We All Got Scars
Burke, although he went by the name Jackal when engaged in this kind of bargaining, settled himself against the wall next to the door as soon as he entered. The dimly lit bar was filled with humans as he expected in the Forbidden Zone, miles away from the ape inhabited towns located south of the mountains. Flinty eyes of about a dozen hard men sized him up in seconds and returned to their cups, meagerly filled plates, and games of chance. Hard faces living harsh lives. Wild humans untamed by apes. And no one would mistake Jackal for anything different.
His dark hair grew long, pulled into a thick braid that went to his shoulder blades. His equally dark beard grew in a wild wave, but unlike many in the room, was free of tangled mats and flecks of food. An animal skin vest was slipped over his thin shirt and slacks of rough woven fabric, hiding the blades that were supposed to be restricted in the pub—not because any humans in the Zone questioned who carried them but to limit the deadly fights that might erupt. They couldn't prevent fists but the 'no weapon' pact between outlaws and rebels allowed the make-shift bars to become a sanctuary for deal-making and planning among divergent factions that might otherwise have bloody histories. Burke had resigned himself that humans just didn't seem capable of learning from mistakes of the past even against a common enemy, but he had no intentions of leaving himself without options for the sake of a loose code of honor if things turned ugly. Burke didn't risk bringing a gun inside, though. Harder to hide and high risk to complete this errand. And he had good reasons to keep his blades pressed against his back, hips, and ankles. He'd been without too many times with disastrous consequences. His clothes hid the numerous scars that disfigured his back, his torso, his arms, and legs. He wore his collar open though. Unusual, dark markings swirled along his collarbones disappearing into the folds of his shirt, but he proudly had no brands to hide. The buried scars, the ones that sunk into his soul leaving open tears and twisted tissue, were masked behind deep brown eyes that scanned the room.
He blinked fast as his gaze fell on the blond man with the striking blue eyes watching him over the rim of his cup. The message Jackal had received said, "you'll know me" scrawled in the ape paw print he had finally forced himself to learn. Not many humans left had 'that' look and none of the offspring Virdon had been forced to beget under the hands of Ramor back in Etissa near the mountain crossing would be older than eight. Although he could easily be mistaken for Virdon from a distance, this man was closer to Pete in age, and they were a long way from Etissa. No one in this area knew Jackal by sight, although the name carried a reputation as a gun for hire. Pete had never expected to live the life of a mercenary, but a lot of things went to shit after Jones and Hasslein sucker-punched their mission to Alpha Centauri and sent them spinning through time to crash in mankind's self-created hell leaving the apes with their feet planted firmly across humanity's throats. He and Al had taken a not-so-merry jaunt across the country looking for Virdon's way home but as Pete predicted, they returned to the same shithole they landed in when they arrived with little to show but more scar tissue and Burke's churning anger.
At least here he got to kill apes which he assumed was what landed him in this town—although calling anything in The Forbidden Zone a town was a euphemism clinging to the past where humans set up shop and established a life for themselves. It was more like a human learned how to make rock-gut and established a place to sell it then a few hovels were built up around it. Humans, despite themselves, still gravitated to the need for interaction: eating, drinking, whoring, gambling—all the vices under one roof, Burke thought with no small measure of disgust for the endless cycle of stupidity. And somehow his partner still had faith in this rabble. Nothing like a real town could exist without drawing undue attention from the apes. It may be The Forbidden Zone but anything smacking of humans getting a sense of freedom would bring a ruthless and overwhelming response as long as Urko held any power—and he held plenty. Just thinking the name caused a twist in Pete's gut. Just one shot—one shot and he would grab it to take that bastard out. He'd be happy to die in that effort as long as Urko went down with him.
He eyed the blond-haired man a moment longer. No one else stood out as his contact. His thumbs tucked loosely in the rope belt at his waist, Burke flashed two fingers followed by three. The man responded with two followed by one using the hand holding his cup. Simple code but few humans knew how to read, and most couldn't count past their fingers. Had to keep it workable. And he didn't need anyone knowing he could think rings around them. A dumb fuck with a gun is all they needed to know. Despite his efforts to lift people out of their squalor, his respect for his fellow humans sat pretty low on the scale.
Burke scanned the room again before making his way through the crowd to slide into the empty chair closest to the wall next to the man. The man drained his cup, set it on the table and waved a hand toward the bar and within minutes, the old man who ran the place set a cup filled with a brownish tinted beverage in front of Pete. He gave the server a quick nod, but his eyes remained fixed on the man sitting catty-cornered to him. A fresh cup was laid before the blond-haired man. They lifted the cups simultaneously and each took a sip, or a feigned one in Pete's case. Thieves' code aside, he trusted very, very few. Up close, the resemblance to Virdon was more striking. It unnerved him making him more cautious. He kept his left hand wrapped around the cup while he dropped his right to his lap.
"Jackal," the man stated.
"You are?"
"Tofer."
"You asked me here. What do you want?"
"Vengeance," his voice was flat, empty of emotion, his blue eyes glinted even in the dim light.
"I don't touch innocents," Jackal stated.
A familiar looking half grin tugged at the lips of the man. Burke forced himself to separate the two. Virdon didn't sit next to him. A tingling on his back caused him to take a quick glance around them. No one was looking their way. He returned his focus to the potential danger in front of him.
"I find that hard to believe—given your reputation," the man locked eyes with Jackal as he sipped at his drink.
"Your belief don't mean shit to me. You want revenge, gotta be the one who fucked you, and only the one who fucked you. And I don't mean some good-time fuck who dumped your ass."
"Oh, I think I can agree to that."
Jackal gave a curt nod. "What did he do?"
"Destroyed my family."
"Ape?"
"Human."
"Where is he?"
"Close. Verrrry close."
Pete felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. His fingers drifted under his vest and slid beneath the waistband of his pants to a hilt tucked into a leather sheath tied around his hips. His position in the chair ensured he could remove it, kill this man in seconds, and be out the door before he slumped in his seat.
"This is not the place for particulars. I'll meet you again day after tomorrow. There's a field of yellow flowers growing near a bend in the stream west of here. You'll see a rope on a tree. Be there an hour after dawn or I'm gone," Jackal laid out his requirements. "You know my price. Bring half."
"That's just it," the man lifted his eyes toward the ceiling as he spoke, "I don't want to wait that long. I've waited years for this." The man suddenly pushed the table over in Burke's direction attempting to pin him against the wall, but the experienced mercenary was prepared. He sprung from his seat in the opposite direction, a thin knife in his right hand and his left already moving toward another fastened at his back. He made no attempt to engage the man. He was too far away from the door which became his immediate goal. He would make time for retribution on this Tofer guy's ass later. A few marks of his well-known brand would warn away anyone who tried to cross Jackal in the future.
