The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (54 page)

* * *

The liquid filled my lungs, smothering me as
I gasped, desperate for a lifeline of oxygen. I coughed, gagging as
the icy water from my throat sprayed onto my face and chest. I
flailed my arms and legs, praying that I could swim away from—where
am I—in a Glieser underwater prison?

Air. Air! Several deep, deep breaths before I
could see beyond the fog that blanketed my eyes.

Surrounded. No, not by Gliesers. Humanoids.
Humans. Uniformed humans.

“Rani Gaasoos! Mugahemin!”

Could not understand even one word, but their
harsh tone made it clear I wasn’t a welcome guest.

“Heya askareya! Fen el asakyer?” Desperate
for a translator, I looked at my bound wrists and bare fingers. Not
a trace of my black market Ergal.

“Rani Gaasoos! Biyahagemo! Fel el askari
eltani! Enta hat moot!" A middle-aged man whose buzz cut was
grizzled with gray raised the tin bucket in his hands and held it a
few inches from my nose. I felt the first drops of freezing water
sprinkle on my lips, and turned my head to avoid the onrushing
stream.

“Wait!” I cried. My arms fought to free
themselves from the rough ropes that held them trapped. I bucked my
breastbone against the tight cords around my ribs and tossed my
head from side to side, hoping to avoid the liquid drenching my
nose and throat once again. To no avail. The curtain of water
flowed into my windpipe, blocking out the precious air once more.
Coughing and gasping, I heard the cry “Gaasoos!” again—and then the
darkness fell.

* * *

“Hurry!”

I didn’t recognize the voice whispering in my
ear. As the fog retreated, I could barely make out brown tresses
cascading over olive-skinned arms furiously striving to loosen my
bonds.

“Come on. Help me undo your legs. John can
only hold these monsters off for so long.”

John. Monsters. I shook my head, and then my
newly freed wrists and hands. John. My brother. The Professor.
“Aliyah!”

“Shhh.” Dr. Malamud reached for my hand and
pulled me to a sitting position on the frigid metal table. “We have
to go.”

I untied the last of the remaining ropes and
quickly scanned the room. Cracked tiles on the walls, rusted oxygen
tanks, and lifeless TVs. Either an archaic O.R. or a
very
run-down spa. “Where are we?” I asked as I hopped off the table and
leaned back against it for a moment to steady my shaking legs.
Chilled, my fingers buried themselves in the warmth of the fleece I
was still wearing under my toga. The fleece! If it was still here,
we might be able to escape somehow without those Ergals.

“An operatory of some kind, I’d guess. We
heard you through the ventilator shafts.” She pointed to an open
vent near the corner of the dirty room. “This way.”

“Really?” I said, trying to avoid rubbing
against spattered blood on the mold-caked frame as, on all fours, I
squeezed into the cylindrical shaft behind her. “I thought these
were only big enough to crawl through in the movies.”

Dr. Malamud turned so I could see her shrug.
“That sounds like something John said, too. He didn’t have time to
explain what a “moo-veez” is, though.” She gestured for us to keep
moving through the narrow tunnel, which was dimly lit through the
cracks in its soldered joints.

“Is John okay? And, Spud?”

“We owe our reprieve to your friend,” she
admitted. “As soon as the electric charge flashed blue, he leaped
onto the back of the soldier that attacked you and began to choke
him around the neck. The other soldier tried to come to his
compatriot’s defense, but—and I don’t know how he did it—John
managed to flip him onto his back and knock him unconscious.”

A frown crossed her face. “John reassured me
that both men would be fine in a few hours. What the soldiers did
was wrong, of course, but I didn’t want them to be permanently
hurt.”

I’m glad the Professor couldn’t see my eye
roll through the back of her head. Peace was something she’d been
lucky to enjoy, but, for a historian, she was awfully naïve.

“John and your friend tried to carry you back
to the warehouse, but when we heard sirens approaching, your friend
insisted that we make a run for it so that we could find help. I
told John to stay with your friend, but he wouldn’t leave me alone.
She paused and peered off to her left. “I believe we need to travel
down this way.”

I followed her on hands and knees, feeling
clammy moisture seep through my clothing with each squishy step. I
didn’t want to think about what exactly it was that I was crawling
through.

