20th of Arrestre

"Remember, take a left out of the 'Dissection Room' and go down the hall a ways. The servant's access will be on your _"

"Right," I whispered, sliding my empty tray back through the gap.

"— right. Aye. Good. I think you've got it," Kenoa said quietly, taking the tray. "Aye... well..." He cleared his throat. "May all go well with ya, meilah."

I nodded and gave him a little smile, knowing he could see me through his side of the glass even if I could only see my reflection.

As he wheeled the meal trolley on toward NaVarre's cell, I took up a position on the floor, back against the wall first, then slowly slumping down until I was sprawled out flat, as if I had just succumbed to the drugs and fallen over where I was. That was for the benefit of the viewing porthole positioned to look in through the glass door, allowing the men in the guardroom to watch each prisoner. Kenoa had said that was how they knew the drugs had taken effect.

The scent of the soup and bread lingered in the air, calling to me from the pile of bedding I had hidden it in. I couldn't eat it, and Kenoa couldn't take it back with him, so I had concealed it by pouring it surreptitiously into my blankets and then shoving them under the bed. Still, I didn't like how much I wanted that soup. It was like an itch growing in my skin, a craving that was proving difficult to ignore. It bubbled and festered, planting thoughts in my mind of trying to lick the soup out of the blanket and crawling under the bed to see if there was any on the floor.

Grinding my teeth, I forced my limbs to stay put.

There were footsteps in the hallway. I had never been awake for this part, and I pushed that longing for a taste of soup into the background.

Make a place in your head where no one can find you... lock yourself in there... hold onto that, don't let anyone in... I slowed my breathing. In. Out. Calm. Even...

In. Out.

They didn't try to be subtle, didn't even attempt to keep from waking me. Two guards simply opened the doorway, obviously believing that I couldn't hear or feel anything as they tromped into my cell, bent over me, and flipped me roughly onto my back. Then one grabbed my arms, the other my legs, and they hefted me off the floor.

In. Out... I kept my body limp as a rag doll, offering no resistance as they carried me out into the hallway and slung me onto the hard, flat metal bed of a medical gurney.

In. Out...

The gurney wheels began moving, squeaking faintly as one of the guards began pushing the thing down the corridor to the door, just like Kenoa had said they would. They took me past a guard station, where two men watched a bank of glowing portholes, then there was a turn to the right, then another hallway and a turn to the left, then on through two sets of doors and into a brightly lit room that smelled of astringent and lye.

"Ah. Good, good," Karronido muttered from off to my left. There was a rustle of fabric and a shuffle of feet, then a faint tink-tink — as if he had just put some sort of medical instrument on a tray.

My insides knotted up, and my entire being wanted to fly off that gurney and away from what was coming. I had to fight a wave of terror to keep myself lying there while the guards proceeded to fetch a bunch of leather straps from a nearby rack, and Karronido arranged his knives.

This was one of the holes in NaVarre's plan. Kenoa had never seen what, exactly, Karronido did to his prisoners once they reached this room. All he had been able to do was get me out of my cell. The rest was up to me. Chilly tendrils of panic coiled through my chest, sending gooseflesh racing over my skin as the guards began strapping me to the gurney, their movements methodical and rehearsed.

Left ankle and right ankle, left thigh and right thigh, then hips.

Out of sheer desperation, I curled my fingers against the wooden edge of the gurney and flexed my wrists slightly, hoping against hope that all of them would be so focused on what they were doing that they wouldn't notice the inch of space between my forearms and the bed. It wouldn't be much, but maybe it would be enough.

They buckled a wide strap across my shoulders after they finished the one on my hips, then moved to my head, cinching the strap tight and pinning my skull to the board beneath me.

The guard on my left finished tying down my left wrist.

In. Out. In. Out...

The guard on the right side of the gurney began attaching the strap to the gurney frame, after having to untangle the strap from another.

In. Out... Just keep still... Just wait... I was getting dizzy, my empty stomach tightening into a queasy knot as my imagination supplied a host of grizzly outcomes, all of which involved me being wide awake when Karronido started cutting me up.

The guard didn't finish.

Somewhere, out in the guts of the Medical Sector bunker, a klaxon began revving into a swooping wail.

A woman's voice crackled to life on a squawk-box in the ceiling: "Attention Blue Sector, there has been a level one perimeter breach. This is not a drill. Proceed to your assigned posts and await command. This is not a drill. Proceed to your assigned posts and await command."

Both of the guards stopped moving.

Karronido let out a growl of frustration, then snapped, "Well? What are you waiting for? Get over to the duty station! Tell Frannik I'll be along as soon as I've secured this subject."

"Yes sir," the guard on the left called over his shoulder as they both burst into motion, hurrying out of the room, leaving Karronido to finish... whatever it was he was doing.

I opened my eyes a crack, my heart leaping unsteadily.

Karronido was coming toward me, his attention on the medical infuser he was holding up to the light, the better to see the brown liquid he was drawing into the cartridge from a black glass bottle.

