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Chapter 1: Here and Now

1.2

I woke up to find that my cheek had become stuck to the floor. Either from the cold, or by the adhesive properties of whatever foul mixture was coating the concrete in a slick layer. Achingly I pulled myself upright with the chain, breaking whatever was keeping the contact and leaving my face feeling raw. I didn’t really want to think about it.

The cell was still dark. There was no window, and the only light was that which filtered in from the corridor around the door, and from a few small air vents, missing their covers, near the ceiling. I don’t know how long I slept, I never do. There was no way to keep track of the passage of time, or even to know how long I had been a prisoner. Half heard conversations from some of the pirates walking past in the corridor, about inane things like when they had eaten or last had a ‘shift’ let me know that it was at least passing. I hadn’t gone mad after a single night in this room.

I think.

That and Graf’s occasional visits, when he came to mock me with his sneering words and sometimes with his fists, if he felt I wasn’t being a gracious enough audience for his paricular brand of drunken rambling. His inebriated state made me think he was doing it whenever he was bored, or off duty, but it happened infrequently and randomly enough that I hadn’t seen a pattern to it. Or at least not one that I could work out.

My stomach groaned and spasmed, a bit sharper than usual. I probably hadn’t eaten in a while. The pirates did feed me, apparently I was just about valuable enough for that. When they remembered. I looked around in the gloom.
This room didn’t seem like it had been built a prison cell. There was no lock on the door, and the rings to which the chains were attached had been driven into the wall haphazardly at best. All at different heights and angles, a job done quickly by someone who didn’t really care. The space reminded me strongly of the storage rooms back in my old habitat on Leximon, a utilitarian concrete box to stash crates and parts in. On the ceiling was an old strip light fixture, long since smashed to uselessness, and higher up I could make out a series of holes where perhaps racks of shelving had been mounted. All things the Pirates had stripped out and looted when they had take whatever complex this was over from the original inhabitants. Or maybe they were the original inhabitants, turned to depravity when things went sour.

A reflective glint caught my eye, and I saw what I had been looking for, a shiny plastic box sitting in a shaft of light nearer the centre of the room, creeping in through a door crack. My stomach groaned again and with a sigh I rolled over and tried to stretch out my foot to catch it. It was an absurd picture, my hands shackled together and pulled towards the wall, whilst my body stretched out and weakly flopped across the cold floor, my toes trying catch a corner of the flimsy packaging. After what seemed like minutes of agonising straining, I finally managed to bat it round into range, and hooked it closer to me. After another few bouts of contorted scrabbling I managed to maneuver it into easy reach of my bound hands and picked it up.

A box of emergency rations. Whoever had been given the job of making sure I ate obviously hadn’t been much bothered, and had just tossed into the room and closed the door. Not much caring whether I could actually reach the meal or not. Or maybe it had been Graf, and he had done it on purpose.

Bastard.

The crinkly plastic packaging had once perhaps been a uniform white, but in the light of the darkened room and from age it now was a splotchy grey-yellow. The faded sword and sunburst logo on the front proclaimed it as being property of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns. How it had got here, on the other side of the sphere, I neither knew nor cared.
I didn’t even consider looking to see what the marked expiration date said, and immediately started trying to tear it open with my teeth. It had been designed with an easy tear-open strip, but with my hands encumbered as they were, experience had told me that this was the best approach.
A minute or two later, and having spat out several mouthfuls of deteriorating plastic, I managed to create a wide enough opening so that when it was wedged between my legs I could delve my hands inside and retrieve the blessed contents. It was only a compressed nutrient block, paired with an electrolyte drinks sachet, but I wolfed them down as quickly as I could, faster than I had ever eaten any of the bland meals at home. It tasted truly awful.

The food sat awkwardly heavy in my belly, but my hunger was sated, for a while at least. Discarding the carelessly into a corner, atop a pile of previous wrappers, I turned my attention back to the real task.

Sore fingers gripped the cold chain and pulled.

Nothing.

Clank.


There is a saying that goes; ‘the first sign of madness is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.” Maybe I was mad. But I at least had a method to it. Given the shoddy way the rings had been installed into the wall, drilled straight in with no real mounting bracket, and from the way I could see and feel spider cracks in the concrete around them, it looked like if enough force were applied they should break free.
Applying enough force was the problem though. I liked to think I was reasonably fit, a lifetime of manual labour even in the confined environment of a hab dome had given me at least that. But even then I would never have had the strength to rip one of these rings straight out of the wall. Maybe one of the ‘roided out meatheads, with muscles the size of melons, who competed in Illyria’s prize fighting circuit could have had a chance. Maybe. A hundred and seventy centimetre, sixty five kilo girl, half starved and kept in a dark box for god knows how long would have no chance.

I braced against the wall. I pulled.

Nothing.

Clank.

The screaming had started again, obviously the old man had not yet given up whatever the pirates thought he was hiding from them. Or maybe he had, and they just liked to torture for fun, who knew. I tuned it out. It wasn’t something I could change, so why worry about it? Focus on here. Focus on now.
I took a moment to catch my breath, the lump in my stomach seemed to have lessened, and I was starting to feel a bit stronger from having eaten, despite the cardboard like quality of the food.

I braced again and pulled firmly, letting the strain tug at all the muscles in my arms.

Nothing.

Clank.

There is another saying. “A mountain can be worn away by a raindrop”, or at least I think it goes something like that. It’s the kind of cryptic bullshit elders tell children when they have a big task to do. The idea that something that seems insurmountable to their young minds, can be tackled by putting their heads down and just working at it. I don't think it really works, it is hard for a child to understand, they simply don’t have the experience to comprehend something that isn't immediate.

