God damned story!!
Oct. 24th, 2004 04:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI seriously think this story is trying to turn into a series. Frickity frackity. Because there's no way, I've realized, that Kidnapped can be a short story now. There are too many elements coming into play that my characters didn't bother to inform me of ahead of time. *kicks characters*
This is what I've got so far - you can kind of see where it just won't work as a short story. So I guess now I need to figure out how to adjust it to a longer series. *insert cursing* Oh well, that means rather than waiting I can start interweaving Sean's story with Cyan's. *sigh*
Planet 5118208 (Rehab), rehabilitation center 6.2
Tentacles sucked. Really really really really sucked.
Ignoring the spots beginning to obscure his vision, because of the slimy, sticky tentacle wrapped around his throat, Cyan fumbled for the Stinger attached to the left side of his black work pants. Pulling it free as the troublesome squid-like creature began to lift him up to slam into the ceiling, he rammed the sharp, metallic end of the Stinger into the section around his neck.
He smirked as with a rough squawk of protest the prisoner wrenched the wounded tentacle free. As it pulled back he thumbed the on-switch, and waited as the creature was zapped into unconsciousness. Stooping, he switched off the Stinger and returned it to its loop, giving the mottled orange, human-like/squid creature a swift kick to reassure himself the creature was unconscious.
Behind him two new recruits gaped, and his Captain sighed. "Honestly, McCracken," he eyed Cyan. "What is it with you and Sardorans? Every time we get one in, they try to escape and go immediately for you. I swear you attract the things," Captain Waters fingered his moustache.
Cyan shuddered, "Please don't say that. Beats the hell out of me why the fuck the things see me and go 'Oh! Attack!" Seriously, I wish they'd pick on someone else." He rubbed his throat, which was rapidly bruising and slick with slime, and glared at his boss. "Of course you could just stop assigning me whenever they come in."
"Nah. Best free entertainment around."
"Fuck you. Sir." Cyan gave the Sardoran another kick before moving away, boots clomping and rattling on the metal landing between the two rows of cells for larger prisoners. "I'm done for the day. Let the fresh meat finish up here, you don't need me anymore."
Waters nodded, twirling his moustache. "Go get cleaned up. I'll see you in a month."
"A month?" Cyan repeated, confused. Then his expression cleared, "Oh, yeah. Vacation."
Waters just rolled his eyes, "All the slacking off you do in Tiffany's office and yet you can't be bothered to remember your own damn vacations?"
"Vacations are boring. And don't reprimand me in front of the fresh meat. Sir. And you two - get that seafood locked up." He turned way even as the new recruits snapped salutes before setting to work locking the Sardoran up while the Captain barked orders.
His steps clanged on the metal walkway and stars as he left the highest level of Ward 3, descending from 3.3 down to 3.1, ignoring the occasional jeer from troublesome inmates and a greeting from the more tolerable ones. He responded to none of them. At the sole entrance/exit to the ward, he paused while various devices checked his clearances - eyes, blood, prints, and the two keys embedded on armbands worn on each forearm. He passed through another fifteen checks before exiting the S-Wing of the prison entirely and was able to take a transport to the G-Wing. Even there, it was another five clearances before he finally accessed the locker room assigned to him and nine other 1st Class Guards.
His uniform and keys were covered in Sardoran slime. Muttering beneath his breath, Cyan began the tedious process of removing every last one of the numerous keys fastened to the front of his complicated looking jacket, which was a mass of hooks, tabs, pockets and loops.
As a 1st Class Guard, he was in possession of 150 keys, and they came in a wide variety of forms. Everything from special pills that put "chem-keys" in his bloodstream that needed renewing twice a day (10) to special microchips fastened to various parts of the heavy fabric of his black, military style jacket (50) to codes in his In-lens (15), to key cards (25) and even the old fashioned metal keys that were obsolete everywhere but Planet 5118208 (5). There were also the unique serial codes embedded in armbands worn on his fore and upper arms (10), and the key codes encrypted in the microchip in his brain (25), and finally the codes imbedded in his fingerprints (10).
The 0 Class Guards carried 200 keys, and Captain Waters 205.
There were very good reasons only one prisoner had ever escaped from Rehabilitation Center 6.2.
Double checking that everything had been removed, counting his keys twice, Cyan pitched his jacket into the cleaner and set to work on the dozen or so weapons attached to his pants and undershirt - the Stinger would need cleaning, so that was set aside for maintenance to pick up. Into his locker went a small variety of guns, clubs and stunners. Tossing the rest of his clothes after the jacket, he walked naked to the showers.
He let out a long sigh as the hot water covered him, steam filling the shower cube. In short order the smell of citrus and soap mingled with the hot steam, and Cyan scrubbed and rescrubbed until he was certain every last trace of slime was gone from his body. Suds and foam snaked down his pale skin, slightly pink from the almost scalding water. His body was tight with muscle, trim and in peak condition. It was also marked with various scars, one at his left arm and around his waist evidence of past encounters with other Sardorans, with almost a dozen others speaking of mishaps with other prisoners.
Slicking back his black hair, he grabbed a towel as he exited the shower cube, mashing the button to turn the water off. Reaching into his locker, he pulled out a small tube and rapidly coated the bruises on his throat - it would numb the soreness and speed the healing. Feeling much better, he started to don a new uniform - then once more remembered he was on vacation.
