Too Far Gone, page 16
part #3 of The Jaxon Grey Chronicles Series
"I'm not talking about Nadina's pitiful servant," Thuric replied, and his devilish grin slowly re-appeared on his face.
It took me longer than I care to admit to understand his meaning, but when I did my eyes went wide with a dreadful realization. "You son of a bitch!" I shouted at him in English, my head ringing with pain.
"She was right where you left her in the cabin," he said casually. "She put up an admirable resistance, but the chloroform worked well enough."
I don't even remember moving, but suddenly I was being pulled off of him by Demtrius, and Thuric was laughing at me.
"What have you done with her?" I demanded savagely. I took another threatening step toward him, fists clenched, but Demtrius held me back. "If you hurt her in any way, I'll tear your damned gills right out of your wrinkled throat!”
Thuric laughed maniacally, taking extreme pleasure in my hysteria. He had me seething with rage, and I was on the verge of striking the grinning prisoner again, but Demtrius checked my cocked arm before I could land the blow. Dotarans are not keen on prisoner brutality.
I turned away from Thuric, to hide my panic. It felt like I had been punched in the gut. No. NO. No, no, no, no, no. I forced myself to breathe. He's lying. That utter piece of rapt dung is lying. Scynthians, Nadina possibly being the exception, are manipulative sociopaths who always have ulterior motives. Pharon had reminded me of that enough. He was just saying whatever he knew would rile me up the most. But what if he wasn't lying? What if the Scynthians had really taken you?
My migraine was back in full force, and I had started to sweat. I needed to get out of this cell. We had learned at least part of the mystery of the journals, and Thuric wasn't willing to give up any other useful information, so we decided to leave.
I made it out of the brig and several feet down the hall before I lost my composure completely. I had endured everything Tatora had thrown at me up until this point, but the thought of you in the hands of Scynthians proved to be too much for me. I thought back to the nightmare that I had recently, the one that had felt so real, of you being tortured, and the immense anger it brought on overpowered my fear and I was able to steady myself.
Demtrius reached a hand out to pull me up from where I had slid down the wall of the corridor. He hadn't said a word while I had processed all of my emotions, but now he looked me in the eye. “We will find her. If the Scynthians have her, we will get her back.” He said it with all the determination I was feeling, and I felt better knowing I had his support. “But we cannot help her, or anyone else, until we recuperate some of our losses. We need to focus on our impending trip to Mercer. You have told me how strong your Earth female is. And we don't even know for sure that Thuric was telling the truth."
I knew he was trying to make me feel better, while keeping me on task. I would shift my focus back to our mission, but I also knew this cold, twisting feeling in the pit of my stomach would not go away until I knew you were safe.
He was right, though. Our resources were dangerously low, and soon we would run through the Iccaryn's dwindling food stores. We needed help, but the risk of discovery was far greater than we had anticipated. The Scynthians were playing a devious game, and no one aboard the Iccaryn had even a clue as to what the true nature of their plans might be, save for Thuric and his leather-skinned soldiers, but they were keeping that secret well hidden.
"They have my journal," I said to Demtrius, suddenly immensely aware of the enormity of the situation. "They must know of our plans to return to Mercer..."
"I know," he replied grimly. “The captains will not be pleased to hear of this."
"I'm sorry," I replied guiltily, "for everything. Because of me, Ryane-” I couldn't finish that thought, “And we already had to move the entire Dotaran camp once. I should never have written anything about our journeys. It was so foolish of me."
Demtrius stopped in the hallway and touched me on the shoulder. He turned me about, placing his other hand on my other shoulder, and looked me square in the eyes. "None of this is your fault, Jaxon. This entire mess is all the work of the Scynthians, never forget that. Placing unnecessary blame on yourself is not going to resolve the situation."
"But what do we do?" I asked in anguish. "We can't just go back to Mercer with the Scynthians expecting as much. It'll be suicide. And it will put the Mercerians in danger. They may already be in danger."