He pivoted past the startled men at the table closest to them following the escape path he had planned as he stood at the door. His stomach lurched when the men closest to the front door slipped a board into the slats locking it medieval style. There were no windows, but he knew there was a back door, and spun away in that direction. Tofer lunged toward him, but Pete sliced through his shirt with a swift flick of his wrist. Adopting moves that left tacklers strung out behind him when he carried a football instead of his blades, he twisted and twirled among the rickety tables. His eyes darted quickly from one man to the next evading the clumsy attempts to grab him. He wasn't surprised that Tofer had planted some help among the bar patrons, but he hadn't expected the cohesive uprising as a table was rolled across to block the back hallway and the entire room squeezed toward him.
Pete slashed with both hands giving him some room to maneuver. He leapt onto a table and began a zig-zagging romp from one tabletop to the next headed for the only possible way open to him, although it didn't escape his calculations that Tofer likely had the back door barred as well. He decided he had no other place to go and would make a last stand with his back against it, taking out as many men willing to die for this asshole as he could before they took him out. He suspected it wouldn't be that many before he convinced them he wasn't worth their lives, and they looked the other way as he let himself out.
Burke was two tables away from a planned jump that should take him over the men stationed at the hallway when a hand snatched his ankle in mid-air, and he fell face first into the table he was headed toward. His head jerked back, and he crumpled to the floor landing on his side with a whoof as the air in his lungs abandoned him. Too many blows to count began bashing him. With so many trying at the same time, none were strong enough to do much damage. Burke heard some satisfying yelps from the cuts he inflicted before someone had the sense to stomp his hands and take his knives. Despite the controlled use of his fists, elbows, knees, and feet to punch and pummel, the numbers won out and his arms were wrenched painfully behind him, his feet roped and yanked back as he was hogtied. A gag was stuffed into his mouth before he could use his bite to get their attention. Another rope was looped around his neck and secured to the ties at his hands and feet causing any attempt to struggle against the bindings to choke him. He lacked Virdon's glass half-full bullshit, but he managed to keep his head in the game recognizing they weren't planning on killing him yet. Which meant he still had a chance to get out of this clusterfuck.
He lay still, watching, waiting for their next move so he could decide on his. Knowing the bar couldn't risk being known as blatantly violating the honor system, they wouldn't do whatever they had planned at this location. They had two doors to choose from to move him allowing a sense of calm, knowing the odds would jump in his favor whichever way they went. A group of men, three on each side, lifted the heavy wood counter that formed the bar and took a few steps before setting it down again. The white-haired old man called Lothur, the pub owner based on Burke's reconnaissance, dropped to one knee, and jiggled a latch to reveal a trap door. With his movement options limited, the adrenaline surge only allowed Pete to feel the increased pounding of his heart that thrummed against his eardrums.
Well, fuck. There goes Plan B. Again. It further entered Pete's awareness that although they weren't killing him yet, his death was in their plan. The damn honor code was only as good as whatever those in attendance could get out of it. If he didn't survive to reveal that the code was broken, the honor remained. And whatever deal Blondie cooked up to persuade Lothur and the rest to risk it had to be valuable enough to keep their long-term silence.
A musty smelling blanket snapped above his head and was laid out beside him. He was rolled onto it with one coward taking the opportunity to punch his side right below the ribcage. Someone began to fold the blanket over him when he heard the words, "Wait. Sit him up."
Several hands maneuvered him then balanced him on his knees making him gag as the neck rope dug into his windpipe. Tofer grabbed a tuft of his hair, lifting his head to stare balefully into his eyes. Jackal sneered back with his own. The man started to speak, caught himself but nodded to someone behind Burke. The crash against the back of his skull sent shock waves of pain through Pete's body and when they released him, he fell chest forward, his chin thudding against the wood flooring.
"Tie it up," Tofer instructed. The blanket was pulled tight and bound with additional ropes then dropped unceremoniously into the trap door hole. Three men climbed down a ladder after the stranger. Tofer handed the pub owner a bag full of sembles. "Your men can return as soon as they help me get him into the wagon."
"Does he have a name? What if someone comes looking for him?" Lothur asked, nervously rocking the bag between his hands.
"I never asked for a name. He's no better than pig snot and no one gives a shit what happens to him. He deserves what's coming."
"We helped because, well, such monsters deserve death but if word ever escaped these walls that I allowed him to be taken…."
"No one will know it was your place. And no one will come looking. Anyone that might have cared about him once is long dead," Tofer assured him.
"See that they don't. A man could lose his head for breaking the code."
"I'll take his when I'm done. I just need to hear him scream for a while before I'm done."
"Be best for all if you didn't come back around neither." Lothur glanced at the men gathered nearby who gave warning stares of agreement.
"After I'm done with this, I got nothing left anyway. Not being 'round here is as good as not being anywhere else," Tofer uttered as he descended the ladder, disappearing into the tunnel that ran beneath the pub. Lothur resealed the trap door, waved and the bar stand was returned to its usual spot. He dropped the heavy bag down the front of his shirt. He would pass out shares at the end of the night.
"Open up the doors. The next one's on the house."
Pete had tried to push himself into consciousness, drifting awake enough to know he was thrown into a wagon and cool air replaced the stifling odor when he was dumped out of the blanket. But as he struggled into awareness, a grimy hand pressed a wet rag against his nose and over the gag stuck in his mouth making sure the fumes sent him far, far away. Count backwards from one hundred, he thought as his head thrashed against the steel grip. He made it to eighty-nine. When he awoke suspended like an X with his wrists tied to a rafter and his ankles to bolts in the flooring, his groggy mind knew the final stop had arrived.
"Hello torture, my old friend," he muttered. At least the gag was gone.
The man, Tofer, was suddenly next to him, yanking his head back by his hair braid and pressed a knife against his jugular. His body swung slightly in the ropes.
"I want to see your blood spill so bad. Watch the shock in your eyes as your own blood spurts in your face until it's all drained away."
"Well, give me a minute to wake up and maybe you'll get a better show," Burke offered as he blinked several times against the headache wrapped around his skull.
"Don't worry. We ain't doing this quick, asshole. You will pay for what you did to my father. To my family. To me."
"Since you plan on making me pay," Burke remarked calmly as he tried to find his eyes to focus on the man, "Maybe you can tell me what the hell it is you think I did."