Feeling a little less relaxed he reached instead for his civilian clothes. The pants were much in the style of his work pants - heavy, durable, but a bit softer and dark blue rather than black. His shirt was cotton - a luxury he could well afford - and dyed a dark burnt orange.
Several minutes later his hair was dried and brushed, a slight wave to the dark strands, and he sat down to lace up his boots. Standing, he carefully stowed away his keys in their security box, triple locking it and stashing it at the bottom of his locker. Finally, he replaced a clear In-lens in his left eye, blinking until it settled into place and you couldn't tell there was anything over either of his dove-gray eyes.
He dropped the keys off with the Guard at the gate, going through the various checks to ensure he wasn't leaving with any of his prison keys. Shouldering the bag that had his few belongings - ID, wallet, spare in-lens, Cyan stepped into the public transport just outside the center and keyed in the code for the residential sector. He needed to pick up a few things there, maybe grab something to eat, and then he'd catch a late flight home to Mars.
The Guards spent most of their time on 5118208 - some of them still called it 'Earth' but that was considered old fashioned. Most called it Rehab. The better part of their years were spent there, moving from their assigned Facility to the residential assigned them when they had time off. They worked in eight-hour shifts, rotating every few months from 1st to 2nd to 3rd. To break up the draining intensity of the work, a month's vacation once a year was required of all Guards.
So reluctantly Cyan boarded the shuttle that would take him to his home on Mars - a house that had cost him a great deal, but which he saw very little of. They made sixty points an hour, but seldom had the time to spend that money. Most, when on vacation, did their absolute best to blow all that they'd saved the past eleven months.
Cyan splurged on nice clothes, his house on Mars, and a few smaller items. Otherwise, his savings just accumulated. Not that he really needed the savings to begin with. He frowned, looking out the window of the transport shuttle - the normal shuttle, rather than the express, so it would be a few hours before he landed.
He'd probably just hang around town. When you spent eleven months of every year taking care of the galaxies' worst criminals, safe and sound at home was usually the most appealing type of vacation.
He could go planet hopping, he supposed. Or to the shipyards to pester the pilots and look at their ships.
But it wasn't as much fun without Sean along. Cyan's expression darkened, as his thoughts inevitably turned to his missing friend - now a wanted criminal, not only for helping a prisoner escape, but also for a magics capable human. He was still livid Sean had never told him.
Cyan hoped he was okay, wherever he was. The one brief note he'd left under Cyan's pillow wasn't much - just a contact point to use for extreme emergencies.
He half wished there was an emergency, not that he could make the contact anyway. He and Sean's mother had spent the better part of the past year under heavy suspicion, for possibly aiding Sean and the Draconis to whom he was apparently mated.
If he ever saw Sean again, he was going to punch him.
Planet 1311819 (Mars), Settlement 2
Absently he returned the few greetings tossed his way as he walked the few blocks from the shuttle station to his home - a stand alone rather than a room in an apartment complex, a rarity on the settlements where space was never wasted. He slowed to a stop in front of the house just two down from his own, frowning.
"Her lights shouldn’t be off…" worry creased his face as he walked across the yard - covered in the grayish-green grass grown on mars. He knocked on the door, growing more concerned when Sean's elderly mother didn't immediately respond. Usually she either opened the door or keyed in the open command for him to let himself in.
Hesitantly he tried the door, going cold when it opened without resistance. That wasn't right - she always kept it locked. Stepping inside, Cyan made his way through the house, checking each room as he went.
He found her in bed, breathing a sigh of relief that at least she'd been strong enough to get that far. But looking at her pale face, trembling hands, and the medicine cluttered on the bedside table…maybe it was more that she hadn't been strong enough to leave the bed in the first place.
"Alice," he said reprovingly, dropping to sit beside her on the bed. "I told you to contact me if you started to feel worse."
The woman just shook her head, silent. She attempted to smile at him, a pale and older version of her handsome son, but it was shaky at best.
Increased worry flooded Cyan's face, "You're just getting worse, aren't you? I don't care what you say, Alice. I'm calling a doctor."
"No…"
"Yes." He said firmly. "You look awful, and you know damn good and well that Sean would want you to get medical help." He stroked her hair, alternately ignoring and soothing her protests. After helping her take a few more pills, he went and called for a doctor.
"I want my son," Alice managed in a weak voice. If she'd had the strength, she would have cried. She looked at Cyan, "We both know a doctor isn't going to be of much help. Either I'll get better or I won't, and I'm thinking I'm too old to be getting much better. I want to see my son."
Cyan was silent for a long moment. "He didn't mean to leave you," he said at last.
"I know," Alice said. "I don't blame him at all. But I want to see him…" Unspoken but heavy in the air was 'one last time.'
Another silence stretched out between them. At last Cyan shrugged, and stood. "I'm on vacation. Thought I'd go planet hoping instead of hanging around here for once. If you promise to get better, Alice, I'll bring you back a souvenir." He winked.
"A souvenir would be lovely. You're a sweet boy, Cyan."
"Nah, I've just got you fooled." Kissing her cheek, he made sure she was settled in and had what she needed ready to hand. He turned off the lights and locked the doors and windows as left.
Outside, he allowed all his worry to show on his face. He walked automatically to his own home, and in a semi-daze began to make the arrangements for his new vacation plans.
He spent the remainder of the night at Sean's house, looking out for Alice and fretting quietly about what he was going to do.
Planet hopping was easy - he could do that without suspicion. One or two vacations he and Sean had done just that. It was, for Guards, an easily affordable vacation, and a nice change from living on the drab Rehab or a long month on Mars.