"Any course of action we take now will be dangerous," he said, "but we have to go. We have no present alternatives."
"And just step right into a trap?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.
"We will have to be very careful," he replied dutifully. "We will, of course, need to take extra pre-cautionary defense measures."
"Extra defense?" I questioned him, curious by what he had in mind.
"We Dotarans still retain a few tricks that we have yet to employ," he replied, and cast a brief reassuring smile at me before continuing down the hall.
Interlogue Two
Ryane’s Plight
Water splashed onto the metal floor of the all-white, oval room that acted as Ryane's prison cell. She was sitting on a chair, soaking wet, with her head bent backwards. There was a hood over her head, and a new Scynthian poured a constant stream of water over her masked face, which she futilely struggled to withstand. She spat and coughed up water, choking on it, and could do nothing but shake her head back and forth, as her arms and legs were strapped securely to the chair.
It lasted for only a few seconds, but it seemed like much longer to Ryane. She thought she was going to drown; indeed, she felt as if she were drowning. This was the worst torture she had yet to endure.
Finally, the Scynthian finished pouring the contents of the water container, at which point he removed the hood from her face and grasped her by the hair. She winced from the pain. The torturer then snapped at a human servant that knelt close by, uttering something in its strange, unintelligible language, and the servant went hurrying out of the room.
Ryane breathed heavily, her face and hair dripping-wet. "Why?" she managed to ask. "Why are you doing this?"
The hideous Scynthian creature looked at her with a devilish smile. "Because it pleases me."
Ryane was losing hope. She was on the verge of breaking, and she felt like that was exactly what the Scynthians wanted, but she refused to give in to them. She fought them with every fiber of her being, but her spirit could only take so much. She feared the inevitable.
Ever since her failed escape attempt, and the subsequent divulging of Jaxon's location, she had been subjected to many traumas, both physical and psychological. She had been beaten regularly, shocked with electricity, and the Scynthians had even played with the oxygen and gravity levels inside her room. When she tried to sleep, the room would vibrate with a disorienting tone, giving her restless nights and exhausting days. Most recently, she had been starved. The hunger pains grew with each passing day, and were only made worse by the human servants who came into the room parading delicious meals in front of her, taunting and teasing her helpless captivity. At this point, she suspected, they were just doing it to see how far they could push the human body and mind, for there was no longer any reason to keep her here. She couldn't provide them with any information that they didn't already know.
Eventually, she was allowed to eat, and, famished as she was, she ate the succulent meat ravenously. It was the same sweet tasting meat she had been fed when she first awoke on Scynthia, and it made up a considerable portion of her diet. It was about the only thing she didn't hate on that world.
The female servant came back into the room with a covered tray. Ryane knew what it was, as she had grown accustomed to expecting her meals brought to her in this fashion. The servant placed the tray on a small table in front of Ryane and then unstrapped her hands so she could eat.
The cover was lifted off of the tray, releasing a small cloud of steam. Ryane immediately went for the food and began eating, savoring every bite for but a moment as she shoveled it into her mouth and down her throat.
"I see you like the meat," said the Scynthian, who still stood in the room.
Ryane didn't acknowledge the statement, and just kept eating.
Beside her jailer was another one of the hideous Scynthian creatures. Ryane didn't think she had seen this one before, but she couldn't be sure. Her jailer had often taken others to her room to relish in her anguish, but this one seemed different than the others. He didn't seem to enjoy her discomfort, but neither did he seem particularly unnerved, like it was just another duty for him to oversee.
"Our cattle are of the utmost quality when they go to slaughter," said her jailer, failing to hold back a smile.
The hair on the back of Ryane's neck suddenly stood on end. A Scynthian smiling was never good.
"I'm surprised you like it so much, though," the jailer continued. "Most intelligent species do not like the taste of their own kind."
