Rise the Renegade (Rork Sollix Book 1) (8 page)

The slot in the door slid open and Jelara’s bulbous nose appeared.

“So, is the big bad space pirate enjoying his time out?”

Rork steadied his breathing. He didn’t want Jelara to come in. He might check the chains, find them wanting and move him to a better cage. Worse, he might return him to Zero’s cell. Then he might never free the children. He needed to be in here, in the hole, across from them.

Rork’s breath stuck in him and his lungs refused to exhale.

Jelara closed the slot.

Relieved, Rork sighed and breathed deep.

Something swished and the door’s locking bolt echoed open. Jelara stood there in the entryway, his dead eyes surveying Rork’s defeat.

Rork looked at the floor.
Just leave me alone. Just leave me here. This is where I belong.

The memory returned to him of its own accord. Dad, Jord and he boarded a Barbary ship to buy a fresh supply of corn from Earth. They had no other choice. The Sollix Fair Trading Company donated its last kilos of corn to the indie miners. The Sollix family itself was eating stale crackers. Their customers were desperate for the staple and Barbary was the Cartel-designated supplier.

But Rork didn’t care about Barbary then. He was only nine. It was the children from that day that were burned into his memory.

While Dad and Jord took a sample of the corn, Rork explored the rear cargo hold. Out of the twilight murk, a girl came to the bars and held his hand. She didn’t have blue hair then. It was her gentle green eyes that made an impression on him. That, and the dozen other child slaves with her.
 

He couldn’t save her that day. That took a couple of years. But he didn’t abandon her. In the escape pod after he lost his family, Rork swore never to abandon anyone again. He wouldn’t start now.

Jelara kicked Rork’s arm. “Ready to behave?”

Rork arched his neck up and spit at him. No spittle left his dry mouth but the intention was clear.

Jelara stepped on Rork’s hand and ground his heel into Rork’s fingers. Skin dug into bone, ligaments stretched and Rork suppressed the physical need to cry out. He hardened his face and met Jelara’s smiling eyes.

Jelara’s smile fell. He took his booted foot off of Rork’s hand and kicked him hard in the ribs.

Rork rolled to his opposite side. He took in a sharp breath and recoiled as his lungs intruded into cracked bone.

“Your mother… is a dog,” Rork mumbled through the pain.

A shadow fell on Rork from the doorway. Jelara strode out of the cell and slammed the door behind him. Two pair of footsteps thudded away and the heavy metal corridor gate screeched shut.

Rork grinned. He jerked his left arm. That side ached but he jerked it a second then third time. The baseplate broke free of the cement. He stretched his hand out ahead of him and enjoyed the freedom.

He looked toward the door and listened carefully. A distant click echoed through the hallway. He curled the chain in his left palm and listened. The sound did not come again.

He shoved the freed spike under the baseplate that held his other hand and jimmied it about under each side, one after the other. It came free with a shower of cement dust.

Rork stood up and made short work of the leg chains now that he had the proper leverage. He pulled on the cuffs and shoved the concrete-encrusted baseplate spikes between skin and steel. He wrapped the rusty chains around his limbs and tucked the ends in the respective cuffs.

He tiptoed to the door, shivering, the sweat on his chest and back now evaporating. He squatted down and applied pressure to the slot. He glanced out through the small crack.

A guard, his shiny nylon pants and desert-brown shirt too baggy to be Jelara, stood with his back to Rork at the door to what must be the children’s cell. He shifted his feet and Rork backed away.

Rork stood up and leaned over, his stomach numb and empty.
How long without a meal was it now? How long would it be?
An open can of spam, the key turning back the metal lid, EDF-style — the image jumped into his mind. He pushed it away. A more attainable goal flashed in his mind. He shrugged. It was all he had.

“Ahh, no! The prisoner is free!” he yelled in his best Indian accent. “Help!” Rork moved into the corner and faced the spot where the guard would enter. He waited.

The slot opened. “Who—” A keycard swiped and the door popped free.

Rork put the ball of his foot forward, then the next one.

The guard appeared in front of Rork, facing him, his pistol drawn. He fired. The wall behind Rork exploded in fire and dust.

Rork pivoted his back to the guard. With his right elbow he hit the thin man on the ball of his jaw.