But the contact point Sean had given him in a brief letter that he'd destroyed two minutes after reading was in quadrant three of the primary four. The planet Coni, home to the Draconis - and where Sean had last been seen - was also in quadrant three. There was no way Sean could just happily wander that way, or even leave quadrant two, without setting off alarms in the people that were probably still keeping an eye on him.
Well, he'd solve that problem when he came to it. Planet hopping would take him to the edge of his quadrant; maybe something could be arranged at the border.
Once Alice drifted off into a mostly restful slumber, Cyan returned home to pack his things. As the morning bells chimed throughout the city, he walked briskly back to the shuttle station.
Inter-galactic shuttle 00411811, the dark dancer
Cyan was dozing, lost somewhere between waking and sleeping, dimly fretting over what he'd do when he landed on Partan - just four stops from the quadrant border. He still had not devised away to cross into quadrant three without arousing suspicion.
It was possible they were no longer watching him, but he doubted he was that lucky. If he went anywhere near quad three, alarms would go off somewhere. You'd think, given his connections, that he'd have more freedom. Then again he'd always made sure as few as possible knew he had powerful connections.
He was roused from his doze by the sounds of shouting. Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes and sat up. He was in a private cabin on the massive shuttle, often called a 'star-hopper' because it traveled from galaxy to galaxy.
Something was wrong. He lifted up the shutter covering his window and looked out. They weren't moving. Rapidly he ran through the possible reasons for stopping such a large ship.
No warnings, so not a malfunction. They were three hours into the journey and shouldn't be making any sort of stop. Try as he might, he could only come up with one reason.
Pirates.
They weren't uncommon in this sector…but it was a damned bold band of pirates who attacked an inter-galactic vessel.
He hadn't heard any weapons fire, so unless they were using magics to cause harm - unlikely - they weren't overly violent. Should he get involved?
Unwise. Even a Rehab Guard could only handle so many criminals at once, and he didn't have all his toys with him. As well-trained as he was in hand-to-hand, taking on armed pirates with his fists and a single stunner was not the most brilliant of ideas.
Most likely the pirates would loot the ship and then flee - perhaps taking one or two hostages until they were safe away. Despite their reputation, most pirates avoided excess violence.
Hostages.
That gave him an idea. But would it work?
Only one way to find out. Standing and stretching, he discarded his cumbersome jacket and retrieved his stunner from his bag. Leaving his belongings on his seat, he fixed the stunner to his belt and ventured out of his cabin.
As it turned out, he didn't have to go looking for the pirates. Barely had he reached for the door when it was slammed open and he found himself shoved back into his seat and his stunner confiscated. Shaking his head, he looked up at the pirates - both human - assaulting him. "Either of you the Captain?"
"Shut up and stay still, and you won't come to any harm."
Cyan just looked at them and smirked faintly, "So you're not the Captain?"
"No," the second man said impatiently as they rifled through his cabin.
"I don't suppose you'd call him for me?" The men ignored him. "Okay, then." In a burst of movement Cyan launched himself at the men, punching one and sending him into the other one, tumbling them both to the ground. He grinned at the conscious one before knocking him out. After some fumbling and grunting, he managed to move them both to the hallway.
Retrieving his stunner, he waited for others to arrive.
And arrive they did, knocked unconscious one after another by his gun as they came through the door, until at last number five agreed to go and fetch the Captain.
Cyan waited, somewhat dumbfounded that so far something seemed to be working.
He looked up as a figure appeared in the doorway - and almost groaned aloud. "I might have known I'd be dealing with a damned Fornarian."
The Captain's thin, pale brows rose. "And just what is going on here?" His voice was deep, mellow, his accent clipped. He was a Fornarian through and through, from the almost stick-like limbs just a bit longer than human limbs, and thin, spider-like fingers. His skin was pale gray, hair an almost equally pale gold-brown. His eyes however were a deep, warm brown - the color of the maple syrup he paid far too much money for just so he could have it with breakfast on those few days he was home on Mars.
Fornarians came from a planet that was almost all rock. Food, water, comfort were all rare commodities. Their bodies had adapted accordingly; they were adjusted to survive on minimal nourishment - the reason they were so thin they'd be considered unhealthy on any other planet. Their limbs were extra long to make climbing easier, with especially hard bones and strong, thick skin.
But the minimalist build of their bodies left very little room for anything else. Fornarians had the potential for powerful magics - but they lacked the energy to perform more than the few small spells they used for hunting, climbing, and small healings.
He was good looking. It was almost a shame, really, that Cyan had sworn off Fornarians. Just as well though - this wasn't really a leisurely vacation he was on.
"Care to explain to me why you're lounging around shooting my men?"
Cyan snorted, "You make it sound like stunning pirates is a bad thing. You do realize you're the bad guys, here?"
"So long as I'm raiding the ship," the Captain grinned, "I'm in charge and I don't like having my men shot by some upstart civi with a stunner."
"Right." Cyan couldn't hide his mirth.
The Captain quirked a brow at him, but one of his men approached before he could speak. "Excuse me one moment."
"Of course," Cyan said politely.
The Fornarian turned aside briefly to speak in low tones with one of his men. After a moment he turned back to Cyan. "Would you mind telling me what you want? As amusing as this is, my time is short."
Cyan nodded, "I want you to take me hostage."
That gave the Captain pause, "Might I ask the reason for such a request?"
"No." Cyan grinned.