Ryane went cold and immediately stilled. She looked at her plate with horror, bile rising in her throat. She leaned over in the chair and vomited, until there was nothing left in her stomach. Tears were streaming down her face, and she barely registered that she was hyperventilating. She could take it no more, and the room began to fade in and out. The ringing in her ears stopped as she fainted, falling limp in her seat.
Sometime later, she awakened, alone and cold on the metal floor. She saw the remnants from her meal still on the ground where she had thrown it, even the vomited meat. She shuddered, closing her eyes at the sight, trying not to remember just how many times she had unwittingly gorged on the flesh of her own species. It made her sick again, but, with no food in her system, all she could do was dry-heave. When she was done, her body glistened with a cool sweat and her abdomen ached severely.
She crawled to a mat they had so graciously provided her to sleep on, hoping to find some refuge in her sleep, but knowing there would be none. Instead her nights were filled with replays of the horrors inflicted upon her by day. Her sleep was restless and sporadic, when it came at all, and she often woke up in a terrible panic, her heart beating furiously.
She didn't care about the horrid nightmares now, though. Her body was just too exhausted, and sleep would come whether she liked it or not, so there she lay until, several hours later, she was again awakened by the opening of the door.
Ryane didn't move. If they wanted to torture her some more, they were going to have to pick her up and drag her over. As she cracked an eyelid to look to the door, she was surprised to see a different Scynthian than her usual torturer. She couldn't be sure, as most of the Scynthians were indistinguishable to her, but there was something less malicious in its demeanor.
The Scynthian walked over to her, carrying a small medical bag. He placed the bag on the floor near Ryane, and then opened it to her, showing her that it only contained the tools of his trade. Next he went to check Ryane's vitals, but she curled away as he reached out, tucking herself into a ball and clamping her arms tight around her legs.
The Scynthian was patient with her, having witnessed some of the cruelties she was forced to endure. "I'm not here to harm you," he said to her in a soothing voice. He had a thick accent, but his English was even better than the new jailer’s. "My name is Illoran."
Ryane looked at this Illoran with nothing but contempt, and he could feel the hatred emanating from her emaciated figure.
Illoran, feeling a bit awkward and somewhat ashamed, unusual feelings for a Scynthian, continued, "I am one of the veterinarians for the humans on this station. Salama’an has sent me in here to determine your health and ensure that you will not die just yet." He paused, and then added remorsefully, "I'm afraid his torment may be far from over." Salama'an must be the name of her torturer, the one who had taken over for Orric after her failed escape attempt. Ryane filed that information away, along with the confirmation that her torture was not over.
Illoran had always been sympathetic to the human cattle on Scynthia. Indeed, he had devoted his youthful studies to learning all he could about the humans, who, to him, were some of the most interesting creatures he had ever laid eyes upon. He admired their unique individual identities, their enthusiasm for life, and, most significantly, their ability to love. Scynthians, his own kind, were taught at a very young age to suppress their emotions, and rarely did they celebrate family. This left an unfulfilled void in his life, one that he had hitherto tried to fill through his studies of this unusual species. He studied both the human cattle that were raised on Scynthia and the free humans on Earth, never ceasing to be amazed. It was with a strange fascination that he observed and treated his human patients, tending to them like he would a Scynthian patient. In his eyes, he was simply a Scynthian of medicine, bound by a code to aid anyone in need of assistance.
Now he had hit an impasse. Illoran, stricken with unintended grief, held tremendous empathy for Ryane, and wished he had some means of aiding her outside of his medical expertise. That, however, could only be done in one of two ways; he could show her Scynthian mercy and end her suffering right now, or he could devise some way to effectuate her escape. The former was all but out of the picture. He could save a life, but never before had he intentionally taken one, not even a human's. This meant, in order to help Ryane, he would have to go against his entire civilization and free her.
But could he really do that? If he were caught...no, he couldn't even think of what would happen to him then. The new Scynthian regime, led by Orric, Thuric, and the new rebel Council, was notorious for executing anyone even suspected of treason, and had already killed or converted the remnants of the old Council.
