Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance) (2 page)

“Next time we evac a crashed ship on an uncharted world, I’ll be sure to grab the headclear for you.” Thom assumed a tone of mock deference.

“I’m surprised it’s not prominently featured in the regs.” Nate managed a tired grin. A good sign if Thom had enough energy left to joke.

There was a brief halt at the gate to the city, while the officer in charge held an animated discussion with the guards and then the squad was waved through, moving deeper into the city. The pace slowed, due to the throngs of people clogging the streets.

“We seem to be a curiosity.” Nate watched how the crowds parted and people stared and muttered together as he and the others marched past.

The guards didn’t appreciate their talking, jabbing at them with the butts of their spears, so Nate fell silent. A huge, walled compound appeared to be the destination, its guardstands adorned with green and black flags bearing a stylized bird of prey. The prisoners were marched along the base of the wall for a few hundred yards before coming to an open gate guarded by an alert cadre of warriors and two more horrific representations of Huitlani.

“Bad sign.” Thom jerked his head sideways at the statue nearest him.
 

The guards hustled them into the compound, entering a narrow, whitewashed corridor beyond the gate.

Suddenly, Nate emerged from the confined space, stumbling into a brightly lit chamber. He stopped short, blinking furiously at the stark sunlight. Even in the late afternoon, this no-name planet’s hot white star was too harsh once the multiple eclipse by the trio of moons concluded. The light made Nate’s headache flare in a wave of hot pain across his forehead.

As he blinked, eyes watering, trying to adjust his eyesight, he realized he stood at the edge of a throng of what had to be the upper crust of this planet’s society. Dressed more richly than anyone he’d seen so far, the crowd was a sea of color in jewel-tone robes. The men wore elaborate feather headdresses rising easily a yard into the air and heavy, broad gold and silver collars lavishly set with jewels. The women wore filmy, pastel robes and more gold and jewels, casting rainbows in the sun’s glare. Drawing back as if afraid to touch the newcomers, the nobles whispered and pointed.

Hampered by the chains, Nate walked through the courtyard as best he could, ringed by the military escort, whose demeanor took on a certain strut of pride. Out of the glare of late afternoon sunlight at the far end of the room, Nate made out the details of a raised dais and several ornately carved thrones. Trained to observe details and build a strategic assessment, he tried to concentrate despite his raging headache and figure out what he might be dealing with here. Was there any possibility of escape or bettering the situation for his men and himself?
 

Too many guards, alert for a move from us.
 

He strove to relax his muscles, give off a nonthreatening air, hoping to lull the soldiers into overconfidence. Give Thom and him a fair chance and they’d put up a fight. The chain dragging at his ankles reminded him of the overwhelming odds.

The larger throne was occupied by a man with a truly awe-inspiring scarlet and black headdress that rose from a golden crown. Leaning forward as the prisoners came closer, this personage clutched a thick, golden staff, a carved bird of prey adorning the top. The man’s face reminded Nate of the bird—cruel, harsh, deeply lined, with glittering black eyes. Jagged red scars ran across his forehead and left cheek.

The guards shoved Nate and the others to their knees, adding painful bruises to his already plentiful crop. A gruff command from the figure on the throne had the guards yanking Nate and his companions back to their feet.

Leaning on the staff, the official descended the three steps from the dais. Two women dressed in somber black robes followed him. Nate stood at attention while the noble and the women circled him and his men. Silently, the man studied the prisoners. Chattering between themselves excitedly, the women waved heavy feather fans. Each lady had ebony black hair slicked back in an elaborate chignon, a heavily painted face, glittering gems set at the ears and long diamond-crusted pendants between generous breasts. Heavy floral and spice perfume assaulted his nose as the pair examined him, making him long for a breath of fresh air.
 

A younger woman in translucent pale green and lavender robes stood off to the side, eyeing the prisoners curiously, but timidly, as if afraid to come any closer, or to interfere with the trio. Nate kept glancing at her because she was in such contrast to the other women. Her dress was encrusted with colored bead work in floral patterns, but at the hem was a swirling depiction of blue and scarlet serpents. Her brown hair hung loose, save for two dainty braids framing her face. She’d no jewelry, no feather fan or other accessories. Unaccountably, Nate had the feeling she was the only person in the room sympathetic to their plight.
 

But obviously powerless to help.
 

Dismissing the lady as a possible ally, he focused on the lively discussion off to the side.

The ruler snapped question after question at the officer who’d first captured them. Nate detected a family resemblance between the noble and the man he was grilling, but the man in charge didn’t appear satisfied with any of the answers he received, kinsman or no. In five days and nights of captivity, Nate had picked up a smattering of the local language but not nearly enough to follow the rapid question-and-answer session.
 

A new woman arrived, emerging from the palace and walking to join the noble, placing her arm possessively around his waist. Head tilted imperiously, her white-painted lips set in a thin, straight line, she listened to the discussion in silence. Nate met her eyes briefly before she contemptuously tossed her head and centered her attention on the gesticulating officer. She took a few steps forward, one hand raised to silence the ongoing briefing. Standing in front of Nate, forcing the protesting officer to move aside, she cupped Nate’s chin with one hand, nothing gentle about the gesture. Her long fingers were tipped like talons, with long, curved, purple-gray painted nails resting on his cheek with a clearly implied threat. He glared at her, attempting to communicate his defiance through his expression and stance. Still holding his chin, she asked the officer a question, which he hastily answered. The woman released Nate’s chin but ran one hand through his hair, caressingly, down the back of his neck and onto his bare chest. Her touch burned his skin. He wondered if she had poison painted on her nails.

As if impatient with her inspection, the ruler fired a question at Nate in a dialect unlike anything he’d heard on this planet. Shaking his head, he said, “Sorry, not a language I speak.”