He was regarded in silence for several long seconds. "No. We don't need hostages - we plan our raids far better than that."
"I'll pay you. Name a price."
Again he managed to surprise the Fornarian into silence. "Take him," the Captain said at last to the man he'd spoken with earlier. "I want to continue this intriguing offer - you lot finish up and notify me when we're done. Are we still in the clear?"
"Aye, Captain." the man, obviously his second - and human - smirked. "This raid is going beautifully."
"Of course. We'll be in the Captain's quarters."
"Aye, Cap'n."
Cyan let himself be dragged roughly through the private cabins and through the ship to the Captain's quarters. He settled into a chair at a small table, as the Fornarian Captain sat down across from him.
"So," the Fornarian looked at him. "You want to be a hostage?"
"Yes."
"Hmm…" another pirate had brought along Cyan's travel bag, and the Captain began to rifle through it. On the table he set an extra charger for Cyan's stunner, his wallet, and a worn photograph. He ignored the wallet and lifted the photo. He lifted a brow at the man across the table. "You carry a picture of the dead Head Councilman and his wife?"
"No," Cyan stiffened.
"Then what do you call this?" the Captain held the photo up. It was an image of a distinguished looking middle-aged man, dressed to the nines in what had been the fashion a little more than a decade ago. He had graying black hair and amber eyes. Beside him was a woman in an elaborate blue and silver dress, her coiffed hair a warm brown and eyes a soft gray.
"A picture of my parents."
For the third time, he rendered the Fornarian speechless. "You don't look much like your brother."
"Yes, I know." Cyan managed a grin. "I'm thankful for that every single day."
The Captain laughed, "So you must be Cyan Alexander."
"I prefer McCracken these days," Cyan replied. "It was my mother's name. And it keeps my brother's fame away from me."
"I see. And why do you want us to kidnap you?"
"I need to speak with a friend. I can't get into quad three on my own - never mind why. I just want you to take me with you and drop off on a planet in quad three."
"What planet?"
"Kreska."
The Captain nodded, "And you're willing to pay for it? Must be quite the friend you're going to see. What, did he steal your girlfriend or something?"
"Nothing so frivolous. Let's just say it's a matter of life and death."
"All right." A knock at the door, and the second popped his head in to notify them of pending departure.
Grinning, the Captain stood. "Inform the crew that we're taking a hostage along with us." He slid his maple eyes toward Cyan, "A million points?"
"Done," Cyan grabbed his things and stood. He smirked, "I told you I could afford any price."
"So I see." The Captain motioned for him to precede him out the door.
Cyan paused in front of him, "So what's your name, anyway? Or do I just call you Captain?"
"My name is Adalsteinn, though most simply call me 'Einn." He looked Cyan up and down, "But we can discuss what you'll call me later."
A brow lifted, and Cyan laughed. "Forget it, Fornarian. One of you was enough, I've learned my lesson. And I'm on a business trip. Besides…" He smirked as they stepped onto the transport, the last to leave the star-hopper.
"We'll see." Einn smirked back. "It's a long haul to Kreska, and you are my hostage."
"Your paying hostage." Cyan said firmly.
Einn just laughed as he keyed in the codes to take them to his ship.
Merchant class star ship 00061225, the dragonfly
"There," Cyan said, restoring his pointcard to his wallet. "One million points."
Einn nodded from his seat overlooking the rest of the bridge. "Excellent. Gents, say hello to our special guest - Cyan McCracken."
The crew just looked at him. There were roughly fifty pirates to Einn's crew, and ten of them maintained the bridge. Besides Cyan and Einn there were seven humans, one other Fornarian, a Sardoran - Cyan tried not to wince - and an almost insect-like creature bent over the navi-coms. Of the humans, four probably came from his own quadrant, the others had the reddish coloring of the first quad.
"Captain," the second-in-command spoke up, a human with the reddish skin of the first quadrant, his brown hair short and spiky, the glasses on his face a stronger version of the In-lens most people wore - most likely he used them to keep an eye on the entire ship. "What's going on here?"
"Mr. McCracken is paying us to escort him under greatest secrecy to Kreska." Ein looked at his second, "Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Faller."
"Yes," he replied bluntly. "We're pirates, not a transport service."
"We're getting a million points to deliver him. That should be the end of the matter for you."
"Yes, sir." Faller grumbled and ceased protesting. He looked at Cyan, "So what do you do for a living that you can just throw us a million points?"
Cyan grinned, "I gott'em at Rehab." He laughed as every head in the room swiveled to either glare at him or gawk. Prisoners were 'in' Rehab, Guards were 'at.'
Einn whistled, "You're bolder than I thought. Or maybe dumber." He looked up at Cyan through his lashes, "And here I thought you got the money from your parents. You're just a Rehabilitator." He motioned to his men "You're probably not going to be well liked now. More than a few of us have comrades undergoing Rehabilitation.
"Not on my watch, unless they're particularly bloodthirsty."
Another whistle of approval, "Center Six, eh? My, my, what a specimen you are. And here I was thinking you were just a lazy Civi who happened to be good with a Stunner.'
"Speaking of which," Cyan said, "Could I have my stunner back? It's custom made, I'd hate to lose it."
"Of course. You'll probably need it against some of my crew." Einn winked, "Though you can always come to me for protection."
"I told you no already," Cyan said with a laugh.
"We'll see." Einn stood, suddenly all business. "Faller, find McCracken's weapon and see that a room is prepared. Then let's get down to business; I want to sell our haul as quickly as possible, and we need to figure out the best route to Kreska."