I didn’t

That and it always seemed a ridiculous saying to me, since there is hardly any raindrops on Leximon with which to wear down mountains anyway. But the elders keep on saying it. Maybe they were mad. Or maybe they were the raindrops chipping away at that mountain…
I learned, eventually. I might not have ‘mech like strength, but hard graft, sticking my head down, and getting on with the job. That I could do.

Until I decided I wanted something different.

So like the little raindrop that could, I would keep wearing away at this fucking ring until it broke, until I was free. One step at a time. That or I was mad.

Does it fucking matter?

I braced, I pulled.

Nothing.

Clank.

It was better than waiting to die.


Out in the corridor I heard a couple of the pirates moving past. I froze and listened. One sounded like he was stumbling slightly. They chatted to each other in raised slurred voices.

“Fucking hell mate… I mean fucking hell. How can Axel do that? Sick fuck’s unnatural, is what he is.” The speaker sounded like he stopped and slumped against the wall.

“Too right mate, too right.” His companion mumbled. “The whole fucking barrel.”

I heard the telltale splatter sound of someone emptying their stomach against the outside wall. Perhaps whatever horrors were being visited on my father had affected even these two hardened criminals?

“Well you know you owe Uyeda five now” Continued the second speaker.

“Fuck Uyeda. He won’t fucking remember tomorrow.” Replied the first I heard something metallic being thrown across the corridor and bouncing off a wall.

They began to move off again, and then it sounded like one managed to trip. A lot of scuffling and swearing followed.

“Fuck, your me best mate, mate”

“And your me best mate.”

“Happy new year, mate!”

“Happy fucking new year” They stumbled off further down the corridor.

Or maybe they are having a new year’s party, and had got wasted.

Fucking cunts.

New Year? If it was New year, that would mean it had been nearly two months since they snatched me on Illyria. Given the two weeks of drop ship burn and jump to wherever this was. I had been here for maybe six weeks. Six weeks of being chained and hand cuffed to a fucking wall.

Fuck

Judging that the pirates were now safely out of earshot I braced against the wall again and pulled.

Nothing.

Clank.


I took me a while to realise that the screaming had abruptly stopped. It could have been hours later, or minutes, I had no idea. When I noticed, I stopped straining against the wall and the chain. And listened. Hoping for what? I don’t know, maybe that he would start screaming again, that his torture would continue, just so that I knew he was still alive? Just to give me a little more time.

Fucking sick.

 
I looked at the ring. Still there. Still hadn’t moved a single mil. Focus on here, focus on now.

I braced against the wall, I pulled.

Nothing.

Clank.


It didn’t take long for Graf to appear. I could tell his familiar heavy footsteps from the other’s, they often came after a session with my father. Likely to torment me once the limits of endurance had been reached with his other plaything. In anticipation of his arrival I shifted around so my back was against the wall, my legs drawn up to my chest, and the chain pooled at my feet.
 He opened the door, and practically danced inside, I could see the in the light flooding in from the corridor outside that the ugly grin was still plastered all over his face.

“Hello girl.” He stepped towards me into the gloom. The contrast in light rendering him only a silhouette before my eyes adjusted.

I averted my gaze and said nothing. He lost interest quicker when I didn’t react. He moved closer to me and crouched down. I could smell his foul breath now. It reeked of cheap spirits, the kind of rotgut that the workers in my hab used to brew in their own hidden stills.

“He’s dead girl.” The words didn't really register, and I said nothing. I would have said nothing even if they had.
He reached forward to lift up my chin, and I flinched away. “Look at me!” He squeezed my face in his meaty hand and forced me to look him in his pale brown eyes.

“I said your father is dead girl. Dead.” I knew it would be better if I did what he wanted and burst into tears, or started whimpering. But I just couldn’t bring myself to. So I stared back at him, angry defiance burning in my throat.

He just laughed and slapped me hard across the cheek. “The old man gave it all up. The whole cache.”

Cache? I didn’t know what he was talking about. He hadn’t said anything about a cache before, none of them had.

“He’s dead girl. And we’ve got everything. You know what that means girl?” I continued my stoney silence.

Graf stood, pulling on the chain as he did to lift me up on to my feet. I yelped pitiably as the shackles cut into my already lacerated wrists.

“It means we don’t need you to keep poor daddy on his best behavior anymore.” He leaned closer until his face was next to my ear, his pungent breath filling my nostrils. “It means that you are mine.”

My eyes widened as he let go of the chain, and his hand went down to his belt buckle. “Now be a good girl and stand up against the wall. I ain’t doing this on the floor like some fucking animal.”

I pulled away from him and tried to back away into the nearby corner. I considered screaming out for help. But who would come? Fuck it, I screamed anyway.
Fuck you father, if only you could have lasted a little longer, If only you could have given me a little more time. If only…

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He snarled. “Get back here.” And pulled on the chain yanking me back towards him. A strong arm grabbed me around the waist, and in retaliation I desperately kicked out at his legs, catching him on the shin just as he took a step back to get more leverage on me.
He overbalanced, and stumbled, one arm around me, the other firmly grasped the chain to stop himself reeling backwards. For a moment all his weight, and mine was supported by those steel links.

Crack.

The ring slipped out of the wall.

We fell.

I landed heavily on top of him, the impact and surprise of the fall made him release his grip. Graf lay there wide eyed for a moment. A viscious curse already forming on his lips.

