Chapter 31

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.

- G. K. Chesterton

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"…the giant Uberess dug out an old ration pack and reluctantly tossed it to Jack. 'But you gotta go now!' she urged. 'My husband will be home any minute and if he finds you here…' But it was too late because just then they both heard the stomping of the giant Uber's feet. 'Quickly!' the Uberess hissed, 'hide here in our heating coil!' Jack dove for the coil, just barely pulling his feet in as the massive Niet came into the kitchen. He sat in a chair, spreading his massive bone blades across the table, and called to his wife, 'Bring me dinner! I'm hungrier than a magog!' Just then, he straightened, sitting up in his chair. His giant, enhanced, Uber senses had caught a whiff of something that shouldn't be there. 'Tree, tray, tra, trudge! I smell the blood of a scrawny Kludge!' he bellowed angrily, snapping his bone blades –"

"That's not the way I remember it," Dylan interrupted with a snort. Twig giggled.

"Hush, Boss Bug. I'm telling this story, not you," Harper ordered, then turned in Twig's direction. "Twig, just ignore all comments from the peanut gallery. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Dylan cried "Hey!" and Twig giggled again even though he didn't know what a peanut gallery was.

"Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the giant Uber starts bellowing that he can smell Jack, right?..."

"But why did Jack go into the castle if he knew there were Ubers there?" Twig's voice stopped Harper again.

"Well, because he wanted an adventure. And he wanted to find something to help get food for his mom," Harper explained tiredly, his energy waning.

"I don't think the original story had Jack trading the family hoverboard for the beans, though," Dylan teased.

Harper just shook his head. These people had no appreciation for a good story.

Harper liked to tell stories. It was something he was good at. He'd told a lot of stories in the camps, trying to drive back the demons, real and imagined, just for a bit. They'd been wild tales full of enthusiastic gestures. Sometimes he'd lost himself in the excitement and leapt to his feet to act out bits.

His stories were different now, confined as he was by iron, by pain, by darkness, but he told them anyway. They were the only things he had that were still free.

Besides, it's not every day he had such a captive audience.

Okay, Seamus, that one was really lame…

Harper shook his head again. The truth was, Twig soaked them up like a dry sponge, and he and Dylan didn't mind the distraction either.

"So, what happened next?" Twig breathed, and Harper felt him scoot nearer.

He smiled wearily, "Sorry, Twig, but I'm kinda tired now. Can I tell you more tomorrow?" Tired didn't really cover what he was feeling, and his back was burning from the flogging he'd received earlier, but there was no need to mention that.

Silence.

Twig must have nodded. He was always forgetting not to do that. After a moment he heard Dylan whispering something. "Oh… Yeah, that's okay, Seamus," Twig hurried to answer verbally.

"Thanks."

Moving slowly, Harper lay down on the straw, trying to…well not get comfortable so much as find the place that provided the least discomfort. He arranged his chains and closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him.

"Dylan?" he heard Twig ask softly, several minutes later. "Why can't Seamus see?"

Harper stayed still, eyes closed, pretending to be asleep as he waited for Dylan to answer.

It was a long moment before he did. "Well, um…because…because his eyes don't work right."

"But why don't his eyes work right?"

Harper listened to Dylan hmm and haw and he sighed. The captain was trying to find a way to sugar-coat an ugly answer, but he forgot he was talking to a child who lived, and had virtually always lived, in ugliness. In Dylan's world, children were to be protected, kept away from the evil of the universe, but Twig, like Harper, had had that right ripped away from him long ago. He'd seen and lived unimaginable horrors, but Dylan couldn't, or wouldn't, understand that.

Harper rolled over.

"Twig, my eyes don't work because Felix broke them," he said calmly, without emotion. And he didn't pull his words; he gave it to the kid straight. "I did something that made him really mad. I was his slave but I ran away. Then he caught me and he punished me by making my eyes not work anymore. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Twig answered, nodding wisely. He knew what punishment was. He thought for a moment more. "Would you run away again if you could? From here?"

"Yes, I would," Harper answered firmly.

Twig was quiet again as if processing that. "I wouldn't," he finally admitted. "I wouldn't know where to go."

Silence descended again but it didn't last long. Not that Harper could sleep anyway. A storm was coming; he could tell by the way his hands and ribs were aching even more than usual, and the fresh stripes on his back throbbed.

"Dylan," Twig whispered again, "why do you call Seamus 'Harper' when his name's Seamus?"

Harper had been waiting for this one. None of the other slaves really cared if he was called Seamus or Harper. They had more important things to worry about. But Twig had become a virtual shadow to the pair, spending as much time as possible hanging around them. He was there even more than Simon was, as the older man was often called to offer comfort or advice to other slaves.

"Well, Seamus is his name," Dylan told the boy, "but so is Harper."

"Why?"

Harper's lips tugged up in a weary smile. "My full name is Seamus Zelazny Harper. That's really long, though, so I just told people here to call me Seamus, but my friends call me Harper."

For a child with no name the though of having three was an extravagance he couldn't comprehend. "Three names! Just for you?" Twig cried then turned to Dylan. "Do you have more names, too?"

"Yep," Dylan answered, smiling at the wide-eyed expression on the boy. "My name is Captain Dylan Hunt."

"Why would one person need so many names?"

"It's just the way people do things," Dylan answered. "You probably used to have more than one name, too, you know."

Twig shrugged. Maybe, but he couldn't remember.

"So," he asked happily, "can I call you Harper, too? Like Dylan does?"

"Yeah," Harper laughed even though he was bone-tired. "Knock yourself out. Call me Harper, or whatever you want. Freakin' Genius works, too, or Super –"

"Harper, you're confusing the boy," Dylan cut in, laughing.