"Aye, Captain" Faller said with resignation before signaling that Cyan should follow him.
This is what I've got so far - you can kind of see where it just won't work as a short story. So I guess now I need to figure out how to adjust it to a longer series. *insert cursing* Oh well, that means rather than waiting I can start interweaving Sean's story with Cyan's. *sigh*
Kidnapped
Planet 5118208 (Rehab), rehabilitation center 6.2
Tentacles sucked. Really really really really sucked.
Ignoring the spots beginning to obscure his vision, because of the slimy, sticky tentacle wrapped around his throat, Cyan fumbled for the Stinger attached to the left side of his black work pants. Pulling it free as the troublesome squid-like creature began to lift him up to slam into the ceiling, he rammed the sharp, metallic end of the Stinger into the section around his neck.
He smirked as with a rough squawk of protest the prisoner wrenched the wounded tentacle free. As it pulled back he thumbed the on-switch, and waited as the creature was zapped into unconsciousness. Stooping, he switched off the Stinger and returned it to its loop, giving the mottled orange, human-like/squid creature a swift kick to reassure himself the creature was unconscious.
Behind him two new recruits gaped, and his Captain sighed. "Honestly, McCracken," he eyed Cyan. "What is it with you and Sardorans? Every time we get one in, they try to escape and go immediately for you. I swear you attract the things," Captain Waters fingered his moustache.
Cyan shuddered, "Please don't say that. Beats the hell out of me why the fuck the things see me and go 'Oh! Attack!" Seriously, I wish they'd pick on someone else." He rubbed his throat, which was rapidly bruising and slick with slime, and glared at his boss. "Of course you could just stop assigning me whenever they come in."
"Nah. Best free entertainment around."
"Fuck you. Sir." Cyan gave the Sardoran another kick before moving away, boots clomping and rattling on the metal landing between the two rows of cells for larger prisoners. "I'm done for the day. Let the fresh meat finish up here, you don't need me anymore."
Waters nodded, twirling his moustache. "Go get cleaned up. I'll see you in a month."
"A month?" Cyan repeated, confused. Then his expression cleared, "Oh, yeah. Vacation."
Waters just rolled his eyes, "All the slacking off you do in Tiffany's office and yet you can't be bothered to remember your own damn vacations?"
"Vacations are boring. And don't reprimand me in front of the fresh meat. Sir. And you two - get that seafood locked up." He turned way even as the new recruits snapped salutes before setting to work locking the Sardoran up while the Captain barked orders.
His steps clanged on the metal walkway and stars as he left the highest level of Ward 3, descending from 3.3 down to 3.1, ignoring the occasional jeer from troublesome inmates and a greeting from the more tolerable ones. He responded to none of them. At the sole entrance/exit to the ward, he paused while various devices checked his clearances - eyes, blood, prints, and the two keys embedded on armbands worn on each forearm. He passed through another fifteen checks before exiting the S-Wing of the prison entirely and was able to take a transport to the G-Wing. Even there, it was another five clearances before he finally accessed the locker room assigned to him and nine other 1st Class Guards.
His uniform and keys were covered in Sardoran slime. Muttering beneath his breath, Cyan began the tedious process of removing every last one of the numerous keys fastened to the front of his complicated looking jacket, which was a mass of hooks, tabs, pockets and loops.
As a 1st Class Guard, he was in possession of 150 keys, and they came in a wide variety of forms. Everything from special pills that put "chem-keys" in his bloodstream that needed renewing twice a day (10) to special microchips fastened to various parts of the heavy fabric of his black, military style jacket (50) to codes in his In-lens (15), to key cards (25) and even the old fashioned metal keys that were obsolete everywhere but Planet 5118208 (5). There were also the unique serial codes embedded in armbands worn on his fore and upper arms (10), and the key codes encrypted in the microchip in his brain (25), and finally the codes imbedded in his fingerprints (10).
The 0 Class Guards carried 200 keys, and Captain Waters 205.
There were very good reasons only one prisoner had ever escaped from Rehabilitation Center 6.2.
Double checking that everything had been removed, counting his keys twice, Cyan pitched his jacket into the cleaner and set to work on the dozen or so weapons attached to his pants and undershirt - the Stinger would need cleaning, so that was set aside for maintenance to pick up. Into his locker went a small variety of guns, clubs and stunners. Tossing the rest of his clothes after the jacket, he walked naked to the showers.
He let out a long sigh as the hot water covered him, steam filling the shower cube. In short order the smell of citrus and soap mingled with the hot steam, and Cyan scrubbed and rescrubbed until he was certain every last trace of slime was gone from his body. Suds and foam snaked down his pale skin, slightly pink from the almost scalding water. His body was tight with muscle, trim and in peak condition. It was also marked with various scars, one at his left arm and around his waist evidence of past encounters with other Sardorans, with almost a dozen others speaking of mishaps with other prisoners.
Slicking back his black hair, he grabbed a towel as he exited the shower cube, mashing the button to turn the water off. Reaching into his locker, he pulled out a small tube and rapidly coated the bruises on his throat - it would numb the soreness and speed the healing. Feeling much better, he started to don a new uniform - then once more remembered he was on vacation.
Feeling a little less relaxed he reached instead for his civilian clothes. The pants were much in the style of his work pants - heavy, durable, but a bit softer and dark blue rather than black. His shirt was cotton - a luxury he could well afford - and dyed a dark burnt orange.
