The sound of Osterly pacing around the cell made it hard to sleep. Arc had tolerated, even encouraged, it when they’d first been locked up and they’d both been anxious to get out, but it was becoming clear that their stay would be a long one, and Osterly was just wasting energy. From his place on his cot, Arc watched Osterly fidget around the cramped cell, going over the walls they’d already examined thoroughly, muttering to himself as if reciting an incantation. It was becoming unbearable.
“Osterly, sit down.” Arc spoke calmly, but firmly. “You’re not going to find anything new. Save your strength for when we need it.”
Osterly turned to him, looking as if he might argue, but then he dropped down on the bench opposite Arc. “I don’t understand how you can be so calm about this.”
Arc shrugged. “I’ve spent most of my life in one cell or another.”
“So you’re in your element, then,” Osterly said.
Arc fixed him with a half-lidded glare. “No. I just know about cells, and I know the secret to freedom has nothing to do with a damaged lock or a weak wall. Have patience, and the opportunity will come.”
Despite his assurances and attempts at wisdom, Arc was full of doubts. Escaping the holding pens on Augerium was far simpler than escaping the brig of a space ship. After the attack, he and the other prisoners had been stuffed in the back of Shodus’s craft and flown to this larger vessel. There’d been no windows to see this new ship from the outside, but he had heard the hum of a hyper drive engine as he’d been hauled to this cell. Only ships of a certain size could carry a hyper drive, which narrowed the vessel down to anything between a low-end interstellar travel ship and a massive warship.
The cell itself was clearly not designed for two people. Arc sat on a flimsy cot that folded out of the wall and barely held his weight, while the bench Osterly perched on was so close that their feet nearly touched. At least it had seemed cleaner than any of Arc’s old cells, until he had spotted the hairy blur of a rat-roach scurrying into the shadows. The sight almost made him nostalgic, or whatever the reverse of that was.
The only thing that really interested Arc about their cage was what made the cell a cell. Instead of bars or a door that most cells had, this one held them inside with a translucent wall of gel-like material. Arc had already investigated and come away just as baffled as before. He could see through it, and the other side was only slightly blurred. It was elastic like rubber, and when he pushed against it there was a little bit of give. It had seemed weak, until he’d tried to force his way through; the wall had caught his blow and flung him back. Afterwards, it had become completely opaque and hard as rock, and had remained that way for about an hour before returning to its earlier state. Arc had left it alone after that. He had never heard of such technology before; it was almost like the wall was alive.
Osterly removed his glasses and wiped them on his coat. “This is new to me. I can proudly say I was never taken prisoner during my years in the service. I did have friends who were, though—the stories they told me about Empire P.O.W. camps gave even me nightmares.”
Arc understood Osterly’s apprehension. He had heard stories as well. “Well, if it’s any consolation, these guys don’t seem to be traditional Imperial stooges.”
Osterly placed his glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose, looking at the strange wall with contempt. “I had the same thought. I’ve never seen anyone, let alone the Empire, use the technology these guys are carrying. How did no one notice them until they were trying to dock? That’s new—some kind of experimental stealth tech, maybe. Want my guess? These guys are spies or black ops, the guys who do the jobs even shameless old Bythos doesn’t want staining his name.”
Arc closed his eyes and meditated on Osterly’s suggestion. “It would explain the secrecy. Being some sort of spies might also explain how they had intelligence on us.”
“Glad you think so too,” Osterly said, his expression straining in thought. “What about their leader? You ever hear the name Shodus on Augerium?”
“Not sure.” The nobles’ names had never stuck with him in those days. They had simply been lords, the ones who wanted to see him kill or die, and he’d hated them. “The Zulkar have been a part of the Empire almost as long as the Darem, which means even the sanitation workers probably have titles. But if he’s working in the field, then he’s likely from a smaller house. The bigger names prefer to direct from afar.”
Osterly folded his arms, lowering his head. “Funny, though, that he gave his name at all. I asked back on the Consortium, but I didn’t really expect an answer. Why all the secrecy if he’s just going to tell us who he is?”
“Maybe he thinks we won’t get a chance to tell anyone,” Arc said. As his own words sank in, he felt a little gloomy, and both of them fell quiet.