“We made it back into the building,” said Dr.
Malamud “and hid in the dark until the sirens had passed. When we
went out to look for your friend, he was gone.”

They had Spud. Damn! This whole mess was
getting worse by the minute. And I was ultimately responsible.
Damn!

“John and I searched the surrounding grounds,
but all we could see was more rubbish. We returned the warehouse to
look for anything that might help.”

Dr. Malamud paused again at a fork in the
ventilation system, and then, this time, chose a path to the right.
I followed, my hands and knees chilled by their path through the
dank detritus.

“John discovered a subterranean passage. We
must have traveled down at least three storeys. Then we heard the
voices—and yours--below us,” Dr. Malamud went on. “I could not make
out too many of the words, but I recognized a few in archaic
Arabic. Apparently they thought you were a Persian spy.”

I snorted. “One more round of that water
torture, and I might’ve been ready to confess.”

“John wasn’t going to let them get that
chance. He said he’d create a diversion to draw them away, so that
I could come and get you.”

Worser and worser. I didn’t want John to fall
into the soldiers’ clutches either. I’d done all this to save him,
not to lose him.

“He told me he’d try to disable your
interrogators—temporarily, of course--and would meet us at the
terminus of this shaft,” She pointed at a rim of faint illumination
far off in the distance.

“Ha,” I had to smile. Temporarily. And John
as the light at the end of the tunnel. Now, that was irony.

Energized by our goal, we stepped up our
crawling pace, sloshing steadily in the moist mud until we reached
the ventilator grill.

Dr. Malamud maneuvered her feet forward and
aimed them to kick out the grill.

“No!” I whispered. “
We
don’t want to
draw anyone’s attention. First we make sure nobody’s out
there.”

I watched her peek through the slats and
shake her head.

“I can’t see anyone.” Obvious disappointment
in her voice.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him. Grab the grill
with your fingers and hold on to it. We have to lower it slowly—if
it drops, it’ll clatter.”

The Professor nodded, and eased her delicate
fingers along the struts, dislodging the vent. She placed it
between her legs and gripped it tightly as she jumped out of the
shaft onto the concrete floor a few inches below.

I followed her, and replaced the grill—in
case we needed a way out, no point in advertising this route. The
room in which we had arrived was empty, its walls stark gray
concrete decorated only with colorful graffiti in Arabic script.
Buried so deeply below ground, the room was eerily quiet; we could
hear only our own short breaths. A wooden door in the far corner
leaned ajar. We eased over toward it and peeked out—no one was in
the dim hallway either.

I waved for Dr. Malamud to follow and tiptoed
out into the passageway. She opened her lips to speak, but I
pressed my finger on mine to signal silence, hoping the gesture was
understandable in this alternate universe. John hadn’t met us yet
as he’d promised, so we had to be very careful.

As we turned a corner towards an unlit hall,
the Professor tapped me on the shoulder. I spun to face her, and
saw her expression shift from worry to alarm. A gurgle in her
throat was drowned out by the buzz of another taser, and, stunned,
I fell into the blackness of unconsciousness once more.

* * *

Thank heavens the fog didn’t come with
rain--this time. I woke up expecting Round 2 of Niagara Falls over
my face, but, as my vision cleared, all I could see was a ceiling
that badly needed a bath.

Judging by my own odoriferous condition, so
did I. I just hoped it wasn’t going to be in torrents of
windpipe-choking water.

“She’s coming around.”

John. John’s voice, behind me. “John!” I sat
up, fighting off a wave of nausea. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Wish I could take the credit,” he began as
as I scooted 180 degrees to face him, catching a better glimpse of
our surroundings. Uh-oh.

For a technologically advanced society, the
jail cell in which we were trapped was brutally primitive. Standard
dirt floor, damp stone walls, tiny window blocked by thick bars,
two bored guards chewing gum while playing board games on a tablet,
under the flickering light of an oil lamp.

We’d been stripped of all our remaining
belongings, as well as our shoes and clothes.
All
of our
clothes. While I was thrilled to see my brother alive, I had no
desire to see him living only in his birthday suit. My eyes quickly
fell on Dr. Malamud’s well-proportioned curves, which made me feel
like I needed to eat a pizza—or three. A pang of hunger reminded me
that I hadn’t eaten anything since, oh, a thousand years ago.

