The thought in itself
echoed as proof of the obvious fact that she couldn’t be. Surely death would leave less of a
sensation in her body.
The painful fog that swam
untouchably before her face made the researcher pull her hands back over her eyes to try
and shield them, yet that action only caused a senseless retreat back into the pounding darkness
that refused to give way to sleep inside her head.
Emilija realized that she wasn’t
actually tired anyway. The grass on which she found herself was too crisp and damp to
have made a comfortable bed in the first place, why was I sleeping there? Pulling herself
to hands and knees brought the pain back to her mind.
Both pains...
The hammering in
her head and the ringing in her ears was causing a horribly sickening dizziness, a
spinning that had formed itself into a nearly tangible smog in her vision, the pounding of her pulse
seemed to quite loudly taunt the misconception that she could possibly have just awoken from
some pleasant nap.
Her memories of that one prisoner
creep’s left hand clamping upon her right shoulder, while the other inmate viciously
tore at her pants as she was feebly unable to fight the two of them off slammed back into her
mind.
The disgust that came as she
realized she could still easily feel that they had won the prize the two of them sought hit
almost as hard as the rock that the man who had first grabbed her held in his right fist when
he had deftly used it to stop her struggles.
As these men now fought each
other on the edge of her vision, Emilija knew she couldn’t waste the chance to get away. It wasn’t
clear why they now attacked one another, but that such disgusting human beings wouldn’t even trust
or get along with so called ‘friends’ didn’t really surprise her.
Unconsciously pulling her torn
clothes back together, Emilija wasn’t really sure if she was thankful that her first
thoughts of being dead were wrong as she considered the how unlikely it was that she’d ever
leave this stupid assignment alive.
From all she had ever read of
this world, the prison planet Gilnar, no one could doubt it to be a terrible place. A
supposed destination of no return for prisoners judged to deserve death.
Knowing she was probably the only
female human among the countless male prisoners abandoned here over the last
couple 100 standard years, didn’t exactly fit in with her hopes of not getting raped, again.
Unable to stand up and walk more
than a few steps before she stumbled back to the ground, her head pulsing
painfully as she tried to hold it still between her hands; she was left trying to neither pass out or
throw up.
The only thing that let her keep
those hopes of getting away from her attackers alive before they noticed that she was
almost up and moving was the sight of another man who was projecting pure outrage towards
those two she remembered from earlier. Emilija felt no guilt at the thankfulness that flooded
her system as this new third probable inmate time and again picked up the other two forms so
he could beat them down.
Although, the ‘good guy’ seemed
unwilling to quit despite the fact that his two victims had given up trying to even get away.
Not knowing if this remorseless
rescuer would improve or only worsen her present situation, Emilija tried to
remain quiet, but couldn’t help herself, and started laughing with the thought that the first two had at
least gotten what she was sure they deserved.
Later she decided that the
laughter was probably just a form of hysteria as her mind tried to reject the situation,
but it did have one effect on her audience- this new prisoner whoseemed to be highly upset with
the other two looked over at her with slight confusion for a little bit as he lowered his newest
victim’s head to the ground.
A chill of unease quickly
silenced her as an eerie grin that didn’t actually touch his eyes, lit up his face.
The primal fear that was
radiating from Emilija’s body with the new need to escape was suddenly picked up on by the man
across the field. As she tried to stand up again, he started concernedly shaking his head.
Holding his hands up in front of
his chest with a motion that clearly meant ‘stop;’ she heard for the first time the
garbled nonsense that would spew from his mouth if he tried to speak.
Now the sound wasn’t just some
sort of random grunts or a groans; quite clearly it was comprised of words. It’s just
that his utterance was something like a high speed chipmunk tape or an audio file listened to at
far too high of a rate.
The prisoner’s sentences were so
fast, that they nearly overlapped, until it took a moment of thought after his
speaking before the shy greeting he had called out to her became clear. And like a recording
played at far too fast of a speed, the pitch became unnaturally high until the sound, itself,
irritated the ears of the listener.
