Star Cruise: Marooned (7 page)

A guard pinched his claws none too gently into Red’s upper arm and half dragged him to the officer’s chair, where Crxtahl studied the intricate black tattoos looping around his shoulder and down his spine, making Red turn so he could trace the design with one claw. Red stood at attention as the alien stared at him after the thorough examination. “Explain the markings.”

Easing into parade rest, Red pitched his voice in a casual tone. “I’m a sailor, sailors get tattoos. I liked the design and I was drunk that night. End of story.” He wasn’t going to explain the dragon was the symbol of Team Twelve. If the Shemdylann found out who he was, things would go from bad to worse, and he was determined to stay alive long enough to get revenge for Meg’s death, not to mention trying to protect Callina. He’d do what he could for the others, but the one surviving woman had to be the priority. Good thing he’d kept his mouth shut on the cruise about his military background. People could make guesses, but no one had certain knowledge. Other than Meg, and she was dead. Thinking of Meg pierced his heart with fresh grief. He nearly missed the Shemdylann’s next comment.

“Well, you’ll make a fine slave, well-muscled for a human. The markings add interest. You’ll bring a high price in the markets.” A casual wave of the captain’s mandible brought two soldiers to hustle Red back into line, where Callina took his hand. She looped her arm through her husband’s, as if she needed support from both of them to remain on her feet. Red guessed her stepfather’s refusal to ransom either of them had been a severe blow, no matter how much bad blood there might have been between them up to this moment.
 

One at a time the others were brought forward, but the examination of them was more cursory and the commander didn’t appear impressed, although Trever rated a closer look, in carefully maintained athletic shape from his playing days. The pirate didn’t bother inspecting Callina at all. “Not the best lot, but then, we didn’t come here expecting to bag any slaves at all. Cage them.”

Guards shoved them all into a shimmering energy cage set off to the western end of the beach. Their clothes were tossed in before the entrance to the cell was closed. Red grabbed his uniform and shrugged into it as fast as he could, confirming as he did so that all the useful items in his pockets had been confiscated. Callina retrieved her sundress and she and her husband moved to the rear of the cage, sitting next to Red.

“I’m sorry about Meg,” she said, patting his hand. “I liked her.”

“Yeah, me too.” It was going to be a long time, if ever, before the ache in his heart over losing Meg went away. “I’m sorry your stepdad is being such a prick about the ransom. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

She looked down the beach to where Finchon sat at ease, demeanor as cool as if he was still in charge, despite being tethered by seven feet of chain to the alien commander. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “He won’t. When my Mom died, his PR people told him at the funeral I was good for his image, made the public think he was nice. I heard them talking. ‘Humanized’ him was what the head PR lady said. His image is why he always took me on his trips, instead of sending me away to school like he promised Mom when she got sick. He’ll get sympathy for losing his precious daughter and son-in-law to the aliens on their honeymoon.” Sarcasm was apparent in her tone. “No one will ever be able to say any different. We’re not going to survive, are we?”

He assessed the energy field surrounding them, humming and slightly distorting the view. “Too soon to tell.” While on the planet, there was a hope, however faint, he might be able to catch a break, grab her, and make it to the jungle. With his specialized skills, he could hide and protect Callina as well. If he stayed free long enough, the Shemdylann might abandon the chase for both of them, and go on about their business.

“I don’t want to be a slave,” she said softly, drawing circles in the sand with one fingertip. She brushed away a tear with the back of her other hand. “And I don’t want to be eaten.”

He nudged her shoulder with his own. “Hey, Crxtahl was talking about Shemdylann hatchlings, not humans.”

“Oh.” She seemed a bit comforted by the correction.

He didn’t tell her there were definite rumors in the fleet attesting to Shemdylann considering humans a delicacy. They’d both be dead long before anything like that could happen. Red could break her neck with one quick move, and he himself had the checkout code, as the Teams referred to it—a psychic implant he could activate to suicide.
 