Osterly pulled his legs up onto the bench, laying his back against the metal surface. Arc had offered him the cot, but the old soldier was proud and stubborn; he wouldn’t accept anything he perceived as pity. Not that the cot was much better than the bench.
Arc glanced across the hall. With the elastic wall at its most transparent, he could see into the opposite cell where Alis lay on her own cot. They’d stripped her of her armour, and she’d removed the outer layer of her blue robes herself, bunching them into a pillow that she’d buried her face in. She hadn’t moved for hours, but the periodic groans assured Arc that she was still alive. He’d tried talking to her, once, but the sounds she’d responded with were a clear request for him to shut up. Whatever she’d been injected with was still wreaking havoc in her head, but Arc was just glad it hadn’t killed her.
There was no sign of Dae Trem. These two cells were the only ones on this part of the ship, but the surviving Aquila was in neither. Arc hadn’t even noticed when they’d been separated; he’d stared back once on the march to their cells and Trem had been gone. Arc couldn’t help but worry for the young diplomat after Ahn Delse’s murder. What had Shodus even meant to accomplish by killing him? “Making waves”? What was the goal of this attack, when it came down to it?
“Why the Consortium?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “This seems an awful lot of effort to go through just to keep a few pirates in business.”
“Maybe they know how important the treaty really is,” Osterly suggested. “Any formal agreement between the Empire’s biggest enemies would undoubtedly be seen as a threat to them. That was half the reason we wanted it, after all.”
But now Ahn Delse was dead, along with countless others. If these Imperials really were what Osterly believed them to be, then they would have covered their tracks to hide their involvement. In that case, the most apparent culprit to the Aquila would be the Kinship. Just how far back had Shodus put their diplomatic efforts? A treaty might not even be possible anymore if the Aquila were already clamouring for war. Someone had to escape this place, for the sake of sharing the truth and ensuring peace.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and any further discussion had to be tabled. A line of five Zulkar marched into the space between the cells, with Shodus taking the lead. He’d traded the murky green armour for a black uniform with a red serpent embroidered over the heart, which made the scale-less parts of his skin look even paler. He stopped before their cell, flanked by guards.
“Why hello there, dear friends,” he said, the corner of his wide mouth twitching. “How are you liking your new rooms?”
Osterly pushed his glasses hard against his face and stood. “Cut the bullshit and tell us what you want. Are we hostages? Do you intend to ransom us? If you plan to hold us indefinitely, I’d prefer you tell us instead of playing games.”
Zulkar faces are not made for some human expressions, but that didn’t stop Shodus from splitting his face in a ghastly grin. “Your concerns are noted.” He turned to Arc. “How about you, slave? Any grievances with my hospitality?”
“You’ve got a rat-roach infestation,” Arc said, dully. “You should probably do something about that. They can carry diseases, you know.”
“The consequences of buying second-hand, I’m afraid,” Shodus said. “You can act all you like, but I can taste your fears in the air. A smarter slave would be begging for his life right now.”
Arc kept his expression mild, refusing to rise to Shodus’ taunts. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a slave anymore.”
Shodus’ yellow eyes narrowed to slits, his pale skin gaining a purple tinge. “A slave is always a slave, from the first light of life to the final hours of twilight. Your escape was temporary, your debt to the Empire eternal.”
The hatred in Shodus’ expression was so intense that Arc had to look away. Shodus chuckled, perhaps thinking he’d won some unstated challenge. Arc let him have it; the Zulkar would be less cautious if they believed his spirit was already broken.
Behind Shodus, two soldiers approached Alis’ cell. One touched a handheld device to the transparent membrane, and a hole opened in its centre, spreading outwards until the pair could step through shoulder-to-shoulder. They held their rifles at the ready as they crossed the threshold, stepping quietly and cautiously around Alis as if she were a sleeping bear. Once they were positioned at either end of the cot, one gave the signal and the other grabbed Alis by the shoulders, yanking her upright. She put up a token struggle, but the weary expression and the sickly pallor of her face suggested it was more an automatic response than a conscious effort to fight back. One Zulkar restrained her and propped her up in a sitting position so the other could jab another needle into her neck. She let out a sharp but quiet cry and tried to claw at her captor’s helmet, then went limp with exhaustion. The Zulkar released her, letting her slump back onto her robes. Their work done, the soldiers filed out of the cell, the membrane sealing shut behind them.