Several minutes later his hair was dried and brushed, a slight wave to the dark strands, and he sat down to lace up his boots. Standing, he carefully stowed away his keys in their security box, triple locking it and stashing it at the bottom of his locker. Finally, he replaced a clear In-lens in his left eye, blinking until it settled into place and you couldn't tell there was anything over either of his dove-gray eyes.
He dropped the keys off with the Guard at the gate, going through the various checks to ensure he wasn't leaving with any of his prison keys. Shouldering the bag that had his few belongings - ID, wallet, spare in-lens, Cyan stepped into the public transport just outside the center and keyed in the code for the residential sector. He needed to pick up a few things there, maybe grab something to eat, and then he'd catch a late flight home to Mars.
The Guards spent most of their time on 5118208 - some of them still called it 'Earth' but that was considered old fashioned. Most called it Rehab. The better part of their years were spent there, moving from their assigned Facility to the residential assigned them when they had time off. They worked in eight-hour shifts, rotating every few months from 1st to 2nd to 3rd. To break up the draining intensity of the work, a month's vacation once a year was required of all Guards.
So reluctantly Cyan boarded the shuttle that would take him to his home on Mars - a house that had cost him a great deal, but which he saw very little of. They made sixty points an hour, but seldom had the time to spend that money. Most, when on vacation, did their absolute best to blow all that they'd saved the past eleven months.
Cyan splurged on nice clothes, his house on Mars, and a few smaller items. Otherwise, his savings just accumulated. Not that he really needed the savings to begin with. He frowned, looking out the window of the transport shuttle - the normal shuttle, rather than the express, so it would be a few hours before he landed.
He'd probably just hang around town. When you spent eleven months of every year taking care of the galaxies' worst criminals, safe and sound at home was usually the most appealing type of vacation.
He could go planet hopping, he supposed. Or to the shipyards to pester the pilots and look at their ships.
But it wasn't as much fun without Sean along. Cyan's expression darkened, as his thoughts inevitably turned to his missing friend - now a wanted criminal, not only for helping a prisoner escape, but also for a magics capable human. He was still livid Sean had never told him.
Cyan hoped he was okay, wherever he was. The one brief note he'd left under Cyan's pillow wasn't much - just a contact point to use for extreme emergencies.
He half wished there was an emergency, not that he could make the contact anyway. He and Sean's mother had spent the better part of the past year under heavy suspicion, for possibly aiding Sean and the Draconis to whom he was apparently mated.
If he ever saw Sean again, he was going to punch him.
Planet 1311819 (Mars), Settlement 2
Absently he returned the few greetings tossed his way as he walked the few blocks from the shuttle station to his home - a stand alone rather than a room in an apartment complex, a rarity on the settlements where space was never wasted. He slowed to a stop in front of the house just two down from his own, frowning.
"Her lights shouldn’t be off…" worry creased his face as he walked across the yard - covered in the grayish-green grass grown on mars. He knocked on the door, growing more concerned when Sean's elderly mother didn't immediately respond. Usually she either opened the door or keyed in the open command for him to let himself in.
Hesitantly he tried the door, going cold when it opened without resistance. That wasn't right - she always kept it locked. Stepping inside, Cyan made his way through the house, checking each room as he went.
He found her in bed, breathing a sigh of relief that at least she'd been strong enough to get that far. But looking at her pale face, trembling hands, and the medicine cluttered on the bedside table…maybe it was more that she hadn't been strong enough to leave the bed in the first place.
"Alice," he said reprovingly, dropping to sit beside her on the bed. "I told you to contact me if you started to feel worse."
The woman just shook her head, silent. She attempted to smile at him, a pale and older version of her handsome son, but it was shaky at best.
Increased worry flooded Cyan's face, "You're just getting worse, aren't you? I don't care what you say, Alice. I'm calling a doctor."
"No…"
"Yes." He said firmly. "You look awful, and you know damn good and well that Sean would want you to get medical help." He stroked her hair, alternately ignoring and soothing her protests. After helping her take a few more pills, he went and called for a doctor.
"I want my son," Alice managed in a weak voice. If she'd had the strength, she would have cried. She looked at Cyan, "We both know a doctor isn't going to be of much help. Either I'll get better or I won't, and I'm thinking I'm too old to be getting much better. I want to see my son."
Cyan was silent for a long moment. "He didn't mean to leave you," he said at last.
"I know," Alice said. "I don't blame him at all. But I want to see him…" Unspoken but heavy in the air was 'one last time.'
Another silence stretched out between them. At last Cyan shrugged, and stood. "I'm on vacation. Thought I'd go planet hoping instead of hanging around here for once. If you promise to get better, Alice, I'll bring you back a souvenir." He winked.
"A souvenir would be lovely. You're a sweet boy, Cyan."
"Nah, I've just got you fooled." Kissing her cheek, he made sure she was settled in and had what she needed ready to hand. He turned off the lights and locked the doors and windows as left.
Outside, he allowed all his worry to show on his face. He walked automatically to his own home, and in a semi-daze began to make the arrangements for his new vacation plans.
He spent the remainder of the night at Sean's house, looking out for Alice and fretting quietly about what he was going to do.
Planet hopping was easy - he could do that without suspicion. One or two vacations he and Sean had done just that. It was, for Guards, an easily affordable vacation, and a nice change from living on the drab Rehab or a long month on Mars.
