Wings of Retribution (50 page)

Careful, Captain,
Stuart warned.

“They want a man,” Dallas spat, without moving.  “Not a weakling.”

“You’re one to talk, bitch,” one of the slaves spat.  She was silenced with an electric goad from one of the guards.

The slaver moved back to the male pen.  “I assure you, our stock is healthy.  We are one of the only companies in the Straw District who have a guarantee.”

“How much?” Dallas asked.

“Thirty thousand credits,” the man said.

Dallas winced inwardly, but said, “We’ll see.  Money isn’t an issue, but my employers will not be happy if the stock dies en-route.  They would punish everyone involved, so it’s in both of our interest that I find a slave that’s healthy.”

The man rubbed the stubble on his chin.  “I see.  Very well.  We have a partner company up the street.  In-House Auctions.  Specializes in on-planet transactions.  For fresh stock that’s still sensitive.  Might be more spirited, but definitely more healthy.”  He pointed up the street.

“Thanks,” Dallas said.  She started walking, glancing inside every cage she walked past.  Slavers walked to meet her as she passed, but she waved them away.

Walk more slowly,
Stuart warned. 
You’re almost running.

“I want to get this over with,” Dallas said.  “This is horrible.”

You’ve still got two and a half streets to go.  People usually take an entire day to walk through the Straw District.

“I don’t have a whole day.  I have two hours before Rabbit finds whatever he’s looking for and leaves me here.”

Actually, less.  Maybe an hour and forty-five, tops.

Dallas walked faster.

She hurried down each side of each of the three streets of the Straw District and never saw Tommy.  She had even gone inside In-House Auctions and had looked around, but the cages contained no one she knew.

Dallas stopped at the end of the last street and turned around to stare back up the rows of cages, in a state of shock.  She had twenty minutes to get back to the ship or be left behind.

It’s possible I picked the wrong province,
Stuart admitted.

Dallas glanced up at the setting sun.  It was one of the aspects of being planetbound that always disoriented her.  She quickly looked back at the street.  Did she try to find Howlen or go home?

Go home,
Stuart said, apologetic. 
You tried, Captain.

Dallas turned from the street and hailed a passing green cab.  She got inside and told the driver that she needed to pick someone up from the shuttle.  Once they were at the terminal, she stalked inside the terminal, where she cleaned up as best she could.

Her sense of smell was just beginning to return when she felt gravity disperse as the shuttle broke through the atmosphere.  A queue at the dock, however, left her several minutes late before she actually stepped into the hub.  Then, to her horror, she realized she was in the wrong hub.  She ran to the tram, got aboard, and fidgeted anxiously as it took her to the proper hub.  As soon as the tram stopped moving, Dallas jumped off and raced to
Retribution’s
bay.  In the split-second it took for the ship to recognize her and open the airlock, she thought maybe Rabbit had already departed.

Breathlessly, she sprinted inside
Retribution
and doubled over, holding her knees and gasping.

“Curse of the Father!” a familiar male voice roared.  “You
stink
, girl!”

Dallas glanced up, shocked.

Tommy stood inside, his black-and blue face twisted in disgust.  “Did the worm put you through some twisted mating ritual?  What’s that smell?”

“Where
were
you?” Dallas blurted.

“Obviously not in a bar, rolling around in feces.”

Dallas stared.  “What happened to your face?”

“Just some locals, girl.  Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“That’s
Captain,
you ungrateful piece of shit.”

“The only piece of shit here is the one clinging to your coat.  Get to decon.  I’ll tell Rabbit you finally decided to show up.”  He turned to leave, then paused and looked back.  An almost patronizing look on his face, he said, “You know, when you get to be a real captain, you’ll learn you have to lead by example.  Until then, try to show up on time.”

Dallas watched the Colonel walk from the bay with an open mouth.

Remind me again why you wanted to help him?
Stuart asked.

“I honestly can’t remember,” Dallas said.

Custody Battles

The woman in the brocaded white clothes came to their cell again several days later.  Having been left with nothing aside from the thrice-a-day platters of food shoved under their doors to keep them entertained, Ragnar and his relatives all sat up eagerly when they heard the rattle of the lock.

“Come with me,” the woman in white said.  She had opened the door herself, with no other guards in attendance.  Ragnar stared at the key in her hands, debating whether to try and take it from her.

Paul even went so far as to take a step toward the woman, but Morgan shook his head.  Reluctantly, Ragnar and his brother fell in behind her.  The woman gave Morgan a slight smile, then led them out of the cell and back into the windowed hallways of the massive stone palace.