"You know what you did. You think you can hide from it, but I will be cutting away all your lies until only the truth is left. No one will hear it but me, but you will admit what you are. Justice may be imperfect, but I will have the satisfaction of watching you join me in hell."
Tofer guided the tip of the blade along the collar of Jackal's shirt to the deep-cut v-neck then pressed down tearing the threads apart as he dragged it along the center of his torso. Red lines creased both sides of the sharp edge leaving a dribbling wake starting at his sternum. A lazy drip made its way to begin a dark crimson pool on the wood floor between his legs.
"You practice that little speech? It may have sounded good to you there at the podium but doesn't provide much enlightenment here in the cheap seats." Pete purposefully kept his eyes on the man and not the blade. He did his best to bury the irritation that every goddam time someone felt the need to torture him, they also felt the need to tear his shirt off. It wasn't like he could just walk into a local shopping center to grab a new one. Damned annoying.
Tofer, on the other hand, cocked his head as his eyes followed the progress of his cut. "You're wrong about that. You are center stage for this little duo show. Keep denying what is right in front of your eyes. I expected that. Gives me a chance to force you back to the truth. A very painful truth. Gonna be a different kind of pain for you than me, though." Burke noted that this guy was trying to talk a good game, but he heard the tremor at the back of his throat.
Tofer lifted the blade when he reached the waistband of Jackal's trousers then jerked the knife down to separate the shirt front. He brought the knife up as he spoke, stopping with the flat side of the blade inches from his captive's nose. "Being the coward that you are, I suspect you will beg me for the killing blow rather than acknowledge your actions. I promise you this, I will not give you the death you will plead for until you know my name and you will admit what you did."
"Not Tofer then, huh?" Pete tried to take in his surroundings, but his brain wasn't ready to process so he kept his eyes on the blond-haired madman currently looking nothing like Virdon with the blue of his eyes little more than thin rings surrounding crazed pupils and a wide-mouth, feral smile emitting a soft guttural laugh.
"Not Jackal. Although I admire the name choice. A beast noted for living in the desolation mankind has left behind. They were almost extinct in the wild, but I would guess they made a comeback all things considered." Tofer grabbed Burke by the beard pulling him forward the full extension of the ropes, putting strain on his wrists and ankles as he continued to flash the long knife blade in front of Pete's eyes. "Not tracking so good yet, are you, Jackal? Well, we won't start on the fun stuff until you are fully able to appreciate how this is gonna go for you." Tofer laid the flat side against Jackal's cheek and suddenly slashed down taking away a hand full of his beard and releasing it carelessly to the floor. Several dark hairs floated in the blood splatters.
"Wasn't looking for a barber but if you insist, I had some tiles in my pocket, unless you already took 'em,"
"The sembles, your knives, your shoes, everything in your pockets and pouches. I took 'em. You won't need 'em anymore. I'll be taking some other things before we're done. You might miss those more," Tofer continued slicing while engaging in a meandering conversation that Burke quickly decided was nothing more than shallow attempts to intimidate him. He decided to wait until the asshole got serious before working up a scream to entertain him. Tofer cut away Pete's beard close to the skin then proceeded to slap at Burke's face as he rubbed in grainy soap, shaving the rest using a straight edge razor. If he left any knicks, Pete didn't feel it.
"There, that's better," Tofer pronounced as he took a step back when he was done. "Looking more like yourself. Ahh, but wait…." The man wandered behind Burke and jerked his head back. Pete felt the pressure as Tofer sawed just above the braid at the nape of his neck. A sharp pain sliced through his skull as something wet dribbled down his neck. He didn't think that was Tofer's doing exactly. He would have made a show of it. More likely an injury left from the cowardly club to take him out back at the bar. Now Pete had a concussion to be mindful about although he reminded himself if his mind was mindful, he most likely wasn't concussed, and he didn't mind that at all. Burke chuckled to himself, needing to find something humorous in this situation.
"Ya think this is funny?" Tofer snapped as he walked back where Pete could see him and shoved the severed hair in his face, acting as if he'd taken his whole scalp.
"If I was Samson, I might be worried," Burke drawled, although Pete was a little worried. This guy wasn't a piece of shit by nature. Lacked the dispassion and brutality of a true villain. His actions were practiced, rehearsed, stiff as if he was trying to get it right. And though he claimed he wanted Jackal to feel pain, his movements were just short of it. Indecisive about how far to go. Meaning he had a grudge. And guys with grudges were dangerous as hell. Especially since it seemed to involve him for who the fuck knew why. "As it is, it's just a handful of hair," Pete finished.
"Give me time. You may feel the absence of the next thing I decide to take." He tossed the ponytail toward a neat pile in a shadowy corner where Pete saw the glint of his knives, his soft boots, vest, pouches, and bags. Even the rope belt. At least his pants hadn't joined the pile…yet.
"Nope. Not Jackal," the man moved his eyes along Pete's suspended body. "Shit. Have you even aged? You look just like your picture, Major Burke."
"Resigned," Pete responded after a calculated pause then deciding there was no point in denying his name. Tofer lifted an eyebrow in response. "Not Major," Pete confirmed.
"Well, knowing what you did, I'm not surprised you jumped ship. Professor Hasslein always said you were a cocky-ass punk. Well, he said 'arrogant, overrated miscreant' but I knew what he meant."
Burke's eyes narrowed, and he forced another snigger. "Who sent you? Urko? Nah, he wouldn't give up the opportunity to do his own knife work. Sadistic bastard. Vanda? Yeah, you're more her style. Send her creature out on the prowl, huh? What? She thinks I'll tell you shit because you're human? Because you look like…," Pete stopped himself before he gave anything away, "…because you're human? I'll tell you the same thing I told her—not a goddamn thing."
"Actually, you sent me." Red had risen into Tofer's cheeks as anger swirled along with the crazy. "Because of you I had to come. Not FOR you. BECAUSE of you. I came FOR my father." Rage flickered as Tofer stepped into Pete causing him to sway in the ropes, bumping his chest against Tofer's as he swung. "And BECAUSE of you, my father is dead."
"You're gonna have to be more specific," Burke replied. "I'm not gonna deny I've removed a lot of characters from the storyboards since we joined the cast of Dante's Inferno. But I gotta say, most of 'um deserved it."
Tofer threw a one-two punch into Pete's mouth leading with the hand weighted by the razor's handle gripped in his fist before he stepped back, breathing hard. "Damn, I want you dead."
"Must say, the feeling's mutual right now," Burke casually spit out the bloodied spittle and pressed his tongue against the split in his lip, tasting the familiar coopery twang of his own blood.