Focus

I acted. I snatched up the chain and rolled off him, dragging a length to under his chin as I did so. Graf tried to struggle to his feet, perhaps still not sure what had just happened. I slipped round him and with my wrists shackled to one end of the chain, and both hands grabbing the other, I planted my feet against his back and pulled.

The pirate’s hands scrambled to his throat at the chain pressed against his flesh. He tried to tear it away. He tried to wrench me around, and throw me off. I pulled.

He was strong. My arms ached, my legs felt like they were on fire, the skin on my wrists screamed in pain. The agony wracked my body and ripped its way out of my throat in a sound half terror-scream, half war-cry.
But what were bones compared to concrete? What was skin next to cold iron?

I pulled.

Graf made a hacking choking sound. His hand clawed at the chain again, and then went limp. I kept pulling. His whole body went limp.

I let go of the chain and let him fall to the floor with a thump. Not wasting a moment, I  launched forward and fumbled with the sheathe on his belt, freeing the combat knife within I maneuvered it so that I could grasp the hilt, with the blade pointing downward.

I looked down at my tormentor, my captor, my abuser. Maybe he was already dead?

Fuck it. Only one way to be sure.

I drove the knife down into his eye socket and twisted.

Chapter 1: Here and Now
-1.4

I had wandered further on through the corridors of the pirate base, cautiously checking each corner, when I came upon an intersection. It looked like its saw more frequent traffic than most of the areas I had seen before. There was a telltale clear area along the middle of the floor where regular foot traffic appeared to have kept the a path clear of dust though somewhat marred by muddy boot prints. There was also several stacks of crates and boxes nestled up against the walls, several appeared to have been opened.
I crept up to the nearest such pile, and lightly lifted the lid to reveal it half full of the same long expired Fed-Suns ration packs that I had infrequently received during my time in the ‘cell’. It seemed the pirates were too lazy to properly store them. Likely having just dumped them in this hallway after having hauled them out of the dropship, fresh from their latest looting expedition.

Or maybe because all the storage rooms had been turned into torture chambers.

Cunts.

As I replaced the lid, and moved over to the next pile, perhaps hoping to find things useful for my impending escape, my foot caught on something. It made a loud scraping noise, that seemed to echo off of the walls.. A flash of icy panic suddenly gripped me and I froze, before hunching down behind the crate and whipping my head around, straining my ears for any sign of someone coming to investigate. Nothing.

Be more careful.

Eventually I managed to get control of my rapid breathing, and looked down to see what had nearly made me piss myself. It looked like some kind of battered metal plate, that had been leaned in a crack between two of the stacks.Carefully I lifted it up, it was thin and light, covered in a thick layer and with a hole punched into each rounded corner. I wiped some of the dust away, leaving a dirty black smear on my palm. It revealed a geometric pattern of coloured lines that seems to meet at regular right angles before splitting off again. I wiped some more, and revealed a section of upside down writing.
I rotated the plate in my hands, and squinted at the scratched inscription. It read ‘Mai  loor p an’’, my eyes widened, and for perhaps the first time since I had come to this awful place, a smile crept onto my lips. It was a map. The lines were the corridors, the other writing was labels. I wiped the entire thing clean with my sleeve and inspected it closely, examining each of the marked pathways. I stopped at the end of one, though several of the letters were now missing,the text had clearly had once said ‘Administration Block’.

Jackpot

I stood up and walked with the plate into the middle of the corridor, trying to properly orient myself. I found the marking for Storage Block B in the bottom left corner, and traced my finger along the route as I had remembered  taking it. Along the corridor that followed the exterior wall, to this intersection. One path, marked by a green line, ran onward to the Admin offices, and what looked like a side entrance.

Lost in my thoughts I started to walk along the route, still holding the sign as a guide. I was about to step into the middle of the intersection, when I heard a raucous laugh come from around the corner. I quickly stepped back and hugged the wall. Fearful that I was about to be discovered. I held the sign in both hands, ready to use it as an improvised weapon on anyone that came past. I stood there clutching that bit of scrap for what seemed like an eternity. When no savage pirate appeared to drag me back to the cell, I dged towards the corner, and peeked around it.

There was another burst of laughter and the sound of bottles clinking together. Light spilled out of a room at the far end of the corridor that lead off from the junction From the way it flickered I could tell there were people moving around inside. Now listening carefully I heard the faint strains of some kind of music, all clashing synthetic sounds, and alongside it discordant and out of tune words being slurred.

Karaoke

The fuckers are karaoke singing.

I looked at the sign in my hands. Mentally aligning it with the corridors. The Cafeteria. The pirates in side were probably still partying.

Idiot.

You need to pay attention.

I put the sign down, and then peek around the corner again, making sure that no one was looking, before padding as quickly and as quietly as I could across to the safety of the wall on the other side. Abandoning any thoughts of further investigating the stacked containers, they were too close, there was too much risk of getting spotted.

Along the wall was a faded green line of paint. It was hard to see, and in some places was missing entirely. Where either part of the wall had fallen away, where some slapdash repairs had been made, or more commonly daubed over by graffiti. Most of it unimaginatively obscene.

This way then.

Now feeling more confident that I had a direction, I began to move with a purpose. Which is of course when I heard footsteps and voices coming from up ahead.

I stopped dead.

Shit.

The voices were getting closer. Frantically I searched around, and noticed a door off to the left that was slightly ajar. As swiftly and quietly as I could I opened it further and slipped inside the darkened room on the other side. As I stood there in the dark, the sound of my own breathing seemed as loud as turbine fan. I heard footsteps in the corridor outside and held my breath until my chest hurt. The steps got nearer. There was the sound of someone coughing.

