Harper told him he wasn't alone. The boy was seething even as his face was turning beet red, the wounds and scars covering his pale skin on display for all to see and the slave collar glittering coldly against his bare neck.

Slowly, Rosie circled them, looking for…who knows what. A knife strapped to their knees? Food smuggled in their armpits? After a moment, she seemed to decide that whatever she'd been looking for, they didn't have any of it. She stepped back to the wall and, without warning, reached up and pulled on a long chain.

Cold water, smelling strongly of soap and disinfectant, hit Dylan in the face with torrential force. Next to him, Harper sputtered and choked in surprise.

"Hey!" Harper cried loudly, instinctively bringing his hands up to shield his face. He opened his mouth to complain more but got a mouthful of soapy water instead and started coughing uncontrollably as the water beat down on them without mercy and Dylan watched helplessly. He was still coughing when the water finally cut off several minutes later, leaving them both shivering with cold and looking very much like a pair of drowned rats.

Awkwardly, Dylan patted Harper on the back as the kid spat out water and forcefully controlled his cough.

Harper's temper flared and even though he knew better, he couldn't stop himself. "What is it with you people? Are you too stupid to string enough words together to give a little warning! Like 'heads up, we're about to drown you' or something!" he shouted between gasps for air.

"Harper," Dylan hissed quietly, his turn to offer warning.

"What!" Harper growled at him. "I'm standing here blind and mostly naked, fresh out of the 'automatic-slave-drive-through-wash!' I'm a little PO-ed at the moment! I mean I didn't expect bubbles and rubber duckies, but enough already! I'm a slave; I get it!"

Harper was yelling and Rosie was looking meaner with every word. It was like watching a bull prepare for the charge, and Dylan knew Harper was in trouble. He could practically see the steam rolling from the woman's ears. The problem was, Harper couldn't.

For a woman who looked like a small mountain, she moved surprisingly fast. One minute Harper was cursing the world in general and the next he was sputtering for air like a fish on land, a beefy hand clamped around his throat.

"I would shut up if I were you," she growled, lifting Harper clean off the ground. Truly choking now, Harper clawed uselessly at her grip while his face turned blue and his feet dangled in midair. She grinned evilly as she held him, revealing black, rotting teeth inches from his face.

"Stop it! You're killing him!" Dylan shouted, grabbing her arm and oddly wondering how awful her breath must smell. He shook his head to clear that particular thought.

She squeezed harder and Harper's eyes started to roll back in his head. At that point, Dylan threw caution to the wind and proceeded to start throwing punches as well. It was like hitting granite and about as effective, but at least he got her attention. She finally let go, dropping a gasping Harper into a pile on the soggy floor and rounding on Dylan. Two good fists to the head and one solid elbow in the stomach and Dylan was also gasping on his knees.

"Don't play the hero! One, you're too ugly and two, I don't like them!" she said, kicking Dylan for good measure in the shins. Then, satisfied he was dealt with for now, she went back to Harper. Before he could remember how to breathe properly, she grabbed his arm, yanked him to his feet, and soundly boxed his ears several times.

"I talk, you shut up! Got it?"

Still out of breath, Harper couldn't reply. She slapped him roughly until he managed to nod.

"Good. Now get dressed. We aren't done yet."

She went back to holding up the wall and watched dispassionately as Dylan and Harper struggled back into their dripping wet, freezing cold clothes.

"Are you all right?" Dylan asked quietly as they dressed, alarmed at the sight of the huge purple fingerprints springing up on Harper's neck and the blood dripping from the inside of the boy's right ear. The last thing Harper needed was to damage his hearing as well! "Can you hear okay?"

Harper nodded in answer but didn't even attempt speaking yet. Instead he pointed in Dylan's direction, returning the question.

"I'm fine, Harper," Dylan replied, holding his ribs and gently massaging his jaw and eye. They were already starting to swell. Great. Just great. And the worst part? Rosie hadn't even gotten wet, let alone a scratch.

"Bet she'd melt if she got a little water on her," Dylan grumbled just loud enough for Harper to hear. To his relief, Harper cracked a small grin.

Finally dressed, rabbit's foot still safely hidden much to Dylan's relief, Rosie gestured curtly for them to follow her again. Dylan once more took Harper's arm to guide him, leaning in to whisper. "But I think the fact that we both just got the crap beat out of us by someone named Rosie should never leave this room. Certain…um…persons would never let us live it down."

Harper nodded fervently as Rosie shoved them into a third room and pushed them down on a waiting bench.

Things happened pretty quickly after that. Several other female slaves entered. Heads bowed and cowering in Rosie's presence, they set upon Dylan and Harper with shears. Harper was overjoyed to be rid of the scratchy beard and the vermin that had taken up residence within; he was not so happy when they went for his hair next. If Rosie's death grip on his throat hadn't effectively silenced him for at least several hours, nothing would have kept the protests from leaking out. As it was, Dylan sat enduring the same fate and watching Harper open and close his mouth in silent horror.

They were then ordered to stand and each given a shot, never-you-mind-where, with a huge needle full of who-knows-what. Unprepared, Harper let out a strangled yelp and Dylan blanched. He never could handle needles. Then, properly vaccinated, marked, and poisoned, like good little slaves, they were told to march. Herded into a storeroom, each had one ragged blanket and a mess-kit thrust into their hands. Then they were shoved out the back door and into the camp, bald as babies, bound in chains, and still dripping wet.

"You've missed supper. You'll have to wait for tomorrow," Rosie taunted, leaning in the doorway and almost filling it completely. "You're assigned to barrack 6B. Be quick in getting there; the punishments for dawdling are severe. Roll call is at four AM sharp!" She cackled one more time and was gone, the door slamming in her wake.

Both Harper and Dylan sighed in relief. Nothing in the slave camp could be as bad as what was back in that building!

"I haven't met anyone that scary since my first grade teacher, and she gave me nightmares for years," Dylan breathed.

Harper croaked out something that sounded vaguely like "freak of nature" and massaged his throat.

"Amen," Dylan agreed. Then he took Harper by the arm once more and sighed. "Come on, Harper. Let's go find our new home."