There was an indrawn hiss of breath from those closest to the man in charge. He recoiled a few inches, wide-eyed, mouth open in excitement.
Fear.
Why would anyone be afraid of us, especially chained the way we are? How do I use this?

The woman stalked in a circle, studying Thom and Harada, peering closely at their faces. When she came to Atletl, she laughed, shaking her head. Taking the officer by the elbow, she engaged him in rapid conversation.

Atletl stood motionless, his demeanor proud. Obviously, he understood the discussion regarding their fate, but whether it was good or ill, he gave no sign. Nor did he speak.

Finally, the soldier grabbed Atletl’s left arm and tugged the prisoner sideways a few steps, imploring the haughty noblewoman to examine him more closely. Nate tried to see what the item of interest might be. A tattoo on Atletl’s well-muscled bicep in the shape of a small, stylized reptilian creature in blue and scarlet inks was the focus of attention. The symbol matched the decoration on the young priestess’s dress. Rival deities perhaps?

“T’naritza,” the officer said insistently, tapping one finger on the tattoo. He waved his other hand to take in Nate and his men, including them in this designation.

Elegant eyebrows raised, the woman nodded. She spoke to the man in charge, and the two of them paced hand in hand to the thrones, seating themselves. Chin resting on his fist, the ruler took a pinch of a pale green substance from a platter at his side and chewed lazily as he studied Nate, Haranda and Thom for a long moment. Raising the staff, the dignitary made a lazy circle in the air above his head, a gesture of dismissal accompanied by one curt syllable from fleshy lips. The crowd filed silently out of the courtyard.

“Wish I had a clue what they want from us,” Nate said, more to break the uncanny silence than for any other reason.

“Maybe we don’t really want to know.” Thom straightened. “These primitive planets have pretty unpleasant ways of dealing with unexpected guests.”

The black-clad ladies—the ones Nate thought of as birds of prey—conferred with the ruler. Face set in a disapproving frown, the lavender lady listened. After issuing a flurry of orders to the women, the queen gathered her skirts and departed. As she left, the noble rose, striding to the rear of the dais. He shoved aside the impressive black leather curtains, ruthlessly crumpling an embossed mountain scene, and disappeared. The guards pushed the prisoners to the rear of the dais and through the same curtains. Nate found himself in another narrow, whitewashed corridor. The guards administered rough encouragement to pick up the pace and follow the ruler more closely. The three women trailed along in the rear, the two in black whispering together unhappily.

This new corridor twisted and turned. After two moments or so, the procession branched off into a smaller side hall, dead-ending in a chamber lit by sluggishly burning torches.
 

“Must be deep inside the building by now,” Haranda said. “We’ve been descending steadily since we left the main corridor. These walls are like geological layers, remnants of older and older buildings. Typical, to place new construction on top of the original structures. Like going back in time.”

Thanks for the archaeological footnote, kid. Wish any of that analysis would help me figure out a way for us to escape.
Nate blinked and focused on the wall in front of them. As his overworked pupils expanded in the soothing balm of relatively dim light and the throbbing pain in his head eased, he perceived the wall had an elaborate set of designs carved into it. The two women in black elbowed their way past the prisoners and guards and chanted a sonorous set of phrases over and over. The noble walked to the wall and began placing his hands on various portions of the carving in a highly stylized, ritualistic manner in time with the rise and fall of the chanting. Making a double fist, he pressed on a portion of the carving.

A chiming sound emanated from everywhere. A green glow shimmered over the whole party for a long moment. Fat snakes of pure light crawled over them all and winked out, reappearing elsewhere in the narrow space. The guards flinched apprehensively, although the ruler and all three women appeared comfortable with the phenomenon.
They’ve obviously done this before.
Nate blinked, flinching involuntarily as the green lights crawled over his face and scalp. He realized his headache was gone.

“What the—”

The carved white wall slid aside.

Under pressure from the guards, he went farther downward, through a narrow, sloping, nearly pitch-black corridor. Nate wished for more room to maneuver, sure he and Thom could take the local men with a small amount of luck, but no chance presented itself.

The narrow corridor opened into a bigger chamber, at first also only dimly lit, but Nate realized the light was increasing gradually, subtly. A smooth, darkly gleaming black stone wall faced them. About seven feet high and ten feet wide, it was translucent, but squint though he might, Nate couldn’t make out what lay behind.
 

After clearing his throat, the ruler chanted three words, trying to artificially pitch his voice to an unnatural high note. When nothing happened, he and the two black-clad women exchanged resigned glances before he made another attempt, enunciating more clearly in an ear-splitting falsetto.

Nothing.

Wheeling to his right, the man grabbed the elbow of the young woman in lavender, shoving her to the front, inches from the wall blocking their way.
 

She licked her thin lips nervously and launched into a chant. The syllables sounded the same, but her voice gave them clarity and a musical pitch, showing how far off the mark the ruler’s attempt must have been from the required tones.

The stone door vibrated, emitting a musical hum, and then the black stone barrier vanished as if it had never been there in all its tons.

Nate gasped at the sight before him.

He stood on the edge of a high-tech chamber out of place on a primitive world such as this one. Ringing the room were strange displays, blinking lights, roving green beams, unknown instruments. The sophistication of the technology was well beyond anything the Sectors had achieved, let alone the dwellers of this planet. Nate spared only a second to glance at these wonders. His attention was caught and held by what occupied the center of a large alcove directly across the room.

The cubicle was lined in shiny metallic material and from the floor rose a graceful pedestal of the same material, topped with a thin platform at waist level. Neatly arranged on a layer of dark purple padding lay a woman, apparently asleep. She certainly wasn’t from this planet, nor any world known to Nate. This mysterious female had ivory skin with the palest of lavender undertones in her cheeks.