The steps got quieter, moving further away.


I let my mouth open and took a ragged breath. In the room behind me someone else took another.

I spun around, hand scrabbling for the knife at my belt. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I now saw that I was in a sort of bunkroom. A series of crude cots were wedged against the walls of the room, along with heavy duty looking chests that probably contained belongings. Two of the beds contained sleeping forms, wrapped in threadbare blankets.

I stood rooted to the spot for a moment, fraught with indecision.

One of the sleepers made a rough snoring noise that shared many similarities with the sound of a chainsaw.

Just briefly I considered slipping the knife from it’s scabbard and driving it into the gently rising and falling chests of my two unsuspecting companions.

Too risky.

I shook my head as if to rid myself of the thought.I needed to escape, not to go on a revenge spree. I carefully felt for the door handle behind me, slipping back out into the corridor as quietly as I had entered.
I managed to follow the green line the rest of the way to the admin block without incident. Well almost. On particularly lurid mural at another junction, caused me to get lost for a moment, and I had to back track. The door at the end of the trail was missing the sign that had once identified it. The rectangular patch of concrete wall where one might have been fixed was recognizable by its lighter colour, and the cracked holes were the mounting screws had been torn out.
Instead a strip of plasti-sheet had been stapled across the door, with the words ‘Keep out’ scrawled across it in marker. It also looked as if it was usually locked, a chain and bulky padlock, that definitely looked like later additions, hung limply from the handle, open.

Huh.

Lucky

I stood for a moment, weighing my options. I could go straight for the exit now, but I had nothing. No supplies, no gear, no knowledge of where I could go, only a knife, and a stinking, bloodstained jacket. There must be something useful inside.
I listened at the door, there was no sound coming from inside. I slipped the knife out of my belt, and held it, ready for anything that I might find inside. Slowly, I pushed on the door, inching it open as quietly as I could. Bit by bit I was met by the sight of an empty room. Well not entirely empty. Despite obviously having been repurposed by the new pirate owners, the room’s new function did not seem entirely distant from the office it had once been. There was a pair of tables covered in knicknacks, and a portable comp terminal. Shelving covered most of the walls, field with random bits of tat, and clothing. The only bare space adorned by a ragged black banner marked with crude drawing of a red eagle. In the far corner was an empty cot, the covers hanging half off.
This seemed like it was the quarters of one of the higher ranking pirates. Maybe even their leader.

I closed the door gently behind me, and walked cautiously over to the nearer table. It was covered in a random assortment of objects that seemed to have been unceremoniously dumped there from a satchel that now lay on the floor beside it. I examined a few; there was a wad of low dog-eared low denomination c-bills, a cheap looking personal comm that seemed to have dead batteries, an empty stim auto-injector, three unfired autogun rounds, and a necklace.

I stopped, and looked at the last item more closely.

It was a simple piece, cheap looking with a thin nylon strap attached to a small metal pendant, worked into a wave like pattern. It wasn’t really the kind of thing I would have imagined a hardened pirate wearing. But I had seen one like it before.

Not here.

It was practically the mirror image of one my mother had always worn, every day for as long as I could remember. A simple thing, something I had seen so often that I had never even thought to ask where she had got it. Just part of the background of my normal life.

I reached out and picked it up, examining it, and running my fingers over the familiar curves. My mother had been the hardest working person I had ever known. It had never occurred to me when I was little, all the effort our parents go to for their children never does. It just seems normal. My mother worked, and worked hard, wasting away her education as a scientist in the stifling hot hydroponics sheds of the Hab. Between her shifts, and my schooling, we had so little time together; as I had grown I grew to resent it. Becoming surly and distant, instead of enjoying the little time she had to give. The routine, and her sacrifices simply becoming part of my normal life. Unnoticed, unappreciated, abandoned at the first opportunity.

Not again.

I stared at the pendant. Next time it would be different. I would escape this fucking place. I would get home to Leximon.I would work in the hab for the rest of my life, and count myself lucky. I rubbed the metal between my fingers, it had begun to warm from contact with my skin.

I would see my mother again.

I winced suddenly in pain, and looked at my index finger. Somehow I must have caught it on one of the edges, a small bead of dark red blood welled up on the tip. I sucked it. There was no cut beneath, only a tiny pinprick.

Click

The pendant unfolded in my hand, revealing the end of a compact storage drive. I stared at it dumbfounded for a moment.

What the…


With burning curiosity overtaking all sense of caution, I walked over to the other table, where the comp terminal sat. I laid my knife down, and inserted the drive into the comp’s data port, before flicking on the power switch. It turned on with a humm, displaying a simple MMM loading graphic before opening a video file.

“Lilya.”

A dead man’s face appeared.

“I’ve tried to think of what I could say to you. After all this time, I can’t help but think that sorry could never be enough.” The image of Terrence Young, my father, sighed “Even so, it is true. I’m sorry. I failed you, I failed your mother. I could have done more, I should have done more for my daughter, my own blood. If things had been different…”

He shook his head, in the grainy image, it looked like there were tears on his cheeks.

“I can’t change what happened. Just know that some of it… it was not all in my control. But now, now I can do better. Receiving your message, made me feel happier than I had in a long time, and it came just at the same time as my life’s work was finally reaching it’s fruition. Now… This timeI know what I can do. It won’t make up for the life you didn’t get to have, but I can at least give you a future.”