"No, you won't get any short cuts. Doing this my way. You need to suffer. By God, you will suffer." Tofer slammed his blade onto a table situated a few feet away from Burke's rigged prison. Pete winced slightly seeing familiar tools of torture clearly lit by the oil lamp burning there as Tofer put both hands into his blond hair and stomped out an exterior door of the small cabin. It slowly sunk into Pete's less-addled brain that he shouldn't be taunting this guy if he had any hopes of walking out of this place. But Virdon always warned him that his mouth prattled faster than his brain processed. He thought he'd gotten better over the years. Maybe not.
Wherever this place was, it was several ratholes above the typical shanties inhabited by humans in this degenerate world. Had an actual floor for starters and the beam that stretched across the midline was sturdy. Having time to better assess his situation, Pete saw that his arms were tightly bound by ropes twisted in several loops at his wrists that passed through metal rings screwed into the wood beam and snaked behind him. Unable to twist his head enough to see where they went, he couldn't see how the system worked but figured the other ends were tied within reach of his "host." And there wasn't much give in the sway. Similar rings were mounted on the floor but instead of passing through, the ropes were wrapped around his ankles and fastened to those holders, holding him a few inches off the floor. A trail of about four feet of rope lay past the knots on each ring suggesting Tofer could loosen him from the outstretched position he was currently in or tie them elsewhere to a mounting he couldn't see.
The one room cabin was a small place with a grungy mattress to his left and a smattering of junk set nearby—a wooden plate and cup, a couple of spoons, a metal pot, a few pieces of clothing, uncovered bins with some kind of food stuffs. An empty, roughly plastered stone firepit with an angled, narrow chimney aligned with the wall perpendicular to the door. Blackened from use, but clean, a small crate of kindling next to it implied the thing worked. He tilted his head and squinted into the shadows by the sleeping mat. Was that the spine of a book jutting out from beneath the straw-filled mat?
That did cause a curdle in his gut. Urko would never permit a human any involvement in his hunt for the fugitives but Vanda and her spooks—it really could be her and would explain how this guy knew some of what he knew—although he never did figure out for sure how she knew what she knew. They speculated but with no way to prove it, it was no more than something else to fret about that couldn't be changed anyway. But if Vanda was involved, falling back into her hands meant Urko would have him on a spit soon after. Zaius was little more than a figurehead now, having no say in controlling Urko, and given his own problems, Burke doubted Zaius gave them much thought anymore anyway. Urko, on the other hand, held a grudge—one malevolent, nasty grudge that meant one vicious, agonizing outcome when he forced Vanda to turn Burke over. A chill prickled his skin with no misconceptions that it had anything to do with the night air. He couldn't deny the wounds from his time in Urko's prison never healed. He had made a vow to himself years ago that he wouldn't let himself fall back in Urko's hands. He would keep that vow even if it meant giving in and forcing this Tofer nutjob to finish him off.
Pete stared up at one hand then the other, flexing and twisting his wrists and then tried his feet but there was no give in the knots. Tofer had apparently given some thought to this little inquisition for him, and he wasn't getting out of this mess on his own. He wondered if Tofer considered this the end of Act One. If it was, he decided he'd rather call it a day and wait for the movie version to come out.
The hard punch to his gut woke Pete with a whoof, but he took pleasure in opening his eyes quickly enough to see Tofer shaking his hand in response.
"Wheaties. Breakfast of Champions. You should try it sometime," Pete muttered, still half-asleep. Burke rocked his head in a circle to chase the ongoing headache from the pounding he took back at the bar and the groggy side effects from whatever drug they had used on him.
"Never touched that crap again after they put you on the box for the Fifth Anniversary. Although at the time, I was more pissed at the corporate greed for taking advantage of the situation." Frustrated, Burke shook his head again, unsure if someone said those words or he imagined it. Sounded just like something he would say. He wasn't a fan when they put them on the box the first time. He didn't see doing his job as anything particularly heroic. The residual effects on his brain still felt like he was floating in and out of reality, although his obvious suspension from the ceiling ripping his arms out of his shoulder sockets was doing a lot to get him focused on the here and now. Tofer was bent over his little table of goodies sorting through his instruments of terror. Pete opted for a little distraction, hoping for some intel.
"So, what happened to all your buddies? Nobody else wants to play with you?"
"Not my 'buddies'. This is personal. Just between you and me."
"Given the knot on my head and bruises on my ribs, it sure feels like they had a stake in it. Someone's gonna burn the place down if it gets out what they did."
"I told them you raped then slowly butchered my kids. A boy, seven, and a girl, five. Had to get pretty graphic to get their attention. Told them I was going to castrate you. I still might."
A flash of Burke's rage flamed. Funny how he still gave a damn about some things. "I don't touch kids." Unless I'm forced, a memory of twisting a boy's neck in the fight ring still made him nauseous, especially when the boy he was trying to protect was murdered anyway. Fuckin' apes.
"Fine. I lied. Interesting it matters to you. Doesn't forgive the other shit you did. My father didn't deserve what you did to him. You should have cared more about that."
Pete angrily jerked against the ropes causing him to sway. "And he most likely did deserve what he got if I really had something to do with it. I don't target humans, so if I did take him down, there was a good reason."
"You know, it's not the smartest move to piss off the guy carrying the big stick." Tofer turned from the table to face Burke. With the rounded tip of a wooden rod, he pushed the left side of Burke's shirt open. "Those black markings. Those aren't like these scars," his fingers gestured toward the raised and discolored tissue fissuring across his body. More like drawings. Are tattoos making a comeback?"
Burke grit his teeth, cursing himself for once again letting his anger shove aside his good sense. Shut up, Al, he thought to himself. Don't need your advice after the deed is done. "C'mon, Tofer. I know Vanda would have included that little 'Welcome to the Party' tidbit from our first few months after we crashed in her dossier. Did you skip part of her lesson plan?"
"Don't wanna make nice conversation? That's okay. Just that old curiosity bug. It doesn't matter. You've got scars. I've got scars. We've all got scars. And since I get to thank you for a bundle of mine, I think I'll return the favor." Topher turned back to the table snatching a second, thick wooden rod and walked behind Burke. Pete tried to turn to look despite himself. Topher went on, "I tried a few different versions of this device as I was building it, but my effort at cogs was an utter disaster, and human blacksmiths just couldn't wrap their hammers around the concept, so we had to stick with the simple, fixed pulley system to get you up there. But I wanted it to be adjustable and honestly, my first schematics made the whole process more difficult than necessary. All I needed was a solid wood dowel like this," he said as a blow crashed into the small of Burke's back causing him to groan. "Nice and sturdy. How 'bout the other one?" Tofer asked as a second blow sent Burke flying forward in the ropes. "See, there's a bit too much flexibility right now."