My treasured Somalderis had been
“appropriated”, too, and was now taunting us from beyond our reach,
cushioning the knobby frame of one of the underfed guards at the
table as he sat on a stiff wooden chair. Damn! Worsest and
worsest!

I’m not a prude, but even if we could spring
open the bars of our cell, not having clothes would sure discourage
us from making a run for it. Nevertheless, as a trained catascope,
I swallowed my anger, and tried the bars, the window, the walls,
and the floor, looking for a possible opening.

“Already checked, Sis,” said John. “No such
luck.”

“Two eyes are better than one,” I muttered,
aiming to keep my own two eyes away from John and the Professor. I
spied a hole in one corner of the cell floor. Inching closer I
realized it was only a few feet deep and held the pee and poop of,
I guessed, the previous tenants. Frustrated, I added my
contribution and moved back over towards the couple.

Still keeping my gaze averted, I asked, “Any
sign of Spud?”

John sounded hesitant. “I’m afraid not. But
we’ll find him as soon as we get out of here.”

“Soon would be good,” I returned, keeping my
eyes glued to the others’ faces. John should never have left Spud
behind.

“I’m so sorry,” John whispered to the
Professor, “to get you into this mess.” I noticed his own eyes were
focusing a bit lower than her, uh, face.

That did it. “
You’re
so sorry. You
realize it’s
her
fault we’re not in the time we’re supposed
to be!” I exploded.

“And it’s
your
fault we’re here in the
first place,” John growled.

Furious, I shouted, “Yes. Yes it is. All my
fault. I should never ever have tried to rescue you!” My voice
cracked. “I should’ve left you to die alone.”

I moved back over towards the shithole,
wondering if it was big enough for my brother to fall in.

Dr. Malamud patted John on the shoulder,
“She’s right, you know. I am the one who sabotaged your plans. I
could’ve waved the mysterious travelers through, and returned to
the parchments I have been restoring to learn about the worlds of
my ancestors. But who could resist an opportunity to explore these
worlds in person.” Her warm brown eyes focused on John. “And
perhaps part of me was hoping I’d have the opportunity to get to
know you better.”

John met her gaze and moved in closer. I
didn’t bother to hide my distaste. “Well, it sure looks like you’ll
have plenty of time to do that. And if you two hook up, you can
even give me and the guards a show.” I tilted my head to indicate
that we now had an interested and leering audience outside our
cell.

Then it hit me. “Actually, that’s a great
idea.” Surprised, John and the Professor both turned towards me,
and I quickly moved my arms to cover my lanky torso. I nodded at
the guards once again. “How ‘bout
I
give them a show!”

John’s frown turned into a blanch. He slid
over and stood between me and the cell bars. “No, Shiloh, I won’t
stand for it.”

It took me a second to figure out why he
seemed so upset—he’d thought I’d meant to use my body to achieve
our escape. “God, no, John. Ugh, yick. I always swore I wouldn’t do
that in Hollywood to save my life, and I’m not going to do it here
either.” I lowered my voice. “But since we
are
in deep
doo-doo…”

I took a few steps backward, hoping I’d
measured correctly. “No, don’t touch me!” I shot my hands out,
pretending to push John away.

A few more steps and I was at the rim of the
hole. Waving my hands to appear as if I was losing my balance, I
“fell” down into the hole. Double yick.

The layer of stinking feces was a couple of
feet thick, and splattered onto my chest and shoulders.
Fortunately, my head and neck were above the ground line. I forced
a smile and pretended to be hurt and stuck.

“I can’t move! Help me!” I directed at the
guards, as my team, playing their parts, gestured for help. Aside
from some loud laughter, however, my cries and condition didn’t
elicit any altruistic moves from our uniformed protectors, who
turned back to their board games after a few moments. Damn. Even if
they didn’t understand English—or Anglish—I thought my plea had
been clear.

Well, then. On to Plan B. “What’s this? Under
my feet?” I shouted, pretending to reach down to pick the “this”
up. “Oh, my God, it’s a gold ring.” I remembered the word ‘gold’ in
Aramaic, and repeated it in Latin, just to be sure this message got
through.