Had permanent orders to use it, in fact, if “irretrievably in the grip of enemy forces.”
 

Standing Order One.
 

Harsh to the nonmilitary mind, no doubt, Red was comfortable with it. A man didn’t go downrange without making peace with his own mortality. You couldn’t do the things Special Forces often did if you were worried about your own life or death. And as an operator, he knew too many pieces of useful classified information to let the enemy take him alive.
 

The situation wasn’t irretrievable yet, however, not by a long shot.

“What are the pirates doing?” Callina asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Stretching, Red stood to see how their captors were passing their leisure time. The beach was literally crawling with Shemdylann now. Some were engaged in mock battles, cheered on by throngs of their comrades. Others were splashing in the lake. A fire pit had been dug and a crew of five aliens was doing some serious cooking, as if catering a banquet. Many of the aliens were basking in the sun, extended neck frills pulsing in the heat. And a few were entwined in clusters of four to six, tentacles and other sinuous organs busily at work.
 

“I think the pirates are on shore leave,” he said, hardly believing it. There’d never been any record of such activity, but what other conclusion could he draw? “Hey, pal,” he yelled at the guard standing by their cage. “What brings you guys here?”

The guard was watching the cluster of copulating Shemdylann, his neck frill extended and pulsing red. Apparently, no one had told him not to talk to the prisoners because he said, “We’ve been in heavy combat, penetrating this Sector. Our officers said this planet was a fabled human resort and he would bring us here for a day or two of reward, if we defeated the enemy ships. We’ll regain energy for the next assault, on your Sector Hub, to be launched when we receive further orders from the Mawreg.”

Red affected astonishment. “You brought everybody here to party, leaving your ship uncrewed?”

“Fool, of course not.” The coarse spines covering the alien’s carapace bristled and he stood taller. “You ask too many questions.” He sidestepped, pivoting in the sand to watch his fellow pirates cavorting. In Shemdylann, he grumbled to himself. “Five ships and a battle cruiser full of troops, lots drawn across the fleet for who would be lucky enough to enjoy the day on the planet. I pay a hefty bribe to win a spot and now I must stand here, watching over vermin, while my fellow soldiers
shi tangor dunac midtahnn.”

Red gave no outward sign of comprehension, although he spoke fluent Shemdylann. Leaving the increasingly agitated guard alone, he retreated to the rear of the cage and pondered the intel he’d gathered. Not that there was any way for him to pass the information to the Sectors’ military authorities.

“Please, isn’t there something you can do to help us?” Eyes wide, Callina pleaded with him. “Isn’t there some way we can escape? Can’t you get us out of here?”

He tried to be polite. “Lady, these are the Shemdylann, in case you haven’t noticed. They only respond to overwhelming force, or heaps of credits. Your stepfather Finchon is the only one here with enough gravity to pay their demands. I’m just a working stiff, out of luck, like you.”

“Friend, yeah, the son of a bitch claimed to be my friend all right,” said Harelly, standing next to her. “He always wanted me to come along on these trips of his, impress the clients with his famous actor friends. Not so much now.” He laughed bitterly. “What’s going to happen to us?”

Basics from past briefings surfaced in Red’s mind. “Cryo sleep once we reach their ship.” He personally had no intention of surviving to leave the planet. Lords of Space bless the checkout code.

“And then?” asked Mr. Bettis, holding his sobbing wife.

“You heard the commander.” Red had no interest in trying to cheer his fellow prisoners with lies or half-truths. “The Shemdylann are going to sell us for slaves, in the Outlier Empire most likely, or on one of their own worlds. The life of a slave tends to be short and brutal. She might do better, since she can sing. Be sure to tell them about your voice, lady.”

“You’re remarkably calm about it.” Trever studied Red’s face. “What do you know that you aren’t telling us?”

Harelly moved closer, like a dog on a scent. “Yeah, you were ship’s crew, you must have some inside info.”