But the contact point Sean had given him in a brief letter that he'd destroyed two minutes after reading was in quadrant three of the primary four. The planet Coni, home to the Draconis - and where Sean had last been seen - was also in quadrant three. There was no way Sean could just happily wander that way, or even leave quadrant two, without setting off alarms in the people that were probably still keeping an eye on him.
Well, he'd solve that problem when he came to it. Planet hopping would take him to the edge of his quadrant; maybe something could be arranged at the border.
Once Alice drifted off into a mostly restful slumber, Cyan returned home to pack his things. As the morning bells chimed throughout the city, he walked briskly back to the shuttle station.
Inter-galactic shuttle 00411811, the dark dancer
Cyan was dozing, lost somewhere between waking and sleeping, dimly fretting over what he'd do when he landed on Partan - just four stops from the quadrant border. He still had not devised away to cross into quadrant three without arousing suspicion.
It was possible they were no longer watching him, but he doubted he was that lucky. If he went anywhere near quad three, alarms would go off somewhere. You'd think, given his connections, that he'd have more freedom. Then again he'd always made sure as few as possible knew he had powerful connections.
He was roused from his doze by the sounds of shouting. Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes and sat up. He was in a private cabin on the massive shuttle, often called a 'star-hopper' because it traveled from galaxy to galaxy.
Something was wrong. He lifted up the shutter covering his window and looked out. They weren't moving. Rapidly he ran through the possible reasons for stopping such a large ship.
No warnings, so not a malfunction. They were three hours into the journey and shouldn't be making any sort of stop. Try as he might, he could only come up with one reason.
Pirates.
They weren't uncommon in this sector…but it was a damned bold band of pirates who attacked an inter-galactic vessel.
He hadn't heard any weapons fire, so unless they were using magics to cause harm - unlikely - they weren't overly violent. Should he get involved?
Unwise. Even a Rehab Guard could only handle so many criminals at once, and he didn't have all his toys with him. As well-trained as he was in hand-to-hand, taking on armed pirates with his fists and a single stunner was not the most brilliant of ideas.
Most likely the pirates would loot the ship and then flee - perhaps taking one or two hostages until they were safe away. Despite their reputation, most pirates avoided excess violence.
Hostages.
That gave him an idea. But would it work?
Only one way to find out. Standing and stretching, he discarded his cumbersome jacket and retrieved his stunner from his bag. Leaving his belongings on his seat, he fixed the stunner to his belt and ventured out of his cabin.
As it turned out, he didn't have to go looking for the pirates. Barely had he reached for the door when it was slammed open and he found himself shoved back into his seat and his stunner confiscated. Shaking his head, he looked up at the pirates - both human - assaulting him. "Either of you the Captain?"
"Shut up and stay still, and you won't come to any harm."
Cyan just looked at them and smirked faintly, "So you're not the Captain?"
"No," the second man said impatiently as they rifled through his cabin.
"I don't suppose you'd call him for me?" The men ignored him. "Okay, then." In a burst of movement Cyan launched himself at the men, punching one and sending him into the other one, tumbling them both to the ground. He grinned at the conscious one before knocking him out. After some fumbling and grunting, he managed to move them both to the hallway.
Retrieving his stunner, he waited for others to arrive.
And arrive they did, knocked unconscious one after another by his gun as they came through the door, until at last number five agreed to go and fetch the Captain.
Cyan waited, somewhat dumbfounded that so far something seemed to be working.
He looked up as a figure appeared in the doorway - and almost groaned aloud. "I might have known I'd be dealing with a damned Fornarian."
The Captain's thin, pale brows rose. "And just what is going on here?" His voice was deep, mellow, his accent clipped. He was a Fornarian through and through, from the almost stick-like limbs just a bit longer than human limbs, and thin, spider-like fingers. His skin was pale gray, hair an almost equally pale gold-brown. His eyes however were a deep, warm brown - the color of the maple syrup he paid far too much money for just so he could have it with breakfast on those few days he was home on Mars.
Fornarians came from a planet that was almost all rock. Food, water, comfort were all rare commodities. Their bodies had adapted accordingly; they were adjusted to survive on minimal nourishment - the reason they were so thin they'd be considered unhealthy on any other planet. Their limbs were extra long to make climbing easier, with especially hard bones and strong, thick skin.
But the minimalist build of their bodies left very little room for anything else. Fornarians had the potential for powerful magics - but they lacked the energy to perform more than the few small spells they used for hunting, climbing, and small healings.
He was good looking. It was almost a shame, really, that Cyan had sworn off Fornarians. Just as well though - this wasn't really a leisurely vacation he was on.
"Care to explain to me why you're lounging around shooting my men?"
Cyan snorted, "You make it sound like stunning pirates is a bad thing. You do realize you're the bad guys, here?"
"So long as I'm raiding the ship," the Captain grinned, "I'm in charge and I don't like having my men shot by some upstart civi with a stunner."
"Right." Cyan couldn't hide his mirth.
The Captain quirked a brow at him, but one of his men approached before he could speak. "Excuse me one moment."
"Of course," Cyan said politely.
The Fornarian turned aside briefly to speak in low tones with one of his men. After a moment he turned back to Cyan. "Would you mind telling me what you want? As amusing as this is, my time is short."
Cyan nodded, "I want you to take me hostage."
That gave the Captain pause, "Might I ask the reason for such a request?"
"No." Cyan grinned.
He was regarded in silence for several long seconds. "No. We don't need hostages - we plan our raids far better than that."
"I'll pay you. Name a price."