"Solid workmanship," Pete forced out once he sucked his breath back. He could feel the ropes that held his left arm being manipulated then heard a rustling sound as the pull at his wrist took it higher. His brown eyes darted in that direction. The tightness increased causing sweat to break out on his forehead as his shoulder began to shriek from the added pressure.
"Whadda ya think, Not-Major-Burke? Does it have all the promise of a medieval rack?"
"I always preferred the designer look in sack cloths myself. Would never consider anything off the rack. Have a reputation to maintain." He swallowed down the shooting pain digging into his shoulder and tearing at his ankle. The wood crashing into his ribs on the left sent him swinging to the side.
"As I suspected. We'll have to tighten it there, too."
Pete couldn't stop the groan that rumbled in his throat when his right arm was yanked up, tearing at his shoulder.
"Now we are making progress. That's only one extra twist, ya know. I can make it tighter. A lot tighter."
"It's your shindig, man." Pete closed his eyes and let his chin drop, seeking a way to absorb the pain flaring in all directions.
"You're right. It is." Tofer was back in front of Pete with his arms crossed. "And it's been a long couple of days making the final arrangements for this operation. After all these years of fantasizing about it, I have you here at last. But I'm so beat, I'm not sure I'm taking full advantage of the moment. Do you know what I think?"
"That once you recognize surrealism as real art, you can't honestly call it surreal anymore?" Pete raised a single eyebrow in question.
"I had forgotten that you can be funny. No, I think I need some food and some sleep so we can enjoy a full day tomorrow finding out how many ways Use-to-be-Major Peter Burke can try to be funny while pretending he is not responsible for destroying a lot of lives. Let me leave you with this last little token of what tomorrow will bring." He dipped a cup into a bucket set next to the table, brought the cup to Pete, squeezed his hand around the nape of his neck and held it just below his chin.
"How generous. Cell block and tackle gets a water ration."
"Oh, I can't let you drink this, Burke. Might make you sick." Tofer's blue eyes sparkled. He poured the water down Pete's chest where blood oozed along the open cut. Burke hissed, his eyes jerking wide-open, flaming Tofer.
"This is salt water."
Pete gave into the screams about mid-morning. The repeated blows across his entire torso with fists and wooden rods started the day. Tofer progressed to rope flails to whip around his arms and legs leaving countless welts, some breaking the skin. The metal platters loaded with low-burning kindling that he placed under the soles of his feet caused the moans to progress to wails as the smell of his roasting flesh filled the room. Tofer was forced to remove the glowing embers when the stringy bottoms of his trousers started to smoke. "And there go the pants," Burke manage to utter out loud when the knife slit up the seams marked by new bloodied trails to just below his crotch and the legs were tossed into the pile of his belongings. The flames were extinguished but the paralyzing pain prevented Pete from even acknowledging Tofer's prods to reveal whatever heinous act he wanted him to confess.
At some point, Tofer relented and gave him water to drink. He then proceeded to rip open the back of his shirt and cut away the remaining fabric giving full access to jab and cut at his leisure. Determined to find any unblemished piece of flesh, he tightened the ropes extending Burke's bleeding wrists and ankles until he shrieked when one shoulder popped out of its joint. When Burke passed out, a pail of salt water was thrown in his face and chest stinging the cuts and abrasions from the day's repeated blows. Pete sputtered awake to blue eyes inches from his face as his head was jerked up by his hair.
"You're going to die here, Peter Burke. Don't you want to confess your sins? Redeem your soul? Share any regrets?"
For the barest of moments, Pete saw another face—one he trusted beyond all doubt— but as he blinked, that face dissolved into a younger man filled with hate and anger. Maybe it was the image of the former offering the promise of comfort that opened his mouth. "There are very few things in this shitty life I regret or would do over. Ending up in this shithole maybe."
"That!" Tofer bobbled his head roughly. "Tell me what you would do over."
"Nah. Not even that," Pete decided. "I chose to go. I wanted to go. And if it wasn't for…well, it could have been special."
Tofer punished his answer with a flurry of blows with the flail rounding his body to randomly strike limbs, back, chest, pelvis as he repetitively shouted, "If it wasn't for what! Say it! Admit what you did!" As he returned to face the sagging Burke, he slapped his cheeks demanding, "Admit how you sabotaged the mission!"
A coarse chuckle growled in Pete's dry throat. "This is a whole new spin for Vanda. You really think you can goad me into telling you crap. Nope."
Tofer grabbed Burke's shoulders on either side of his neck and shook him, his angry words flew spittle into his face. "This has nothing to do with Vanda or Urko or anybody else but me, damn it! Who paid you? What were you hoping to gain? Or are you just a fanatical extremist with some crazy ideas about the end of the world? How did you sabotage the Icarus? Why!? Why!?"
Pete managed to hold his eyes open to focus on the enraged man in front of him. "Me? Is that part of Vanda's game or are you really blaming me for what those two assholes did?"
"You murdered Jones! You murdered Colonel Virdon! And you have the fucking audacity to blame them for what you did?"
"Wh-wh-what? Not Virdon, you dumb shit. Hasslein and his deranged puppet, Jones."
"No. No! It was you. Hasslein told me. He said it was on record."
Pete tensed in the ropes, pulling his head up as his own anger blossomed in red flares brighter than the bruises Tofer had left on his cheeks. "That's a lie." Whatever weakness Tofer's torture had laid over Burke disappeared in an explosion of vehemence that grew stronger the longer he spoke. "You can't change the truth to make it convenient for whoever the hell you are trying to serve. Virdon told ground control what happened when we were trapped in Jones's fucked idea of securing a future. He also told them to go after Hasslein. I hope to somebody's god they fried his ass. We had no choice but to cross the event horizon into his damn wormhole. Hasslein set us up like we were fuckin' lab rats just to see what would happen, and Jones pulled his goddam trigger.
"And for the damn record, Jones killed himself. All I did was shove him in the EM room so I could try to shut down the mess he started. Poor fuck probably had no idea it would blow up and melt his ass. And I guar-ran-teee His Worship never thought about Jones again. Except maybe to drop his name to fill somebody's head with his bullshit.
"And the burning question we should all be asking ourselves is how the hell the apes got their intel. Virdon swears it wasn't him, and it sure as shit wasn't me. And they know too goddamn much for my liking. They can't change the past but make no mistake, Urko will use it like a club to make things even worse for what's left of the human race. That monkey has extermination on his mind and he's spreading half-truths if not outright lies to gather support until he gets his way.