The first curfew whistle shattered the air just then. Those of their barrack-mates who weren't already inside began streaming through the prison door.

"Twig!" Peter called tiredly to the boy from across the room. "Come over 'ere an' climb up so we can get in."

"Okay," Twig replied then turned to his friends. "Bye," he said quickly and scurried off to the bunk he shared with Ethan and Peter.

Dylan moved over to sit on the straw beside Harper's feet and leaned his back against the barrack wall. He bent his knees and rested his arms on the top, letting his chained hands dangle loosely between them. His days of sitting in chairs seemed very far away. Gradually, the noise of the barrack quieted as the prisoners dragged their broken bodies into their bunks and let sleep take them to better places, or blessed oblivion. He knew he should sleep too, he was certainly tired enough, but he didn't. At night, when they weren't slaving like animals, it was so hard to be here. Not that the work wasn't back-breaking and horrid as well, but a night it was so hard to combat the boredom, the feeling that they shouldn't be stuck here! The Worldship was coming, the Commonwealth was in a state of unrest, and he was rotting in some death camp when he should be out there doing something about it!

He glanced at Harper, looking his friend over and noticing that the ever-present lines of pain on his forehead were a little deeper tonight.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"A little sore," Harper admitted. It was a mark of how much things had changed that Harper skipped the flippant answer and told his captain the truth.

Dylan's constantly repressed anger flared as he noted the fresh tears and blood in the boy's ragged shirt, but he said nothing. There was nothing he could say or do that would change anything, and that was the worst part of all. Dylan Hunt was not used to being powerless, especially when it came to helping his friends.

He changed the subject. They did that a lot these days. They talked a lot, too. More than they ever had before life became insane.

"Harper, where'd 'Zelazny' come from?"

To his surprise, Harper laughed. "A moment of drunken insanity."

"What?"

"Yeah. Mom named me Seamus after her brother who died when they were kids. Dad got to pick my middle name. The night after I was born, Dad went out with the guys to celebrate. I was the first of their four kids to live through a whole day. Anyway, they got good and plastered. Sometime during the night they asked him what I was gonna be called and Dad said he didn't know yet. One thing let to another and before long one of them had dared Dad that he couldn't use the last letter of the alphabet twice in one name. And so Zelazny was born. I tell ya, Mom was none too happy about it, but Dad couldn't go back on the dare. I was stuck. Mom never forgave him for that, but me, I kinda like it. Makes me unique."

"Are you serious? You got the name Zelazny from a dare?" Dylan couldn't help laughing. "And I always assumed it was some old family name or something!

"Nope. But it could become one, you know. Feel free to pass it on to your kids, if you'd like. When I'm famous, they might appreciate it."

"Um…I think I'll pass on that," Dylan said.

"Fine, suit yourself. Just trying to be nice," Harper mumbled sarcastically then hissed in pain, a hiss that turned into a yawn.

"You should go to sleep, Harper," Dylan said, concerned.

"Can't," Harper mumbled. "My Serta Sheep are on strike. Won't come out and do their job. They say it stinks in here."

"Huh?" Dylan said.

"You know, Serta Sheep…mattresses…

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, never mind," Harper muttered.

They were quiet for a moment.

"You know, speaking of names, I didn't tell Twig the whole truth when he asked," Dylan said suddenly.

"You, Captain Dylan Hunt, lied?" Harper rolled carefully onto his back, hiding his grunt of pain. If he could have, he would have been looking right at the captain. Instead, his blind eyes drifted lazily off somewhere just to Dylan's right. Dylan felt a pang of regret; he missed the emotions those eyes used to convey, how they showed what the young engineer was thinking, how they'd light up with the joy of discovery.

"Well, no. I just didn't tell the whole truth. There's a difference, as I'm sure you know since you've used that excuse on me more than once…"

"Okay, okay. Good point. So, what didn't ya tell the kid?" Harper was exhausted, but Dylan has piqued his interest.

"My full name. Dylan's not my first name, you know."

"It's not?" Harper asked. Now he was really confused.

"You don't go by your first name, well, neither do I, although obviously for different reasons. My full name is Ethelbert Dylan Hunt." Dylan said it quickly. It wasn't something he admitted often.

"Ethelbert?"

"Yeah."

"Ethelbert!"

"Sh, not so loud!"

"And I thought Zelazny was bad. No wonder you don't go by your first name!"

"It was my great-grandfather's. Mom had this thing for family history, but she never considered all the years I'd have to spend in grade school being called 'Ethel.' I dropped the name as soon as I got to the Academy."

"Ethelbert…" Harper was still in disbelief. "Three years I've been serving under a Captain Ethelbert and I didn't even know it? Oh, the things I could have done…" he sighed dreamily.

"Mention it and you die," Dylan threatened. "I'll tell Tyr what really happened to his favorite gauss gun."

"Ouch! You play mean, Ethel."

"I knew I would regret this…"

"Hey, it's all good. I'm just yanking your chain." Given their current situation, Harper realized that probably wasn't the best phrase to use. "I mean…you know what I mean." He suddenly found it very hard to keep his eyes open. Conversation tired him easily nowadays.

"Go to sleep, Harper," Dylan said seriously, slipping into captain-mode again as he watched his friend fight sleep.

"'K, Boss," Harper agreed. "Oh, and don't worry, your secret really is safe with me. Heaven knows you've got enough of mine now."

Harper rolled onto his side once more, chains jangling. His back hurt too much to stay on it tonight. He cradled his aching hands to his chest and curled up under his thin blanket. "Doubt we'll ever get back for me to tell anyways…" he whispered under his breath.

Dylan pretended he hadn't heard.