He laughed weakly “Or at least that it is what I had planned. The universe is cruel. I think perhaps you know this, as much as I wish it weren’t so. I‘m afraid that I am still learning that lesson. I’ve made a mistake, not my first, but perhaps it may be my last. I don’t have much time, but I have enough to ensure that what I have found is passed on to you.” My father appeared to reach forward work the controls of whatever terminal he was using to make this recording.

“I have spent my whole life searching for something. A cache of technology from the fall of the Star League, a jumpship hidden at the end of the Amaris War, filled with weapons and mechs. The kind of thing that could make a man rich and powerful beyond dreams. It was the reason for all my expeditions, it was why I met your mother. It’s why you are here.” He smiled sadly. “I found it Lilya. I finally found it! I had meant to share it with you, to give you the life you have always deserved, but like so many things, that was not meant to be. Instead I give all that I have to you.”

He looked offscreen, an expression of concern crossed his features. “I’m sorry but it does not seem like I shall ever get to see you. Our mistakes have a way of always finding us in the end. But don’t worry about me, think of the future you will have, of what you will build.
I will make sure a trusted confidant gets this message, and a data drive containing the details of my discovery to you. In the meantime stay safe Lilya. Stay safe, and get to 34-Bailey before anyone else.”

The recording ended and the image snapped off, replaced by a file menu. I stood there, motionless, in shock I think. My father...

A blaring noise suddenly filled the room, and surprised I dropped the hand terminal back onto the desk with a clunk. I was  frozen in action, confused for a moment and unsure of  what was going on. Eventually my brain caught up to the situation.

Alarm.

It was an alarm going off. A fucking alarm.

Fuck.

Panic stabbed through my heart, someone must have discovered Graf. Now the pirates would be waking from their drunken stupors, and would search the base until they found me. I was fucked.

Go.

On instinct I started towards the door, before turning back to wrench the drive out of the terminal. It retracted back into the pendant as I did so, and I placed it over my head, tucking the ornament under my shirt to keep it safe.

This place is not safe.

The alarm seemed to crescendo in volume, the tone rising and falling in an incessant repetition. Spurred into desperate motion, I snatched the knife up from the table where I had left it and held it firmly in my hand. I crossed crossing the office in several long strides, and wrenched the door open, ready to start running.

I came face to face with a surprised looking pirate.

We were close enough that I could see the pockmarked skin of his face, and the wirey mass of his moustache. Close enough that he could have reached out and encircled me with his thick arms. His whole frame filled the doorway, there was nowhere to go. No other way to get out of the office. His mouth opened and closed breathlessly.

He took a half step backwards, and then without word collapsed onto the floor. I looked down.

A red stain was spreading from a puncture between his ribs. In my hand was the knife, slick with his blood. The pirate pawed uselessly at his wound, he seemed to be trying to say something. The only thing that came out of his mouth were thick bubbles of blood that popped on his lips and ran down his chin.
I had just killed another person.

Without even thinking about it.

I felt bile begin to rise in my throat, I swallowed hard and fought it back down.

No time for that.

I recognized him. This soon to be corpse. We had met the second day on the dropship, when Graf had hauled me out of the closet in which I had been stashed, into the main cargo bay. It had been to show me off to his boss, to demonstrate how clever he was. This was Tariq. ‘Captain’ of this whole bunch of murderous thugs.

The alarm continued to blare in my ears.

I looked down at the man dying on the floor.

I looked at the corridor beyond.

Run.

I ran.

Welcome, more fiction for me to catch up on.

Chapter 2: Nowhere to Stand
-2.1

-Dropship Nightheart, En route to Lindsey Nadir Point, Anti-Spinward Marches, 2/1/3015

 â€œName?”
The mercenary manning the desk regarded me with a bored look, his pen hovering expectantly a centimetre above a small box on the printed record sheet. From where I sat, my hands uncomfortably ziptied together, on a flimsy folding chair I could just about make out a grid of other boxes and text below it. Probably a standardised form to record information from captured personnel. I could also see it was made of paper.

Paper.

To waste paper on a piece of routine recordkeeping, when a reusable plasti-sheet would have served just as well, was ridiculous. Growing up I had spent many hours in the hab’s rec hall, where I was supposed to be earning my keep cleaning tables, but which I had often used as an excuse to listen in on the conversations of the older workers. My favourites had always been the older guys, a few grizzled relics who had left Leximon and for whatever gods awful reason returned. Between shifts they sat surrounded by younger men and women, each eager to hear the stories of the old-timers travels in the periphery and the sphere, like the fairytale kings holding court.
The tales those elders had spun were probably at least half outright exaggeration or fabrication, full of daring exploits, improbable coincidences,creepy mysteries, and close brushes with the law, all often recombined and recycled from one story to the next. Each retelling featuring the same comfortable points and themes, that even so the youngsters kept coming back to hear. A popular topic had always been the fabled plenty of the inner sphere. Of how there were worlds were clean water fell freely from the sky, where fresh air blew through endless fields of grain, of giant cities in which each person would have a home the size of a whole bunkroom in the hab. The elders told us of how the Innies had all this, and yet were not satisfied, endlessly warring against each other for more. Consumed by greed.

As if anybody in the periphery is really much better...

I stared at the sheet of paper. On Leximon a single page like that could have got you a weeks worth of rations. One of the managers, a tall willowy woman called Irene had owned a single framed watercolour, her most treasured possession. It had been rumoured among the junior techs that the administrator had two real paper books. An unimaginable extravagance.
The stack of filled in forms that sat on the table to the mercenary's right were at least the equal of one. Truly the stories of Innie wastefulness had not been exaggerated.