The guard’s head rocketed into the wall and he slid down into a pile of oversized clothes on the floor.

Rork stripped the goon. The pants reached the tops of Rork’s ankles and the velcro wouldn’t close at his waist. The shirt zipper refused to go above his sternum. He cinched the gun belt at the last hole. It kept his pants up but his waist ached and he was sure the pants would soon split. The shoes were hopeless. The hat fit like an astrohelmet on a ship’s prow.

Rork studied the puny thug. He would wake up and sound the alarm. He positioned his foot over the man’s sideways-facing head and jammed his bare foot down hard.

A sharp crack echoed in the inhuman cell.
 

Rork closed his eyes and sighed. His stomach grew heavy. He was oddly grateful for the lack of food so far during his stay. At least he wouldn’t leave with diarrhea.

He stepped out into the hallway, his head held low, his face away from the camera at the exit door. He closed his cell door and it clicked. He walked to the children’s cell, swiped the card and opened it.

“Stay back,” a child’s voice whispered.

A chill spread across Rork’s gut. He stepped back.

“We’ll kill you,” a girl whispered. “You’re already bleeding.”

The door clicked shut.

Rork put his hand to his stomach and held it up to his face. A thin trickle of blood ran the length of his palm. “Hey! Let me talk to Devi! I’m trying to save you. I’m Rork Sollix! The pirate!”

The big metal door at the end of the hallway opened and three guards entered. One stayed at the door. Two came toward Rork.

Rork moved his feet towards the children’s cell, then turned towards his own, where the guard lay. He put his feet back in place, saluted and looked at the floor.

The two guards stopped in front of him. One smacked the hat off his head. Rork looked at him and raised a fist to strike. Jelara.

The second one shocked Rork and he collapsed to his knees, his lungs begging for air that would not come.

The pair grabbed his upper arms, just below the shoulder, one on either side and dragged him out through the big metal door. The elevator waited. They pulled him in and Rork faced the wall.

His shoulders ached. He picked up his feet and put them under him but they never seemed to actually find the floor. His eyes rolled around. White. Everything was white.

The elevator doors opened and the light was too bright. He tried to cover his eyes. An oven-hot wind hit the side of his face and his lungs throbbed.

Feet and fabric shuffled and crunched to his right. The guards walked straight, then turned towards the noise. Rork found his feet and put them under him. They climbed steps.

At the top, Rork peeled his left eye a micron. A hundred or more prisoners stood in neat rows four deep and six wide a few meters below him on the ground. They wore white jumpsuits. Behind them, a small group of civilians sat in their varied dress. A transparent cage enclosed and protected them. They stared at their hands and each other.

Jelara pulled Rork to his feet. His knees wobbled but he stayed upright.

Rork scanned the area, both eyes open now. The diffuse light attacked his retinas from all sides, equally and at once. Above them was only sky. In the distance, he spotted the blue and yellow skyline of Delhi through the haze.

Jelara put something rough around Rork’s neck. A voice boomed through the assemblage. His earcom activated and the voice simultaneously spoke directly into Rork’s eardrum.

“We convene this morning to witness the execution by hanging of Rork Sollix, convicted pirate and long-time fugitive, finally captured by our very efficient and courageous Delhi Police just yesterday. Please take your seats.”

Rork’s breath caught in his throat. He instinctively picked up his right foot to run but the two guards grabbed his arms and held him.

“H
OOD
THE
prisoner.”

One of the guards approached Rork, a hunk of dirty cloth in his hand. He pulled the opening apart. Dust cascaded out of it and hung in a stagnant sunbeam that managed to peak through the haze.

“What about my trial? What are the charges? This is crazy! A man deserves a trial! To deny a man his rights is barbaric!” Rork jumped up and down and the wood gave way behind his feet. He fell backwards, his eyes wide and shoulders flexing in an instinctive attempt to balance himself with his now bound arms.

The guard grabbed Rork’s shoulder and steadied him. An expression of bored irritation on his face, the mustached man held the eyeless hood open over the top of Rork’s head.

“Wait!” Jelara climbed the steps to Rork’s right, a small but well-fed boy running ahead of him.

Rork looked at the guard with the hood. “Really? A kid, too?”