Illoran looked again upon the helpless human captive before him, taking note of her frail and fragile body. He often marveled at how this species had evolved to become the dominant species on their planet. Their newborns were incredibly weak and prone to deathly illnesses, but it just showed the strength and resilience of the humans, to endure so much yet still rise above the rest.
It was these same qualities that he saw in Ryane.
"I must say," Illoran continued, "I am impressed by your fortitude. I don't know many Scynthians who could have sustained so much."
Ryane lay on her side still, just staring off into empty space. Now that she was awake again, she was thinking about how, because of her, Jaxon was probably dead, killed by these horrible creatures, and she would most likely be next. She thought about how dying might not even be so bad, compared to living through more torture.
Illoran again tried to attend to Ryane, but she kicked out her legs, and he was forced to jump back. Stymied yet again, Illoran grabbed his bag and stood to leave. He would return soon though for another attempt to provide her medical assistance.
"I know nothing I can ever say will convince you of my sincerity," he said to her quietly, as if fearing he might be overheard, "but I am truly sorry for what has been done to you. If it were within my capacity, I would set you free and return you to your planet, but I am only a doctor." He walked to the portal, and then turned around one last time, "I just hope you can find some solace in knowing that Orric failed in his attempt to root out your human friend and the Dotarans that are aiding him. It was a trap, and a clever one too, from what I'm told. It won't make your plight here any better, but you don't have to feel any guilt or shame. Stay strong, little human."
When Illoran left the room, Ryane could finally breathe. She had almost been tempted to believe him, hoping that Jaxon was still alive and well, but she quickly remembered where she was and the people she was dealing with. Just another trick, she thought. Just another trick to raise my hopes and then dash them again. As she closed her eyes, a tear made its way over the bridge of her nose and down her other cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away.
Just then, the ominous and disorienting tone sounded off inside her room. It would be yet another sleepless night for Ryane.
Chapter Twenty-One
Return To Mercer
Plans were set, the course was charted, and ships were prepared. Then, when the day came, we left for the island-continent of Mercer early in the morning. We took the Pothos, our mid-sized dondobah, carrying six occupants, as well as two single-person skivs. All four captains were in attendance, as well as Crispin, Thristin, and their cousin, Gilpin, but Delfwig stayed behind to watch over the Iccaryn and the crew. Demtrius and I were the most important guests, as we had the best rapport with the Mercerians and both of us could speak their language fluently. Not to mention that we had known Svix, the son of the Mercerian High Chieftain, and had returned his amethyst necklace to his father after his death. This was apparently a gesture of great significance in their culture. The Dotarans had also offered several gifts to the Mercerians, a sort of incentive meant to display the possible benefits of such a treaty. It still seemed clear to most, though, that any peace to be had would be wrought by Demtrius and me.
I sat in the Pothos with Gilpin and the four captains, waiting for the flight deck to finish filling with water. Crispin and Thristin piloted the skivs, while Gilpin piloted the Pothos. They were to keep the crafts submerged until we were just off the Mercerian coast, hoping to keep our presence there a secret. To be sure, the ship was also newly fitted with Pharon’s cloaking device, but it would drain the ship's batteries much quicker, so we needed to use it sparingly.
We were acting under the assumption that the Scynthians controlled the skies, and we couldn't afford them finding us or the Iccaryn. I felt bad enough as it was, potentially leading the Scynthians to Mercer with my journal writings. The Mercerians didn’t need us bringing our troubles with us, so we tried to be as stealthy as possible, hoping the Scynthians wouldn’t see our approach and might stay at bay.
It was a relatively short trip up the northern river to Mercer, and only a few hours later, we were passing Skudland at the island-continent's southern tip on our way to the capital. I had taken some medicine from a Dotaran doctor, and I could only hope it was enough to get me through the trip.