The laconic desk jockey didn’t seem to be surprised at my lack of response.

I knew I should say something, that being difficult would not help my current situation. That co-operation would be the best way to try and get someone to listen to me. I should just
But my wrists hurt where the ties dug into the already raw flesh. The side of my face, where the trooper who had captured me back planetside had struck me with the butt of his rifle, throbbed with dull pain. I was pretty certain that the skin around my right eye was already swollen into a dark bruise. My knees stung where I had been roughly forced to kneel, face against a wall inside a troop carrier for hours whilst the mercs gathered their prisoners and loot for loading into a dropship. The back of my head ached from when I had tried to explain to a passing trooper that this was all a big mistake, that I wasn’t a pirate. He had only laughed and clipped me with a blow from his gloved hand, barking at me to keep quiet.
Yes, co-operation would have been best. But I just wasn’t in the mood.

Instead I stared sullenly back at the man, and said nothing. His name tape read ‘Sgt. Chao’, middle aged at my guess. Greying hair fringed his temples, and faint lines gathered at the corners of his weathered face. He didn’t look like a combat trooper, instead having many of the same mannerisms as the low level managers I had spent a lifetime with in the hab.
 A jaded bureaucrat marking time until he could collect his release package. This one probably spent all day writing out forms and checking manifests. To him, I was probably nothing more than another piece of cargo that had to be inventoried and put in the correct place.
This contrasted starkly with the guard who loomed sentinel like behind me, and who had earlier hauled me into the room and dumped me unceremoniously on this chair. That one certainly was a soldier, taciturn and tall, with solid muscles bulging beneath his combat uniform. He hadn’t said a single word yet, but merely by looking at the uncompromising set of his jaw, I knew better than to try anything physical to get out of this.

The sergeant sighed. “I am bound to inform you that non-co-operation may be counted against you in future proceedings. If you don’t provide answers to the questions required of you, I will just enter you as Jane Doe and record information as provided by the arresting officer.”The words sounded worn and practiced, as if reciting for m a script that had seen a lot of use. I supposed the pirates were not usually co-operative either.

I was considering my current silent treatment tactic, and was about to speak up when his tired eyes momentarily gained a glint of hard steel, and voice and edge of acid venom. “It doesn't matter to me either way, just one more nameless pirate off to rot in a hole. You’ll have a lot of company.”

I continued to stare silently back at him. Giving my best expression of insolent disdain, honed from a decade of petty teenage rebellion.

His pen moved down towards the page.

For fucks sake.

Stop being a child.

“Lilya Rorke” I mumbled out. I had broken, the defiance drained out of me like a punctured water bag.

The pen stopped. The sergeant raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised that I ahd chosen to say anything at all.

“Excuse me?” He said in a tone that didn’t sound like he felt being excused for anything.

“My name.” I paused, fighting down the urge to edge in a pithy comeback. “My name is Lilya Rorke.”

The pen scratched the paper for a few moments, leaving a trace of dark blue ink in block capitals.

“There. Was that so hard?” He asked mockingly. “Planet of Birth?”

“...Leximon” I replied. “In the Lothian Leauge.” Adding the second part with a hint of scorn in my voice. As if he would have known where my dustball of a homeworld was.

If the sergeant was phased by flippant tone, he did not show it and went on writing down details on the form.

“Now lets see… you were captured on first of january, thirty-fifteen by G Company, Horton’s Hunter Killers…” More scratching accompanied this as the pen filled in the information on the form.

No.

“Wait I…” I spoke up, leaning forwards suddenly trying to see what he had just written. Wanting to interrupt where this was going. The guard behind me clamped an unyielding hand onto my shoulder, and roughly pulled me back into the chair with a thump, my already abused joints complained at the sudden motion.

Ow, fuck.

“Please restrict yourself to responses to the questions. Now... What was your role in the pirate organisation known as ‘Tariq’s Raiders’?”

I breathed in steadily, trying to moderate my reply. “That’s what I was trying to say. I don’t have one. I’m not a pirate!”

The sergeant’s eyebrow arched in palpable disbelief. “Really? And I suppose the fact that you were captured inside a known pirate base, armed, alongside a squad of other pirates was merely a coincidence? Perhaps you were merely lost and happened to be in the wrong place?”

I flailed mentally for a moment, before blurting out. “I was their prisoner, they were going to kill me!”

He did not look convinced.

“A prisoner, unshackled and wearing those pirate colours?” The pen started going back towards the paper. “Nice try. But unlikely.”

“I escaped, I stole the clothes!” Despite my best effort my voice now rose rapidly in pitch as I spoke. I fought to try and keep myself from screaming. “Please! My father and I had been captured by them. They tortured him and locked me in a cell. I killed one and took his things the night you attacked.”

Sergeant Chao snorted, he sat the pen down on the table. “And what would be this ‘father’s’ name?”

I took a breath. “My father is.. was Terrence Young.” My voice hitched. “They killed him.”

The mercenary rubbed his forehead and exhaled slowly. “Of course he was.” Then without looking back at me, he picked up the pen again and started to quickly fill in the rest of the form.

I tried to peer at what he was writing, but upside down and over a metre away I couldn’t make it out. “So wait. What happens now? Are you going to get these ties off of me?” A flicker of hope rose in my chest.

He ignored me and looked up at the guard. “Take her to general holding, and bring the next one in.”

No.

No wait.