Belatedly, Red remembered these men were accustomed to reading people and situations. He didn’t trust them not to sell him out in a heartbeat, if either realized doing so would give them an advantage with the Shemdylann. Finchon had already proven how little other human beings meant to men of his ilk. These two had the misfortune of not being in his extreme wealth bracket.

“Saving my strength in case I get a break. Panic doesn’t do any good. A cool head might.” He settled into a more comfortable position, acting casual. “Hey, you’re both wealthy, right? You can try negotiating for ransom yourself.”

“I don’t come close to Finchon’s generational billions of credits,” Harelly answered, lips thinned as if he’d swallowed something bitter. “My trideos make piles of credits, but I have expenses to match. I was never invited to join the Freemarket Pact.”

“Very few were,” said Trever, staring at Finchon lounging down the beach.

The conversation having run its course, the remaining humans sat or laid in their enclosure. Red assessed the Shemdylann and made plans. As the food was served to the alien troops, strangely shaped containers of glowing red liquid were also handed out. Based on the way the Shemdylann were reacting as they guzzled the stuff, he guessed it was a feelgood. He didn’t know whether to hope Crxtahl could maintain control of the increasingly rowdy warriors or not.

At least one mock combat ended in death or injury as the afternoon wore on, and the crowd yelled for more as the corpse was dragged to the side of the beach.

He played tic tac toe in the sand with Callina until she dozed off from exhaustion and the effects of the sun beating directly on them. Their captors gave them no water or food.

Somewhere in midafternoon, Red noticed a clump of the inebriated aliens gathered beside the rotting remains of the eel he’d killed. Was it just two days ago? The Shemdylann behaved in a highly agitated manner, gesturing for more of their comrades to join them. When the commander strolled to the edge of the water, there was a long conversation, punctuated by much gesticulation, including soldiers pointing at the cage. Adrenaline spiking to meet the challenge he was sure was coming, he got to his feet, urging a drowsy, confused Callina to stand behind him.

Startled, the others gazed in every direction, trying to figure out what had set Red into motion.

Suddenly, four Shemdylann came striding through the sand directly to the cage, talking excitedly in their own language. Red caught fragments, something about a rare delicacy in the lake and the need for bait.

The guard barred their way. “Stand down,” said the officer in the lead, speaking Shemdylann. “We’ve permission to take one human as bait, for sport. Now, open the cage.”

“Him,” said a soldier, neck frill opening and closing as he rocked unsteadily on his clawed feet. “The warrior.” He was pointing at Red. “He’ll last the longest.”

“Fool, weren’t you listening? Ar-Taan-Crxtahl said anyone but him. He’ll fetch a good price.”

Red tensed, pulling Callina to stand in front of him. He rested his hands casually on her shoulders for a moment before curling his fingers around her neck as she watched him.

“Mr. Thomsill?”

“Our captors are going to play some unpleasant, ultimately fatal games, and I won’t let it be with either you or me,” he whispered, barely moving his lips. A flicker of what he hoped was comprehension shone in her blue eyes for a moment before she looked at the sand. “If the soldiers pick either of us, we won’t be alive to see what happens next.”

“Okay,” she said, swallowing hard. “You—you’ll make it quick, won’t you?”

“No pain, I promise.” He waited. If the enemy intended to take her—or him—both would be dead in the next minute. Mercy killing and suicide were preferable to what the Shemdylann had in mind for whoever was chosen to “amuse” the crowd.

She closed her eyes.

“The older one then,” said the eager warrior, pointing at Harelly, closest to the door. “He’ll bring the least as a slave, no muscles or meat.”

“Agreed.”

Before Red could say or do anything, the energy door had dimmed for a moment and the hapless actor was plucked from the enclosure by the Shemdylann’s tentacles. The energy pulsed to renewed life at the entrance and all the aliens headed for the beach, dragging the human with them, poking and prodding him with the tips of their pincers.

“Don’t look,” Red told Callina as he searched their cage fruitlessly for something to attempt disrupting the energy loop with. This was their chance, with the guard gone and the crowd distracted.