Again he managed to surprise the Fornarian into silence. "Take him," the Captain said at last to the man he'd spoken with earlier. "I want to continue this intriguing offer - you lot finish up and notify me when we're done. Are we still in the clear?"
"Aye, Captain." the man, obviously his second - and human - smirked. "This raid is going beautifully."
"Of course. We'll be in the Captain's quarters."
"Aye, Cap'n."
Cyan let himself be dragged roughly through the private cabins and through the ship to the Captain's quarters. He settled into a chair at a small table, as the Fornarian Captain sat down across from him.
"So," the Fornarian looked at him. "You want to be a hostage?"
"Yes."
"Hmm…" another pirate had brought along Cyan's travel bag, and the Captain began to rifle through it. On the table he set an extra charger for Cyan's stunner, his wallet, and a worn photograph. He ignored the wallet and lifted the photo. He lifted a brow at the man across the table. "You carry a picture of the dead Head Councilman and his wife?"
"No," Cyan stiffened.
"Then what do you call this?" the Captain held the photo up. It was an image of a distinguished looking middle-aged man, dressed to the nines in what had been the fashion a little more than a decade ago. He had graying black hair and amber eyes. Beside him was a woman in an elaborate blue and silver dress, her coiffed hair a warm brown and eyes a soft gray.
"A picture of my parents."
For the third time, he rendered the Fornarian speechless. "You don't look much like your brother."
"Yes, I know." Cyan managed a grin. "I'm thankful for that every single day."
The Captain laughed, "So you must be Cyan Alexander."
"I prefer McCracken these days," Cyan replied. "It was my mother's name. And it keeps my brother's fame away from me."
"I see. And why do you want us to kidnap you?"
"I need to speak with a friend. I can't get into quad three on my own - never mind why. I just want you to take me with you and drop off on a planet in quad three."
"What planet?"
"Kreska."
The Captain nodded, "And you're willing to pay for it? Must be quite the friend you're going to see. What, did he steal your girlfriend or something?"
"Nothing so frivolous. Let's just say it's a matter of life and death."
"All right." A knock at the door, and the second popped his head in to notify them of pending departure.
Grinning, the Captain stood. "Inform the crew that we're taking a hostage along with us." He slid his maple eyes toward Cyan, "A million points?"
"Done," Cyan grabbed his things and stood. He smirked, "I told you I could afford any price."
"So I see." The Captain motioned for him to precede him out the door.
Cyan paused in front of him, "So what's your name, anyway? Or do I just call you Captain?"
"My name is Adalsteinn, though most simply call me 'Einn." He looked Cyan up and down, "But we can discuss what you'll call me later."
A brow lifted, and Cyan laughed. "Forget it, Fornarian. One of you was enough, I've learned my lesson. And I'm on a business trip. Besides…" He smirked as they stepped onto the transport, the last to leave the star-hopper.
"We'll see." Einn smirked back. "It's a long haul to Kreska, and you are my hostage."
"Your paying hostage." Cyan said firmly.
Einn just laughed as he keyed in the codes to take them to his ship.
Merchant class star ship 00061225, the dragonfly
"There," Cyan said, restoring his pointcard to his wallet. "One million points."
Einn nodded from his seat overlooking the rest of the bridge. "Excellent. Gents, say hello to our special guest - Cyan McCracken."
The crew just looked at him. There were roughly fifty pirates to Einn's crew, and ten of them maintained the bridge. Besides Cyan and Einn there were seven humans, one other Fornarian, a Sardoran - Cyan tried not to wince - and an almost insect-like creature bent over the navi-coms. Of the humans, four probably came from his own quadrant, the others had the reddish coloring of the first quad.
"Captain," the second-in-command spoke up, a human with the reddish skin of the first quadrant, his brown hair short and spiky, the glasses on his face a stronger version of the In-lens most people wore - most likely he used them to keep an eye on the entire ship. "What's going on here?"
"Mr. McCracken is paying us to escort him under greatest secrecy to Kreska." Ein looked at his second, "Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Faller."
"Yes," he replied bluntly. "We're pirates, not a transport service."
"We're getting a million points to deliver him. That should be the end of the matter for you."
"Yes, sir." Faller grumbled and ceased protesting. He looked at Cyan, "So what do you do for a living that you can just throw us a million points?"
Cyan grinned, "I gott'em at Rehab." He laughed as every head in the room swiveled to either glare at him or gawk. Prisoners were 'in' Rehab, Guards were 'at.'
Einn whistled, "You're bolder than I thought. Or maybe dumber." He looked up at Cyan through his lashes, "And here I thought you got the money from your parents. You're just a Rehabilitator." He motioned to his men "You're probably not going to be well liked now. More than a few of us have comrades undergoing Rehabilitation.
"Not on my watch, unless they're particularly bloodthirsty."
Another whistle of approval, "Center Six, eh? My, my, what a specimen you are. And here I was thinking you were just a lazy Civi who happened to be good with a Stunner.'
"Speaking of which," Cyan said, "Could I have my stunner back? It's custom made, I'd hate to lose it."
"Of course. You'll probably need it against some of my crew." Einn winked, "Though you can always come to me for protection."
"I told you no already," Cyan said with a laugh.
"We'll see." Einn stood, suddenly all business. "Faller, find McCracken's weapon and see that a room is prepared. Then let's get down to business; I want to sell our haul as quickly as possible, and we need to figure out the best route to Kreska."
"Aye, Captain" Faller said with resignation before signaling that Cyan should follow him.