The woman guided them through the maze at a brisk walk, the whole time without encountering another person.  Ragnar paused casually at a window, thinking he might be able to escape through it.  When he looked outside, however, he forgot to breathe.  Aside from the sheer dropoff that was the massive wall of the palace, there was nothing within sight but deep blue ocean.

“The largest landmass on this planet is only two miles wide,” the woman said, watching his expression.  She had stopped at the next window down, and was looking out over the massive ocean beyond.  “The oceans harbor aggressive naturals, so we have been forced to build up what dry land we have.”

A hundred feet below, the surf crashed against enormous boulders in a white froth.  As far as he could see, the ocean continued in an endless expanse of blue.

Ragnar backed away quickly, sweating.

“Further,” the woman said, “The only vessels between the islands are owned by the Emperor, since the distances are too great and the voyages too dangerous for private ownership.  And, since this is the only landmass with a spaceport, it would be unproductive for you to flee.”

Ragnar glanced at her, prepared to run.  Paul and Morgan had also distanced themselves.  She might be able to catch one of them, but not all three.

Then her words hit him.  “The whole…
planet
…is water?”  He swallowed, hard.

She gave him a wry smile.  “Now you understand why I am unconcerned with any attempts at escape.  There
is
no escape.  Not off Xenith.  Something I learned long ago.”  Her smile turned bitter.

“This was a prison planet?” Morgan offered.

“A colony,” she said.  “A colony that officially did not exist.  Then, once our fuel and supplies had run out, we discovered that we had been abandoned, our program terminated without recalling us.  We were left to our own devices.  Two hundred and thirty-two of us.”

Ragnar whistled despite himself.  “You’ve been here a long time.”

“Yes.”  The woman turned and began to walk again.

The three shifters reluctantly followed.

“You must have had to re-invent the wheel,” Morgan said.

“Yes.  We had databases, but they were basic encyclopedias, very little technical non-mission information.”

“What was the mission?” Ragnar asked.

“To breed psychics.”

“Seems like you’ve been doing a pretty good job,” Ragnar offered.

The woman eyed him briefly.  “It is slight-of-hand.  I am no closer today than I was when the mission first began.”  She stared out the windows at the blue ocean.  “What infuriates me is the naturals have all of the capabilities I’ve been trying to produce.  I’ve studied them, dissected them, evaluated their diet, their habits…  Nothing makes sense.  They simply defy scientific explanation.  Only their essence seems to have any effect on human abilities, and only for brief periods of time.”

The shifters looked at each other.  “Their…essence?” Ragnar asked.

“It’s a fluid taken from the core of their cerebellum.  It’s odorless, tasteless, and feels just like water, but when ingested, it produces feelings of euphoria and, in a select few, the ability to pick up telepathic signals from others.”

“Are you one of those few?” Ragnar asked.

She gave him a bitter look.  “No.”

“The Emperor?”

“Of course.  The Emperor is determined by how well he can use the drug.”

Ragnar glanced out at the ocean.  “These naturals…  Do they often attack?”

The woman scoffed.  “Of course not.  They are aquatic.  The bastards are helpless on land.”  She began to walk again.

“But shipping is tough,” Paul offered.

“Half of all our water-borne vessels were lost, in the early years,” she said.

Ragnar pursed his lips.  No wonder she wasn’t worried about them escaping.

“In here,” the woman said, guiding them into a smaller hallway.  “We’ve been collecting your kind for awhile now, but we’ve been waiting for
ishala.
  We want our forces to be able to perform the
yeit.
  It will be more terrifying to the enemy.”

“What enemy?” Ragnar asked.

“The Utopia,” the woman said.  She stopped outside a door.  Sunlight spilled into the hall from windows on either side, but they were barred.  When Ragnar peered through the bars, he could make out a walled enclosure on the other side obscured with thick vegetation.  He could hear trickling water.  Suddenly, on the other side, the bushes rustled and something big hurtled through the brush away from them, snapping brush and snorting.

The woman unlocked the door and pushed it open.  “Enter.”

Ragnar and the others hesitated.

“What’s in there?” Ragnar asked.

“Your kind,” she said.  “As soon as you are inside, I will remove your collar so you may propagate freely.  Be warned, the door is programmed to lock at the sound of my voice.  My biofeedback responses are also linked.  Any increase in heartbeat or blood pressure will slam the doors shut.”