That display was what finally got Arc on his feet. “What the hell are you injecting her with?”
“I don’t see why I should tell you,” Shodus said. “Let’s just say it’s a concoction we’ve whipped up—a little liquid headache to keep the witch docile.”
“Will it kill her?” Arc asked, pressing his hands against the membrane of his own cell.
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Shodus said, gleefully. “It’s quite a treat to have a Rashani for a—what do you humans call it? Lab rat? We can’t be entirely sure of what effects it will have on her physiology, but it is intended to subdue the witch’s power, not her life. Though I suppose we’re bound to come up against the lethal dosage eventually.”
Arc slammed a fist into the membrane. The surface gave part way, then rebounded and nearly knocked him off his feet. He stepped back, and the spot where his fist had landed solidified into a milky white patch.
“Still have a little of the gladiator in you, I see.” Shodus motioned to the guards flanking him. They readied their weapons as he produced a small black rectangle from his shirt pocket, the same sort of device that had opened Alis’ cell. He held it close to the membrane, nearly brushing the end against it, and Arc heard a faint, high-pitched whine.
A moment later, the membrane split and the guards came charging in. Arc had a barrel pressed against his chest before he had a chance to react. Osterly stood in a similar position. They both raised their hands in the air, palms open.
Shodus folded his own scaly hands behind his back and sniffed the air dismissively. “Since you’re both standing, why don’t we go for a short walk? We don’t want those stubby little legs of yours atrophying.”
They were marched out of the cell and down the corridor, guns pressed to their backs. Shodus had mentioned the ship was second-hand, and now Arc noticed the triangular shape of the corridors, in particular the walls that slanted inwards towards the ceiling and forced the Zulkar to walk down the exact centre or risk bumping their heads. It seemed odd that the Empire would grant its forces an ill-fitting, vermin-infested ship, but other concerns occupied the forefront of Arc’s mind. Like whether they were being led to their execution.
He took note of what he could about the ship as they were led down its corridors. It was almost certainly some type of military ship, as the hangar they’d passed through on entry had looked able to hold a full squadron of fighters, although it was empty now. The walls seemed to have been painted recently, a thick coat of grey clinging to everything. Peeling that off might tell him something about what this ship had once been. As it was, the uniform paint job left the corridors indistinguishable, and he quickly lost track of where they’d been. He was sure Shodus had walked them in at least one loop. The tour ended when Shodus called a halt before a solitary door. It could have been an office or a medical room in a previous life, but when the door slid away, complete darkness waited within. Arc and Osterly were pushed forward, falling on their hands and knees, and then forcefully hoisted back onto their feet.
For a long time, Arc wasn’t sure what was happening. The darkness hid everything the Zulkar did, so he allowed them to lead him further in. Going along with what they wanted seemed smart for now, until he was sure where he was. They lay him down on a table—no, some sort of reclining chair, and he felt straps close around his arms and legs, pinning him to it. He heard the Zulkar step away, then nothing. The only sound that reached out from the black was Osterly’s laboured breathing, and the sound of Arc’s own heart drumming in his ears.
He mustered the strength to speak up. “Is this it? I haven’t been scared of the dark since I was five, Shodus.”
A pair of lights switched on, nearly blinding after the darkness. One enveloped Arc, allowing him to see that he was sitting in something resembling a dentist’s chair. Osterly was restrained beneath the second light, blinking against the glare. The powerful beam brought out the wrinkles in his face, making him look old instead of dignified.
Above Osterly’s head, just barely grazing the field of light, hung several metal implements. They were attached to jointed metal arms that must have connected to an unseen body above. Those implements—their design was so unusual that Arc could only guess at what they might be—caught the light and reflected it in a way that made the sharp parts seem to shine. Osterly followed Arc’s gaze, then suddenly exploded into a struggling flurry at the sight of the thing above him.
“What the hell is this?” Osterly shouted, panic rising in his voice. “Where are you hiding, you cowards?”
The careful tread of footwear sounded somewhere to Osterly’s left, and Shodus sprouted from the darkness to lean over him. He held his personal computer in his palm, absentmindedly flicking over it as he looked down on the elder diplomat. A metallic squeak brought Arc’s attention back to the device above, and he felt slightly nauseous when he saw the arms begin to sway in and out of the light.