The guard ignored him and looked at Jelara.

The boy reached Rork. He stood in front of the condemned man and touched his belly wound. He looked at his finger, then at Jelara. “Blood!”

Jelara knelt down next to the boy and smiled. “No matter, this one will be dead soon.”

“Will you kill him, Father?”

“You bring your kid to watch executions? What the hell is wrong with you people!” Rork yelled.

Jelara stood up and slammed the palm of his hand into Rork’s lower jaw. He grabbed the helpless hero’s neck and squeezed, his disgusted scowl boring into Rork’s soul.

Rork squirmed. “Hey!”

“This one is a pirate, son. He steals from traders, miners and settlers, taking food from the mouths of children like you. He will murder your father and rape your sister if it suits him. He is scum.” Jelara looked down at his son without releasing Rork. “Someday, God willing, you will have the chance to capture and punish bad men, too.” He looked up and nodded at the other guard.

“I haven’t raped or murdered anyone!”
I only kill in self-defense.

Jelara released him, then punched him in the nose.

Rork groaned.

The boy looked up at Rork, then his father. He squinted at Rork. “I understand, Father. What about religion? Does he receive some mercy or prayer before...?”

“No.” Jelara grabbed his son’s finely chiseled hand in his fat fingers and pulled him off the platform. At the bottom of the steps, he turned and nodded up at somewhere Rork couldn’t see.

The steps on the other side of the platform creaked. Rork turned. Zero stood there, head bowed. “I seek to minister to the condemned man.”

Behind Rork, the guards mumbled.

Zero nodded and proceeded to Rork’s side.

“Faith.” Zero shook his head, his eyes a reproach, as if to a child. “That is what you lack, pirate. With faith comes patience. And now look at what you have wrought.” Zero rubbed his thumb into Rork’s forehead, then his heart. He muttered incomprehensible sounds.

Beads of sweat rolled down Rork’s face. He wanted to brush them away but all he could do was twitch and blink his eyes. “You can do something. They respect you.”

“Respect? What do you know of it?” Zero started to chant.

“It’s not true, what they say about me.”

“Why did you attempt to enter the children’s cell?” Zero asked between chants.

A guard tapped Zero on the shoulder. Zero raised his arms, palms facing out and chanted more loudly.

“I’m trying to escape! I can’t leave the children behind. There are two children in there who came in with me.”

“Devi and Anju, the siblings?” Zero waved his open palms over and in front of Rork’s body.

The guard appeared next to Zero and grabbed his shoulder. “That’s enough, old man.”

“Will you take the children?” Zero asked.

The guard with the hood appeared next to Rork and held it over his head.

“Of course!” Rork’s pulse accelerated. His heart beat in his throat.

The guard pulled on Zero and Zero fell a step away from Rook.

“Will you carry me to all the settlements, stations and mining operations so that I might preach?” Zero stopped everything he was doing and stared Rork in the eye. He examined Rork’s face as if looking for evidence of deception.

“Just not all at once, okay? I have to earn a living.”

“Will you do it or not?”

“Yes!” Rork yelled.

The hood fell over his head. It stank of concentrated urine and the collected body sweat of thousands of dead, fear-sweated men.

“Do it,” a strong male voice said.

Rork felt himself pulled backwards. The rough noose tightened on the front of his neck and he gasped for breath. One foot dangled into the abyss. The other he lodged awkwardly on the platform. He tried to push himself back up with it but his strength faded and panic electrified his spine. It hurt. It really hurt. His blood thumped in his eardrums. All outside sound disappeared.

Thick arms grabbed Rork and lifted him up. Rork’s leg lost connection with the platform and he scrambled to regain his last defense against death. Rork received a devastating blow to the gut and curled up to protect himself. He tried to draw breath but nothing came. He waited for the fall that would signal the end, his end.

An apparition of Lala came to him. He was a failure. He didn’t keep his promise. His raged at himself, his self-hate glowing red in him as he fell.

But he stopped falling and started to move sideways. The noose was still there. His hands were still bound. But he was bouncing on someone’s shoulder now, the skin on his belly ripping and burning where the children cut him. He steadied his breath and listened, the jingling of the chains providing a pleasant melody.