His legs quivered as he tried to reposition his grip. The metal crashed to the floor with a thump and Vingo lowered his head.
Silence replaced the cacophony of alien shouts.
The croatoan raised its glinting bloodstained sword.
The female slaver let out a long hissing rasp and stood in front of it. She turned and said something to her henchmen. They grabbed Vingo by both arms and led him to a larger cell near the door. His ankles were placed in shackles, connecting him to three other tredeyans.
It seemed he scraped through the test, although Charlie couldn’t decide if that was a good thing. Death was preferable to life under an alien whip.
The two henchmen turned and headed for the cells. The aliens inside them backed away from the bars, but Charlie could see they were heading directly for him.
If they wanted him to carry out the same test, it would mean taking the device off his arm and allowing bodily freedom. The slavers would find out that humans weren’t shrinking violets like Vingo.
One of the henchmen reached around the back of his suit. He heard a click and something being loosened. It went for his pad and pressed around the magnetic device with its bony maggot-like finger.
Charlie’s pulse quickened and he tensed. The tredeyan had a dagger on his belt and his rifle hung loosely around his back. The other stood at the open entrance of the cell and aimed at him.
The suit split open with a high grind, and both henchmen retreated a few meters outside and trained their rifles on him.
The prisoners and the slavers focused on Charlie’s cell. They treated him with more caution, which was disappointing.
The only way he could move any distance away from his suit, and survive, was if they unfastened his air filtration system. That’s what the tredeyan must have been doing behind his back.
Edging to the side, Charlie felt the weight of the pack gently pulling down against the back of his helmet. At least it was still attached and weighed a lot less than he thought.
Charlie grimaced and moved further to his right, acclimatizing back to natural movement. His left knee buckled and the realization dawned on him that he’d been hours without root and would be weak without the aid of the electronic armor, especially given the stronger gravity of the planet.
One of the henchmen jabbed its rifle toward the central table with a grunt.
Charlie composed himself, not wanting to show signs of weakness, and advanced. Stabbing cramps shot through his calves. He pumped his fingers and flexed his muscles, attempting to quickly reorientate his body.
The henchmen stood three meters to either side and shadowed him to the table.
All four aliens standing around it stopped what they were doing. The holographic map flicked off and they turned to face him. The croatoan drew its sword and the female tredeyan opened her mouth, flashing a set of teeth that looked like a witch doctor’s necklace.
“It’s the first time one of you have come here without our assistance,” she said.
“Pleasure to be here,” Charlie said. “You know how to roll out the red carpet.”
“Do you think you’re the only race that understands sarcasm? You show surprising arrogance, human, considering the state of your own planet.”
“I could say the same for this place, or didn’t you notice the scion taking over out there?”
She gestured the croatoan to lower its sword and turned back to Charlie. “You have made up my mind. I will not be baited into killing you. Death is too good for your kind. Slavery it is. Take comfort in the fact that every time you smash a rock, you can imagine my face.”
“Do you really think I’m going to work as a slave?” Charlie said, spitting at her feet.
“I don’t care what you think. Once I get my price, you will answer to your new owners. If I were you, I’d keep my head down and do as you were told.”
She rasped to the two henchmen. One pushed Charlie in the back, the other covered him. They shoved him toward the cell by the entrance containing Vingo and three other tredeyans.
Charlie doubted he would’ve passed the test, glancing at the lump of metal as he passed it. Vingo glanced over and blinked as he watched him approach. He couldn’t be relied upon for an escape attempt, but they still had to get to the shuttle. That would be his last chance.
Without any spare shackles left on the chain, the henchman wrapped a cable around Charlie’s neck, tightening it until he coughed. The other end was fastened around Vingo’s waist.
The female tredeyan had a conversation with the croatoan. It picked up a rifle from the table and approached the closest cell containing a small alien, aimed and fired. The alien flew back against the wall and collapsed to the floor.
It moved to the next cell and did the same thing. It seemed for the purposes of brevity, the slavers had streamlined their method. They collected electronic items and weapons off the table while the croatoan finished its work.
Screams and rattles filled the cavern as the aliens in the cells panicked and struggled with the bars. Below their noise, the sound of a shuttle’s engines firing up drifted through the cave.
Vingo looked over his shoulder. “Time for us to leave this world.”
Chapter 17
MIKE WOKE to the echo of multiple footsteps descending the spiral ramp inside the attack ship toward the workshop. He bolted up from his slumped position over the workbench. Sweat dripped from his forehead, the sleeve of his red and yellow striped sweater made damp at the cuffs where he had laid his head.
He checked his watch—an old Casio digital. “Five AM,” he croaked, clearing the dust of the underground workshop from his throat. Weak lamplight, casting a warm orange glow from the end of the wooden bench, helped him search through the pile of electronic parts until he found his flask of water.
The cool, clean liquid hydrated the parched portion of his throat, bringing quick relief. The water helped to wake him up. He stood, stretched the cricks from his back and yawned deeply.
Other than the glow of the floor lamp there was little other light in the workshop. Mike and Mai had worked through the night on their new weapon: a glorified radio transmitter tuned to the croatoan communication frequencies. With the help from their new friend, they had ascertained that via a strong enough signal embedded with the correct encryption codes, they could send instructions to Augustus’ troops’ breathing apparatus.
Without the equipment to convert the air to a croatoan-friendly compound, they would soon suffocate and die.
Mike’s stomach growled, eager for food. The rumbling noise woke Mai, who like him, had slept the night slumped over the workshop. They had both done that many times over the years, working on weapons and repairing equipment to help Charlie and the others to survive—and fight back.
“Morning, my love,” Mike said, sitting back down on his stool and running his hand through Mai’s short dark hair.
Mai stifled a yawn behind her agile hand and smiled at him, her eyes still half-closed and bleary. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Just gone five.”
“My back’s killing me. I’m getting too old for this.” She let out a light chuckle. It had been a running joke with the both of them for years and was one of the many things that Mike loved about her. Despite whatever situation they were in, she was always able to maintain the humor. ‘We’re dead when we lose all humor,’ she had once said. Mike couldn’t agree any more.
“So,” Mai said, stretching her arms over her head and looking at the finished device on the workbench, “today we test it.”