“Is this an interrogation?” He pulled against his restraints, arching his back to get a better view of Shodus. “We’re just diplomats—we don’t have any information you would want.”
Shodus swivelled his long neck to look at him with an impatient expression. He held that look for what felt like a long time, then narrowed his eyes and went back to Osterly. His claws rolled over the computer screen once more and the device overhead began to lower. The twitching arms were connected to a circular body, suspended by a metal arm protruding from its top. It looked like a large, metal crab. Shodus stepped aside as the device was lowered down within reach of Osterly’s head.
“Shodus, this is stupid,” Arc insisted. “We’re not keeping any secrets. We don’t know anything!”
A smile curled the corners of Shodus’ mouth. He reached down to Osterly’s face, whisking the glasses off his nose. Osterly shook, wriggling against his restraints to no avail as the Zulkar disappeared back into the shadows. The arms of the crab flexed outwards, the sharp implements coming dangerously close to Osterly’s face.
Arc met his eyes, saw the fear there, and began to panic himself. “Shodus! Come back! Would you just stop for a minute and listen? You haven’t even told us what you want!”
There was no answer. The crab lowered itself another inch, and then went to work, implements dancing across Osterly’s face. He let out a shriek that filled the room and seemed to shake the entire ship. Another followed, but it was weaker, and muffled by the increasingly loud whir of the crab’s many arms.
Arc gathered his strength and tried to fight his way up. The restraints held fast, barely letting his back leave the chair, but he kept pulling against them. He held his breath and tried to wring every ounce of strength out of his body, muscles straining harder than they had in years. He rose a few inches, Osterly’s screams serving as a powerful motivator, but then he felt the straps tighten against his wrists, holding him back. He remained like that for a few moments, back arching inward as if he could detach his captured arms from his torso, until he needed to breathe and collapsed back onto the seat.
“Stop!” he screamed over the sound of blades cutting into flesh. “What do you want? I’ll tell you anything—just stop this!”
No response. Arc couldn’t even be sure Shodus was still in the room with them.
“Rhap–Rhap–Arc!” a voice spluttered.
He focused on Osterly once more. So much blood. His face was unrecognizable now, but his eyes still carried the spark of life, and Arc kept his gaze on those.
“T-tell my family—” and then Osterly was silent. With surgical precision, the crab had seized the opportunity and removed his ability to speak mid-sentence. In place of words was the sound of blood gurgling in his throat, a desperate noise that pushed Arc to begin fighting his restraints again.
It was futile; he just wasn’t strong enough. He found Osterly’s eyes again in that mess and spoke to him. “I’ll tell your family. I’ll tell them that you love them—that you’re the bravest man I know. But just hold on, please, and you can be there when I tell them.”
But it was too late; the amount of red that flowed from Osterly told Arc he had little time left. The light dimmed from the war hero’s eyes, and something inside Arc died with it. It might have been hope.
He collapsed back against his seat, trembling with rage. He had seen people die, killed many of them himself, but that had been before mercy, before he’d grown to appreciate how precious life was. To see a man like Osterly, innocent of any real crime, murdered so cruelly and for no clear reason tore at something inside Arc. It upset his belief that peace could exist in the galaxy. How could it, when someone like Vrakk Shodus existed?
He blinked back tears, steeling himself for what was to come. He would be next, but he didn’t plan on giving Shodus the pleasure of seeing him weep or beg for his life. He would die with dignity. He wasn’t scared; he and Marissa were one soul in two bodies, and death would make them completely one. It would be much simpler—better—but then why was he trembling?
The crab came to a sudden stop, limbs going limp. The light above Osterly went off, concealing murderer and victim. Next to Arc, Shodus threw off the shadows as one might throw off a coat.
“Why?” Arc asked.
Shodus held up Osterly’s glasses for Arc to see, then dashed them against the floor. Arc clenched his teeth at the further disgrace. Shodus’s eyes roamed over Arc before he stepped away, and two guards took his place. They grabbed hold of him, keeping him still as they undid his restraints.
“Take him back to his cell,” Shodus commanded from somewhere nearby.
Arc let them lift him from the seat and set him on his feet. He hadn’t the will to resist at that moment. He may not fear death, but he was still happy to be alive and didn’t plan to waste his life just yet. There would come a time, soon, when Shodus would regret sparing him.