It was this unusual ugly sour
tone of his own speech that seemed to rapidly pull the prisoner’s attention away from
Emilija. If even as far away as she was the voice hit her ears like a scratching on glass, the
poor man’s ears that were connected to the very throat that had emitted the unnaturally high
words couldn’t be able to find them any more pleasant.
Her savior’s eyes squinted with
pain; his left hand quickly came up to cover the culprit mouth, as a wince pulled those
squinted eyes to the right.
Emilija was certain that she was
foolish to suddenly feel concerned for his health, but the man’s actions were clearly not
those of a person who found himself to be in perfect condition.
For instance, after the absurdly
short amount of time he had distractedly looked away, this prisoner seemed to have
forgotten about the simple fact that anyone else was even nearby; and so, he began carefully to
walk away, looking irritated and lost.
Not wanting to be left alone and
vulnerable for a repeat of what had already happened when she had met the other two,
and so caused his attack that she now felt may have saved her life, she decided she should
stick with him and at least trust him enough to thank him, because it didn’t seem a risk
regaining his attention.
“Hey, wait!” Emilija called to
his back as the man appeared to seriously consider simply moving along. “Who are you? I need to
thank you, somehow. Why did you save me from them?”
The man she was talking to,
turned around with a strange mixture of recognition and surprise on his countenance;
“NRITE,” he finally declared, although he looked startled at his own volume as his voice cracked.
Seeming to realize that the
expression on her face indicated a general lack of understanding, he tried to
elaborate, yet seemed unable to keep from either talking with such speed he would just about end up
choking himself or losing his entire train of thought.
After maybe half an hour Emilija
was pretty sure the man was trying to explain how he was stuck here on Gilnar too-
just like her, and didn’t want to have to live with and accept the actions of those jerks that were
so not right; not if he was able to do anything about it.
During that time, Emilija began
trying to figure out how she had gotten where she was, and how she could change that fact.
For one thing, she assumed the planet must contain some type of guard station. Her
protector (not to mention those other two who had come after her) wore strange almost- jewelry
consisting of skin-tight bands around the neck, something like dog collars. The purpose of such
unstylish, unglamorous equipment, that was made of a very strong synthetic leather band fitted
every inch or so with microchip-looking components, must be for keeping tabs on the prisoner
whereabouts.
All three wore greenish-yellow
camouflage wind-suits, meaning they couldn’t easily be kept under visual watch by the
guards at their home station so whatever friendlies she could find, probably didn’t even have
any idea of what had happened to her!
Although, the idea of getting to
such habitation for help started to unravel almost more quickly than she could think
about it. The reason for ‘building’ a prison here was just that; the moist haze that engulfed Gilnar,
although may not be very toxic, was highly acidic.
Metallic pieces of any structure
would be quickly worn away. Non-metal building materials, although they may
withstand the mists a little longer, couldn’t withstand the fierce winds that plagued the endless
plains of bitter grass. Taller, almost tree-like yellow bushes swaying in the wind like reeds
with no wood to support them were the only breaks on the horizon.
And wildlife? She had heard tales
of the endless swarms of biting, buzzing insect-like creatures that would swarm over
unbelievably huge areas; some claimed miles in diameter! The creatures were boneless with
exoskeleton/shell-skin and wings, like wasps the size of lobsters.
If the acidic mist or howling
wind didn’t conquer any structure quickly enough, these animals (called ‘skrifters’) would easily
tear it down.
That difficulty in producing any
permanent structure here was arguably why the planet was used as a prison. Those
brought here had been sentenced to death, more or less. The only people who would call it a
‘life’ sentence were the council of politicians who ran that bizarre religion when they sometimes
needed a way to be done with violent criminals without being forced to dirty their ‘holy’
hands with the stink of death.