"So, you listen, Tofer, and you listen good—the only end the apes see for you is a dead one, and they'll be happy to see how many humans you can coax into the bucket before they drown the lot of you. Every sleight of hand they can twist to make monster shadows on the wall brings them another step closer to proving humans are too dangerous and violent to maintain. And proving a damn war machine is on its way to take the monkeys out will convince even the most benign ape into agreeing that an eradication order is needed so no home-grown beasts of burden will be around to be conscripted as cannon fodder for the invaders.
"Don't tell me you can't fucking see that! You blame me for killing some nameless bastard because he fucked your mother one night but here you are wanting to murder the whole goddamn human race for a goddamn fucking monkey!" All pain forgotten, Burke had pulled himself so far forward in the ropes, he was in Tofer's face causing the startled man to stumble back. Almost a decade of volcanic anger spewed forth as Burke twisted every sinew in his battered body, screaming against one event after another that brought him to this place, facing another brainwashed human blindly doing some ape's bidding.
But Tofer found his anger, too. He started punching Burke's mouth to make him shut up, pounding until a steady stream of blood flowed from his mouth and nose and his eyes were swollen near shut. "I know what you did! They told me what you did! My father trusted you! He respected you! This isn't about the apes! This is about what you did! Can't you fucking see that!" He then grabbed his flail and whipped him, front and back, high and low, looking for any place to cause pain with his final blows thrashing his genitals both across his hips and between his legs.
"Say it! Say it! Say it" he shrieked until he was hoarse. Tofer beat Burke until he dropped to his knees, exhausted, the flail in his lap, his chin to his chest. Burke hung limply, barely conscious, his breathing wheezing with irregular gasps as some part of his brain decided to keep him alive. The only sound in the room was the soft squeak of the ropes swaying against the rings.
The words swirled in Pete's head, replacing the pounding of the physical blows but he had no idea which sounds escaped into the room. "Why now? We've been hiding under this cover for over two years. They haven't even been looking. They gave up. Or didn't care anymore. What changed? Why now?!" Pete's head jerked up and his eyes flew open, but he wasn't seeing anything in the small cabin.
"The ship! Did they know we went back to the ship? What was it, ten, eleven months ago? Another hare-brained idea I got talked into. Ahh, don't kid yourself. You wanted to go back. You needed to go back. You should've been there for her the first time." Burke entered an odd place as his mind evaded the physical pain and decided to relive the emotional kind instead. Memories escaped, but he side-stepped staring it full in the face and acted as if he was the narrator reminding him of the story.
"And when we couldn't get close to the Icarus because Urko hadn't let up on the guards even after all this time—why they didn't just blow it up, who knows? Must be one of the few things Zaius still has some power over—we targeted the mystery ship that crashed before us. You were the first one through the fence back into Ah-ti territory. You snuck off in the night and had your knife at green-eyed Ahta's throat by dawn. Green-eyed Ahta the green-eyed monster. That's funny. Yeah, he wouldn't have got the joke either. Sorry malnourished bastard. And you gave him a chance—something he didn't give his own kid brother. Something he didn't deserve after he murdered Ehpah.
"'What are we doing? We're going for a swim Ahta.' Tying his ass to that log was easy. Hardly put up a fight at all. Sonofabitch thought I was a demon. Well, maybe he was right about that. A fucking-ass demon taking you for a swim, Ahta. Right out in the middle of the lagoon. Cutting you loose and leaving your ass flapping like a fish out of water. Flapping like a murderous coward who can't swim in water. For Ehpah. For Iro. I didn't even hurt you, but both of them still probably pissed at me for doing it," Burke murmured, remembering when Ehpah slapped him for breaking Ahta's nose after the native sliced him open trying to kill him with Burke's own knife. And Iro would have stuck up for his older brother, forgetting his own brother sent him out to die. "Don't care. I'd do it again. Don't even know if you made it, you sorry motherfucker. You were still floundering in the middle of the water when I walked into the forest back to that other ship…that other ship…."
Burke blinked slowly. He suddenly felt like a color-blind two-year-old trying to stack square blocks—red to red, green to green, blue to blue. Trying to connect pieces of puzzles spilled from different boxes without the pictured lids. Trying to focus a telescope in the right direction in a wide-open sky to find the asteroid streaking straight for him, because it was better to see it coming than close his eyes waiting for death to streak out of the darkness.
He managed to pull his eyelids apart enough to find Tofer kneeling on the floor, his blue eyes sharp, expectant, both hands gripped around the handle of the flail like a grab bar holding him in place, waiting for the roller coaster to take off. "You were on that ship," Burke stated. "It crashed ten years before us, but you left after. We were the first. One of a kind. You had to leave after. That's how you knew about us. And Hasslein was a part of it. Which means he got away with it. He got away with screwing our mission and managed an encore performance. Fuck." Pete went slack again.
Tofer set the flail to one side and slowly found his feet. He returned to his table and lit the oil lamp as evening darkened the cabin. A short truce, he tilted Burke's head back to offer him water. Pete emptied the cup and asked for more. Tofer obliged. The man then retrieved his blade.
"At last, Burke, you see the picture. You may be a low-life slug, but no one said you were stupid. One of the reasons Hasslein tried to keep you off the crew. Too much of a wild card. Too unpredictable. Turns out they should've listened, and everything would have been different. You wouldn't have destroyed everything. But then they should have just listened anyway. The man is brilliant."
A low chuckle reverberated through Burke's chest. "You gotta be the mission specialist. Completely under his sway. Hasslein pulled your strings, too. Just like Jones. You ended up here, and you still believe his bullshit."
"Mission Specialist, yes. But you're wrong about Hasslein. He got us here because we were following you. We were coming to find the Icarus crew."
"Hasslein didn't give two shits about the Icarus crew any more than he gave any shits about yours. You were just another patsy to stroke his ego and test his theories. When you didn't make it back, he moved on to the next dumb fucks willing to listen. So, then the question becomes, what made you care so damn much? Who are you?"
"We met before," Tofer stated, almost smug. "It was a long time ago. I was younger then. A backyard barbeque. You may not even remember me. You were occupied with many sexual distractions that night. Your girlfriend was flamin' hot. Had red hair and flaunting her smokin' body. I was young, but she was hard to miss," he chuckled. "And still, all those other women and even a few guys were hovering around you, flirting to get your attention. My mother always said you were charming. We did talk a little about my favorite show, Bridge of Stars, which was cool, before I got sent to bed."
Pete shifted uncomfortably in his restraints. He twisted his head to better see out of his swollen eyes.