The guard behind me hauled me to my feet and pushed me towards the door. I tried to twist away and shout back to the sergeant. “WAIT! No wait this is a mistake. I was a prisoner!” He ignored me and placed my form on the stack to his right, retrieving a fresh sheet of paper from the stack. “I’M NOT A PIRATE!” I screamed.

Clearly done with my antics. The guard slammed me up against the wall, and held me there, issuing a gruff command for me to shut the fuck up. With my face pressed up against the metal wall I watched helplessly as the door closed.

Well done.

Defeated I let myself by dragged and pushed through the hallways of the dropship, until we reached a large hatch labelled ‘Cargo 3’ in bold letters stencilled on the bulkhead. Two armed mercenary troopers stood either side, eyeing me with piercing glares, hands tightened around the grips of their weapons.

“One more for you Perez.” Said my guard, as he roughly positioned in front of the entryway.

The one named Perez spat on the floor. “One fucking too many. Should have wasted the lot of them dirtside. You hear what they did to the VIP?”

My guard nodded. “Yeah.” He shoved me forward slightly. “This one tried to say she was his daughter.”

Perez laughed. “Fucking savages. No fucking shame” He turned to his compatriot. “Alright let's open it up.”

The other trooper undogged the hatch and spun the wheel, whilst Perez pulled me forward and turned me around so I was facing away from whatever was on the other side. The hatch opened behind me, and I could hear a murmur of conversation inside die away. The trooper flicked out a combat knife to cut the zipties around my wrists and then shoved backwards into the cargo hold, making me trip over the lip that separated it from the corridor.

I landed roughly in a heap, and yelped in pain.

“Enjoy.” He said with a smirk. And then closed the hatch.


I got up shakily and became acutely aware that a lot of eyes were currently fixed on me. The entire cargo hold was filled with pirates. All around the room they were staring at me With curious expressions. I stared back.
 For a brief moment, that right then seemed to stretch forever,  I stood there uncertain about what was about to happen. Fear clenched in my chest, and I tensed, trying to be ready for an attack that might come from any direction, turning to make sure no one was approaching from my back.
Then slowly a hum of muttering and groaning rumbled back into life around me, the pirates began to turn back to their conversations. Ignoring me.

Great, even they think I’m one of them.

Unwilling to remain in the open, I glanced around and spotted an empty patch of wall, slowly I walked over and eased myself down against it, letting the smooth bulkhead take the weight off of my tired limbs.
I looked around me. At my new cell.

Back to square one.

Could be worse.

At least this time you’re not chained to a wall.

It was a large rectangular space, well lit with recessed panels in the ceiling. Apart from almost available space being occupied by the captured pirates, it was conspicuously empty for being the cargo hold of a dropship underway. The mercenaries had probably cleared out the whole bay to put us in here, and ensure that there is nothing the prisoners could use as a tool for resistance or escape. The only furniture was some rows of heavy duty shelving, for shipping crates, that some of the pirates were sitting on, or using as makeshift beds. The deck was covered in a regular repeating pattern of recessed tie-down points, so that large items of cargo could be secured. Apart from the hatch I had entered by there was only one other visible exit, at the far end was a single massive door that spanned almost the entire width of the bay. That one probably opened out on to hard vacuum right now.

Nope.

I dismissed the thought before it could even form andI took the opportunity to get a better look at them. The were universally a dishevelled, mostly dressed in the same kind of ramshackle attire as me. Crudely patched jackets and rugged synth fibre clothes. A few wore lighter vests and shorts, looking like they might have been snatched still in their beds. Most seemed to be lounging against the walls or shelving, idly chatting to each other, some appeared to be trying to get some sleep, either  lying down on open patches of floor, or propped up against the wall.

They also stank.

To be fair, so do I.

Several caught my eyes as I looked around. A woman who looked younger than me, maybe just a girl, with bright red hair that looked obviously dyed and gelled up into a crest, sat with her legs swinging from a nearby shelf, with all the air of a bored child at school. A couple held each other quietly in the corner, heads resting against each other as they whispered comforting words between themselves. A larger man, with long white hair and a flowing beard as impressive as any elder in the hab, lay snoring loudly splayed out on the floor, a small flask clenched tightly against his chest. It was strange. Seeing them like this, so helpless, so vulnerable, and ordinary looking, they hardly seemed like the monsters that had terrorised me down on the planet at all. They just looked like people.

I noticed one that was staring at me. His eyes focused on mine. A thin wirey man, with shaggy black hair and a light coating of stubble on his jaw. He wore a pair of tight shorts and a sleeveless padded vest. I looked away, hoping he would lose interest.

He started walking towards me.

Fuck.

His shadow, cast by the nearest overhead light fell across the floor to touch my feet. He stopped.

I scrambled to my feet, ready.

“I don’t know you.” Now that he was close I could see that his eyes were wild, pupils widely dilated. “Which I think is strange. Because I know pretty much everyone.”

I stared back at the pirate, trying to keep my face expression les, whilst I shifted my footing ever so slightly.
I hadn’t made it a habit of getting into fights back home, but You didn’t last long amongst the maintenance crews if you couldn’t hold your own in a scrap. Anyone who let people think they were weak, or a push over would be quickly saddled with all the shittiest tasks, no matter what the rotas said. And if you didn’t pitch in when a visiting dropper crew started shit in the bar, and had to be taught a lesson? Then your life would get pretty fucking hard.
 It was a lesson quickly learned or not at all. You stood up for yourself, you stood up for your team. No exceptions.

I could handle myself, and had the scars to prove it.