The men (it was only men here)
who were sentenced to come here (some claimed that the lack of female
companionship was simply part of the sentence) were locked within pods that would only open
after touchdown. (Emilija wondered if what had happened to her may not be the
true reason women weren’t imprisoned here.)
Upon arrival these convicts could
join into the tribes of other prisoners who hunted skrifters for food (they were
apparently more tasty than the vegetation) or sit back and watch as the small craft they had been
dropped in melted with the mist.
Although the man who had
thankfully saved her seemed to have difficulty speaking normally; this prisoner reacted
as if he understood all that she tried to tell him (as she slowly decoded what he was trying to say
she found that this practice seemed to improve his speech).
Confident that he had consciously
tried to save her, Emilija decided that if she was getting out of this hell-hole, there was no way
she could leave her new hero behind.
“Look, when my friends get here;
you need to come along with us. If you can stay with me and keep me safe, I would be happy to
try staging the first successful jailbreak from planet Gilnar.” She held out her hand, “Seriously, even
that won’t be thanks enough. I am Emilija Lithuan; now, always, and forever in your debt.”
Looking a little embarrassed; the
prisoner blushed, rubbing the left of his face as his right shot out to meet hers with an
audible clap. “IMTHDRDWR TSNTHG!” came out of his mouth so fast with his new joy and
excitement that she was unsure how he kept from biting his own tongue off.
Her new friend looked alarmed by
the quick lack of his own clarity and the revved up pitch of his voice; he pulled
back, shame filling his face.
Unsure what he had meant by this
outburst, Emilija decided to ignore it rather that possibly offend the man she was
truly grateful to.
She figured that it might be
easiest just to continue and pretend she hadn’t noticed.
“Ryan Mead and that Max thing
will probably have found a diplomatic way out by now and The Church of Caytal will trip over
itself as their priests try to avoid the shame surely will be pasted on them for sending one of what
they deem ‘the weaker sex’ to an unmerited sentence in this primitive prison.”
Her rescuer, who looked timidly
for a moment, took a deep breath and almost questioningly slowed himself down
enough to ask, “Caytal?”
Emilija figured things would
probably go better if she could just start telling this story from back where it all began;
anyway, if this man who might be calling himself ‘THDRDWR’ was a prisoner here, he had had his
own unlucky dealings with the Caytalan Church. His statement had probably been more of a
friendly lamentation than a question of what Caytal was.
It didn’t really matter. Ryan
Mead had been hired to provide her with some safety and transport for this mission; her
own actions may have led to their imprisonment, but that robotman, android or
whatever, ∞ was, would probably be close enough to get Mead loose to come rescue her.
Emilija could see the doubt in
her new companion’s eyes when she spoke of escape. She wasn’t quite sure of how she
could ask if he had the brainpower to help her in the escape or if his trouble talking was a
sign of serious mental incapacity; if he was simply repeating words she said without understanding,
and only reacting through base instinctual impulses. Although his face showed clear irritation
as he seemed to recognize her attitude towards him; he reached out with his left hand and
pointed at her chest.
“Yoo Emlja,” pulling the hand
back to lie flat on his chest, he attempted his introduction once again; “Mh.. Thdr.” Eyes
brightening warily with hope, he resisted looking away in shame.
He almost gave up as she
initially pulled back in fear, yet was relieved to watch the slight confusion on her face as she
considered his words. The desperate hope that Emilija felt radiate from his eyes, made her wonder
how long it had been since he had an encounter with another person that didn’t end in a
fight.
“Are you saying your name is
Thdr... Theodore..?” Her cautiously understanding expression was mixed with a pity
and confusion that he tried to ignore as he nodded.
Looking away, he ran his right
hand back across the top of his head. Countless hours had been spent considering
himself and his situation, anyway. Emilija was still relatively new to him; not to mention that she had
said that she was planning to get him out of here.
In Theodore’s former life, before
getting dumped upon this planet (not to mention the whole S.Y.M.A.C.* business),
information could be a near-form of currency. Before she got into asking too much of him he might
as well get at least the same in return.