"You can say it," Tofer nodded his head as if to encourage him.
"You can't be him. That was ten years ago. He'd only be about 19 or 20. How's that possible?"
"A thousand and ten years ago. The Daedalus launched when I was 18. We crashed here twenty years ago. I was imprisoned in a miserable, specialized ape work camp until recently."
"Tofer…Tofer…," Burke muttered. "To-pher…Chris-to-pher. Christopher. Chris Virdon?"
The smile across his face may have been more welcoming if it wasn't for the ice crystals in his eyes. "I said you would know my name before you die, and here we are."
Pete shook his head in denial. "What you're saying makes no sense. You keep saying I killed your father. Alan Virdon is Chris's father. True, I've wanted to kill him a time or two, and I guess I'm lucky he's as patient as a sloth in heat waiting for her beau to arrive or he would have hung my ass on his yardarm more than once, but since he ain't had a ship in close to ten years, he had settle for giving me that 'look'."
"Oh, once-upon-a-time-Major Burke," Chris Virdon brushed the edge of the blade along Pete's jaw and rested it next to his jugular before lifting his head up by the jaw with the sharp edge, causing a new rivulet of blood to pulse along his neck. "You still insist on hiding from the truth. The truth about how you sabotaged the Icarus. The truth about how you betrayed and killed my father to save your own sorry hide. Hasslein told me how he thought you managed to sabotage the ship, but he didn't know why or for whom. I want to hear it for myself. How you pulled it off and why.
"And I'm not naïve. I know the apes released me to go after you since you had escaped them for so long. They had lost track of you until you turned up again at the Icarus and the Daedalus. And when they had you surrounded, you chose to murder my dad and throw his body out to them so you could escape. A back-stab, you fucking coward. He didn't even see it coming. Didn't even strike a killing blow but let him bleed out for the damn monkeys to distract them." Chris threw another punch into his gut. "And it worked since the soldiers were so busy trying to stop the bleeding afraid of him dying before Urko could have the privilege of killing him, you slipped away into the jungle. I understand General Urko was livid. The punishments were, well, ruthlessly typical for the general. But since you murdered my dad to save your own ass, I guess they figured finally killing you off, too, was the best strategy all the way around. Of course, they told me to bring you back alive, but nobody expects that to happen. I guess neither of us matter much to them anymore.
"But the truth," Chris placed the tip of the blade against Burke's sternum, red liquid welling at the puncture, and gave a slight push, "still matters. You will admit what you did. The words will exit your mouth. And I will continue to make you suffer until you do. Let's start again shall we. The Icarus. What did you hope to gain when you sabotaged her?"
Pete allowed his eyes to shut, and his head to drop. He couldn't even begin to wrap his head around the grief that welled in him, accepting that Alan's beloved son stood in front of him, another victim of this deranged existence. His voice was surprisingly strong. "Not naïve, you say, but you were manipulated. You gave Hasslein what he wanted. You're giving the apes what they want. I'm the only one telling you the truth, Chris."
The younger Virdon pried open Burke's mouth, pressing his tongue down with his knife, causing him to gag. "I'd cut your vile tongue out if I didn't need it for your confessions." His anger reignited; a new torrent of thrashings followed. Punches and slashes of the blade fell as the man circled him. "Why sabotage the ship? What was the price for your treason? Do you sleep? Do you grieve? Do you regret? Why did you kill MY Father!" his voice rose in pitch as he arrived back in front. He grabbed Burke by the back of his neck, yanking him forward and lay the cutting edge of the blade just below his belly button.
"Tell the truth goddamnit! Spill your guts or I swear I'll do it for you!"
Chris was inches from his face, but Pete could see the door of the cabin swing open, a shadow folding out of the darkness beyond. He blinked slowly in an attempt to erase the double vision until he heard the voice, allowing his beleaguered senses to separate the two. One arm wrapped around his tormenter's throat and the barrel of a gun pressed against the younger man's temple.
"You even flinch in his direction, it'll be your brains splattered all over these walls," the drawl promised.
Chris's hand squeezed the back of Burke's neck in surprise, adding to the tension. Pete moved his mouth frantically before the sounds tore past, emerging as no more than a husky whisper, "A-A-Al-lan. Noooo!"
The blue eyes directly in front of him expanded. All color drained from Chris's face. His mouth opened and shut silently as his eyes darted frantically behind him. Only it wasn't fear that caused him to stiffen in response, but disbelief, and shock. He looked like a man who had been screaming for an answer from the heavens and lost his shit when the answer came.
"Drrrop it! Drrrrop it!" the deep voice demanded tersely as he pushed the barrel of the gun with increasing force at the other man's head. "I am willing to end you right now."
"Alan. Alan. Don't!" Pete begged.
Burke could see the muscled arm tighten against Chris's throat as Alan said, "Drop it! My goodwill has a timer, and you're on the final countdown." He witnessed the tears spring into Chris's eyes, no longer those of a man, but of a child thrown back into memories of his father who must have used those words as a warning long before Pete had first heard them, and he'd heard them a time a two through the years. Chris dropped the knife and released Burke's neck throwing both arms out to his sides, palms open. With the brace of his grip gone, Pete struggled to keep his head erect.
"Good choice," Alan acknowledged.
Chris locked eyes with Burke. Pete couldn't fathom how to guide him through the maelstrom he was lost in.
Alan took three, slow steps backwards pulling the man away from Burke. "This is what is happening next. You are going to fold the back of your hands against the floor and set your ass in the middle of your palms. You are going to wait there quietly until I can secure you." The commander bent his knees, taking his prisoner to the ground, allowing the man to follow his instructions. Before his captive was in place on the floor, Alan made the mistake of letting his eyes drift over to Pete, his attention diverted as the shock of his ghastly appearance distracted him for the barest of moments, and his grip loosened. The man shoved, knocking Alan off balance, and he scrambled for the still open door. Alan let himself fall the rest of the distance to the floor and twisted to aim the gun at the man's retreating back.
"ALAN NOOOO!" Pete shrieked, throwing his body forward. The beseeching howl of his friend further jarred Virdon's concentration. The bullet struck the door frame just above the man's hand resulting in a yelp as at least the wood fragments found its mark. Alan bolted to his feet and ran after his quarry.
"Alan…Alan…ALAN!" Pete's continued pleas stopped him at the door. The man had darted out of his sight.
"You can't find a hole deep enough to hide in! And if he…," Virdon caught himself before adding, "I will find you!" He tucked the gun in his waistband and quick-stepped back to Burke.