The pirate stepped closer. “You know what I think?” He raised his voice deliberately, so others nearby could hear. Like a wave across the room, gazes came to rest upon us. “I think your’s a fuckign plant.”

I balled my hands into fists. I had to make decisions, stay with my back to the wall, and possibly be trapped. Or move  away, and possibly leave myself open if any of the other;s decided to join in. He took another step closer, rolling his shoulders, obviously psyching himself up for a fight.

I made my decision and circled away from him and the wall. “A rat the mercs have thrown in here with us.” He continued speaking. “A sneaky little rat to come and spy on us. Give us all up to those merc bastards.”

It was a ridiculous argument, but I didn’t feel like he would be receptive to a discussion about the matter. I backed up again.

“And we all know what has to happen to dirty stinkin’ rats! Don’t we.” He was yelling now, and evens some of the sleeping pirates had been roused to see what was going on.

Oh come and get it you fucker.

He shifted his foot to take another step forward, just into striking range, and I got ready. Ready to strike the first blow. He might not outmass me by much, but given my condition I didn’t think I would be able to last a protracted brawl.

Come on.

“She’s not a plant, Uyeda.” A clear feminine voice sounded to my right. The pirate stopped and looked, making sure to keep him in my field of view, I looked too.

Several of the pirates had got up and began to form a wide circle around us. At the edge a dark haired woman wearing a flight suit unzipped at her waist and a red tank top stood a few metres away from us. “And how the fuck do you know?” Spat the one apparently called Uyeda.

“She was there at the base, before the attack.” I recognized her, she was the pirate I had threatened with the knife whilst the alarms went off. My mind spun for a second, was she helping me?

“Really?” Another pirate spoke up, stepping out of the circle. This one was taller, and heavily muscled with a tattoo of some kind of horned beast on his chest and arm, wearing the same kind of vest and shorts as ‘Uyeda’. “Because I think Daz is right, I haven’t seen this one before.”

“A spy then.” Uyeda chipped in. “A spy who wrecked our defences and let the cocksuckers in.”

A grumble went around the assembled pirates. They seemed to think it plausible. This was it, I was fucked.

“Leave her alone Romero.” The black haired woman stepped forward.into the circle. Taking up a position facing the pair.

“And what’s it to you Saana?” Uyeda turned on her. “Maybe you were in on it. Sold us all out  together?”

“Fuck off Uyeda. You were all blitzed out of your heads, that how they got us.” He voice was dripping with scorn. ”You’re still fucking high.”

The larger pirate moved around Uyeda, now towering over me. I raised my fists ready to go down swinging.

“I’d like to hear what she has to say.” He purred, his voice laden with menace. “What’s the matter girl? Cat got your tongue.”

“Fuck you!” I spat out.

“She speaks!” He said turning momentarily to showboat for the crowd. “Lets see if we can get her to speak a little more.”

“Knock it off Romero, you know what will happen.” Another tall dark haired pirate spoke out from the ring.

Romero ignored him. “I think maybe we should…” He stopped short and tilted his head, studying me more closely. Then his lips split into a wide grin, before giving a harsh laugh.

“Ha! I know who she is. No spy this one.” he pointed to my chest. “That’s Graf’s jacket! And this? This is his little plaything. Daddy’s little girl locked up in the cell.” He laughed again.

He fixed me with a predatory gaze. “So what? Did you kill Graf?” He looked into my eyes with a mocking smirk. “I think maybe you did. And then what? Did you think you could put on our colours and join our illustrious band? Well I’m afraid we don’t just take anyone.”

Romero paused for effect. “And you have to be properly initiated first.”

“Don’t” Warned Saana, still standing to one side.

He stepped forwards towards me, well within range. “Come here and give me a…”

I surged low as he reached forward, ducking under his grasp, and delivered a vicious elbow strike to his groin. All the while screaming “FUCK YOU!” At the top of my lungs.

Romero doubled over gasping for air. I spun to face Uyeda, my arm drawn back to deliver a punch into his face as he slowly realised the fight was on, and brought his guard up. Then he stopped, and backpedaled. Confused I moved to run him down, but then a strong grip caught my arm and twisted it back harshly, causing me to cry out in pain.

What the fuck?

I looked around the pirates were silent now, and were all backing away. In the corner of my vision I saw why. A squad of mercenaries had entered the hold, with weapons drawn.

“All of you scum on your knees now!” Shouted one of the female troopers. “Down now or we shoot!”
The pirates did as they were told, though not without shooting defiant glares back at the troopers.
The owner of the hand gripping my wrist was a tall dark skinned man, wearing a set of immaculately clean fatigues and a white beret secured firmly upon his head. A pair of stripes were fixed on his labels, and the nametape on his chest read ‘Mbili’. He kept a firm grip on my wrist whilst surveying the cowed prisoners.

“I will say this only once.” His voice was a rich baritone, with a strong note of command, that sounded like it would tolerate no dissent. “There will be no fighting, or attempts at escape. You will remain here peaceably until you are delivered to the authorities on Lahti. If you do not comply with my orders, then I will flush this whole bay into space.” He finished by pointing with his free hand towards the large loading doors.

He turned his head to at me. First at my wrist, and then at my battered face. His eyes narrowed. “This one has untreated injuries. Take her to the medbay.”

He released me, and then with surprising gentleness pushed me towards one of his troopers, before stalking back out of the hatch. The rest of the mercs began to withdraw, their weapons still trained on the submissive pirates.

As the trooper half carried me out of the cargo hold, I heard the red haired girl speak up with a grin.

“Well I like her.”