And hey, why not use what had
happened to his advantage? If he could find out all she knew while she saw him as a fool
that could hardly speak, it may come in handy at some time if she was really trusting enough to
rescue him. With any luck he could be back at his pad in Vern within a couple weeks.
“S’wy Yoohr?” Theodore tried
asking split-seconds after Emilija’s translation of his name. Getting somewhat used to the
high-speed talk she really didn’t have to think about what he meant- ‘So,why you here?’ She clearly wanted to ask what
was wrong with him, yet if Theodore conveniently didn’t pick up on her unspoken question,
he considered it more likely that she’d answer what he had asked. It’s so easy to
manipulate those who worry about being seen as rude! Theo nearly chuckled to himself.
Theodore, who wasn’t worried
about looking rude, decided he should probably listen enough to whatever she was saying
to respond intelligently, so he picked up what she was saying in the middle; “Yes, I
realize those annoying Caytalan priests usually don’t consider any action from a woman to be the
fault of anything more than bad teaching; normally I would have just been whipped, with the
imprisonment/exile reserved for the male who had misled me.
“I was ‘lucky’ enough to avoid
that now because they are preparing for some ‘sacred’ ritual. Apparently some prisoner here is
to be sacrificed towards the grand prosperity of the universe. Whatever that
means, they won’t suffer a woman’s presence during the preparations.
“I don’t get exactly what they
are trying to do here- the details are in one of their high-level books that
they refused to let us read. Refused, and sent me here for trying!
“They said they’d take me back
after the ritual; but truthfully, after what happened to me here today, I’m not sure I want to
find out what else they’re willing to let happen to me just to make sure I don’t get in the way.
“Although, I suppose I should be
thankful that they wanted to give me the chance to live. I heard them planning to use Ryan as
sprite-fodder.
“I’m not sure where Max slipped
off to, but I guess it’s no fool. I’d never call it a person (Max is some sort of
robot-android-thing) but it has the intelligence to realize that if they feel
like they can get away with using Ryan’s body to
breed those microscopic insects within, their plans for a non-human couldn’t be expected to be all
that considerate.”
Theodore fully understood what
she was saying. In fact, the ritual she spoke of was exactly the type of action Mardot
was sure they be able to eliminate the need of with the new information, back before Theo was
imprisoned here.
That they would still bother with
such a ritual made it likely that the attack he had been punished for hadn’t even been
completely successful! If that was the case: talk about adding insult to injury. No one had even
thought him worth taunting about the failure.
“... because I’m an expert on old
books.” Theodore suddenly realized that Emilija had continued speaking while he
was thinking. “Because S.Y.M.A.C. command likes my combination of youth and
experience I was commissioned to fly around the Galaxy with, Ryan Mead as my pilot, collecting
texts for inclusion in the S.Y.M.A.C. system.
“Max (our pet name for our
android ∞ or ‘Nitty’) is along for translation of the books we find and the actual job of
uploading the data. We are being punished for trying to gain access to some sort of secret, sacred
texts.”
Emilija made it clear to Theodore
that she was part of some galactic data collating expedition for S.Y.M.A.C. People
who were ready to go through the wilds to get hold of unusual artifacts should be able to help
the two of them escape this the prison-planet place, especially if at least one of her two supposed
co-workers had remained free.
That thought is why when
Emilija’s tale ended Theodore simply nodded happily. He had no questions for her. By keeping
silent he wouldn’t risk offending her and possibly changing her mind to take him along when she
got off the planet.
When I was a kid growing up in the near Chicago
suburbs, I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to teach and I wanted to write.
I’d spend hours over the little typewriter Mom and Dad bought for me when I was
little, clattering away at stories and plays I’d wheedle my cousins and brother
into performing. I think I wrote my first “book” in 6th grade and
had a friend illustrate it for me. I never really looked back from there.