"My God, Pete," Alan hissed as he laid his hand gingerly on one shoulder. His eyes followed the ropes to determine the best way to release him. "How do you manage to make friends wherever you go?"
"It's my charm. And the hair," Pete allowed his head to fall against Alan's arm with a brief grin.
"The hair. I kind of like the retro look." Alan's heart calmed a few beats when Pete chuckled. "Who the hell was that anyway? How fast do we need to go after him?"
Pete stared past Alan's shoulder. The soft glow of blond hair in the moonlight shimmered through the slight crack in the partially open door. Dragging his eyelids up, Pete could make out the pale blue eyes soaking in every move Alan made, his body standing completely still to hear each word spoken. Alan squatted at one of the floor rings and began to tug at the knot. Pete looked straight at the door.
"I don't know for sure. Someone with a grudge against Jackal. Small timer. We can let him go for now."
Alan stopped to jerk his head up at his friend. "This doesn't look like the work of a small-time thug to me. You don't think he might come back looking for you?"
"Do you trust me, Alan?"
"What kind of question is that? You know the answer."
"Trust me on this then. He thought I had something to do with the murder of his father. Destroyed his family. Alan, if someone had done to you what he thinks was done to…well, his father…I would have come after them as hard as he did."
"Ok, but why does he think it was you?" Pete stifled a groan as Alan pulled the length of the rope through the ring releasing one of the knots. Pain torqued through the muscles that hadn't moved in hours. His leg hung limp, but loose as fresh blood from his ankle dripped into the puddles on the floor. Alan moved to the other side.
"S-s-someone lied. I think after our little…chat…maybe he'll realize he was deceived…for a long, long time." Pete stared directly at Chris, but he could tell his eyes were locked on the movements of his father. "Not easy to admit you were fooled. When the house of cards starts to fall, sometimes people think they gotta double down and brace it up long after the dirtbag that built it took what he wanted and walked away. When they've believed something for so long, sometimes they refuse to see the lie and want to wrap themselves in it, but maybe he'll realize he doesn't have to pay for that mistake forever. He was tricked. He was manipulated. But if he wants it, he can trample through those lies, and he can find what he lost."
Alan stood after he released Burke's second leg. Pete's head fell to his chest, the pain twisting like choking vines traveling through his shins and thighs through his groin and erupting into his gut. His friend put a steading hand at the nape of his neck to still the wobble in the ropes and support him until the cramps eased.
"Pete, whoever did this to you is dangerous. I'm not sure we can walk away from it."
"Al," the younger man tore his attention to the blue eyes crinkled with crow's feet. They were both getting older. And god, he felt old right about now. "You know I'd rather die before I'd do anything to hurt you."
"After everything we've been through together, you don't need to tell me that."
"Yeah, I do. I want you to hear from me."
"What's bringing this on, Pete?"
"Doesn't matter. As long as you know who you can trust."
"C'mon, Pete, I told you years ago, even before every damn klaxon in the ship was screeching at us. Before Jones opened their damn wormhole in the middle of the solar system, destroyed the mission, destroyed my chance to get back to my family. And I told Mission Control in front of that lying bastard Hasslein when I told them to investigate him, I know who I can trust out here. Nothing has changed."
Pete found the other blue eyes, the hardened ones, the angry ones, still watching. They may have been glistening but that may have just been the starlight. "Yeah, things are changing. There's …factions… out there that want to tear us apart. To turn us against each other. And you just might be tempted to listen sometime if the right voice was talking. Just know whatever they say, it's a lie." He found the concerned eyes of his friend. "I'd take a bullet for you. I'd…I'd even give myself up to Urko if it meant you'd go free…." Pete blinked back the damn truth forming in his eyes.
"Hey," Alan squeezed Pete's neck as he stepped in closer. "They must have banged your head around pretty good, buddy. No one's going to tear us apart. The road has been crappy, and I know who walked every step with me. I know who had my back no matter how rough it got. We didn't choose this life, but we have survived it together. You and me. Okay, this next part is gonna hurt, but I'm going to get you down now."
Pete glanced at Alan and nodded. The younger Virdon held his place outside the doorway, clinging to every moment as his father tugged and pulled at the contraption his son had devised. When the ropes eased, Burke screamed with the same intensity when his shoulder first left its joint as Alan leaned back to hook Pete's waist and spun to grab him. Burke drooped forward into his chest. Virdon knelt as carefully as he could, cradling the younger man's upper body against him. Pete clung to consciousness, his eyes darting to the now empty doorway and then back to Alan.
"You know you're a mess," Alan's soothing voice washed over him.
"That's one part of my idiom I really need to change."
Virdon held his friend, aware of the tremors, trying to give him time to breathe. "You said the animal who did this had believed a lie for a long, long time. Jackal has only been around a couple of years…Why did he blame Jackal?"
"You do know I'm still bleeding, right?" Pete chose not to answer. "And I think at least one shoulder may be dislocated. Don't get me started on the burns and broken ribs."
"Sorry it took me so long to find you. I heard the commotion in the bar but thought it might just be a typical rowdy night. I had both doors visualized thinking I had you covered. When you didn't come out, I went in."
"Guns blazing?"
"Well, said I was looking for a man with your description."
"'Cause we're friends."
"Well, because I wanted to kill him. When you had disappeared, I figured they had to be a part of whatever happened, and Lothur wasn't going to admit to breaking the code."
"And did he admit it?"
"Not at first. But my righteous anger convinced them to admit that you had been disposed of by another man with a need for revenge."
"Great. So, you walked out knowing I was being held somewhere in the vast countryside by a crazed maniac lusting for my demise." Pete let his eyes shut as gray began to creep inside his head, and the words were getting harder to hold on to.
"I looked for a weak link, got him drunk and pummeled him into next week until he fessed up. Still took some time to find the trail though."
"Lothur's bar?"
"Let's just say that they learned there were consequences."
"For breaking the code?" Burke scoffed.
"For harming my friend."
Pete grinned at that as his weight settled into Alan's arms. Virdon kept talking although he wasn't sure if his friend remained conscious. "We can't stay here. The obviously obsessed person you're oddly not worried about might come back. Some of these wounds look serious. I need to get you to Galen and Zana right away. Gotta put your shoulder back in place first though."
"Not gonna argue. Hurts. But I can't walk," Pete mumbled.
"I will carry you," he squeezed him gently.
"Al, will you do me a favor though?"
"Anything."
"Before he has a chance to snuffle and shake his head at me, tell Galen this was all your fault, huh?"
"He won't believe me."
"Nah, but Zana will. And we all know she's the one in charge."
~~~~ END ~~~~