He wasn't paying attention to my, but he was going to be right next to the gurney in mere seconds. There wasn't time to free my other arm, or even my head. Quickly, I grabbed the strap the guards had left undone and twisted the loose end around my wrist on the off chance he wouldn't realize it wasn't buckled, then went perfectly, absolutely still.

Karronido reached the foot of the gurney and finished filling the infuser. There was a faint clink as he put the bottle down between my bound ankles.

"Damn this high alert business," he muttered, stepping up to my right side. "Muster all troops for a level one... As if the Mudpigs would ever get this far inside the walls. Am I right, Subject 407-52?"

I watched him from beneath my lashes as he brought the infuser up, about to press it to my neck.

His weight shifted as he bent to get a better look at me, as if perhaps he had finally sensed the tension in my muscles.

I had no real plan. I simply opened my eyes and brought my hand up, bracing my shoulder and plowing the heel of my palm into the soft underside of his chin hard enough to send his head snapping backward. It was impossible to put any real force into it, but he staggered, caught off balance, and the infuser swung wide.

Instinctively, I snatched at it, snarling as my fingers closed around the infuser barrel.

He came back around, surprise twisting his thick features as he fought my one-handed grip, and for a moment we struggled, I with my arm out straight to keep him away, Karronido shoving and twisting, trying to bring the tip of the infuser to my skin. But while I was much smaller, I was fueled by sheer desperation, and he was not a physically adept man. Somehow, I got my forefinger into the trigger guard. He grunted, scowling, and tried grabbing it with both hands to pull it free, but in doing so his balance shifted. I yanked him forward toward me, deliberately closing the distance between us even though it torqued my own arm until my shoulder popped. Unprepared, it took him a second to reverse his momentum, and that was all I needed. The infuser was trapped between us when I pulled the trigger.

There was a mechanical gritch and he gasped, his eyes going wide as he stared down into my face, his own going slack with realization. "No...." he whispered. Then he swore and shoved himself off of me, clutching at a perfectly round damp spot on his surgical smock. "Help! I need help!" He tried shouting, but his voice came out high and thin, and he was already going pale and clammy.

I began fumbling with the strap holding my head to the gurney, keeping an eye on the Minister as he sank to the floor on shaky legs. He wasn't out cold, though. The dose had been for me, not a thickset man nearly twice my size. Wheezing and sweating, he made a flailing grab for a nearby tray stand, sending the thing clattering, spilling implements and bottles all over the ground. With a groan he went after another infuser that had rolled to a stop beneath a low counter by the wall.

This one was loaded with a pale orange liquid.

He wanted whatever was in that cartridge. Which meant whatever was in it wasn't going to help me.

I got my left arm free, then made short work of the straps at my hips and ankles, frantically racing to get off that gurney. I undid the last buckle just as Karronido let out a breathless crow of victory.

I rolled off the other side of the gurney, casting about for something I could use. There was another tray stand on that side, this one sporting surgical knives, glass tubes and more bottles full of a variety of substances.

There was a mechanical hiss as the Minister used the second infuser on himself.

The knives were wickedly sharp, but too small. He had at least a half-meter on me. I would need distance. I knocked the tray flying and picked up the stand instead, flipping it upside down and wielding the heavy claw-footed base over my shoulder like a club as I rounded the end of the gurney.

The High Minister saw me coming and lunged clumsily to his feet. He craned around, leaning heavily on the counter, his mouth stretching into a grimace as he scrambled to find a weapon.

I hit him before he could find one.

The tray stand connected with his back as he twisted, trying to shield his head, and the force of the blow sent him crashing into the counter.

I stalked after him as he kept going, stumbling forward on shaky legs, scarlet beginning to blossom from two deep gashes between his shoulders. He was heading for a long, saw-like implement that had landed at the end of the counter, the serrated edges glittering .

I had to stop him while I still could. So, I hit him again, this time aiming a savage chop at his ribs, just like Marin had shown me. There was a beefy thump, and a faint crunch.

The High Minister let out a guttural roar, but managed to reach the saw, and came around with the blade held before him like a dagger, his eyes blazing. He took a step toward me, raising the saw, but he was off-balance, favoring his ribs on his right side.

There wasn't enough room to maneuver in the cramped space between the gurney and the counter, and I saw him realize that if he backed up, he could get out the door.

So I darted backward, and lunged against the gurney, slamming him back up against the counter as hard as I could.

With a shout, he shoved at the gurney, trying to swipe at me with the saw as he did so. I shoved hard for another few seconds, fighting his greater weight, then let go and stepped to the side.

He was still pushing, and as the gurney shot forward, suddenly unhindered, his momentum followed, and he fell forward.

Gritting my teeth against the burn in my muscles, I raised the tray stand and swung, landing a glancing blow on his right side again.

There was another crunch, and this time he collapsed to the floor, clutching his ribs, gasping for air, his face contorting with pain as he glared up at me.

For a split-second I paused, staring down at him, some tiny, frozen scrap of humanity restraining my hand. But this was the man who had tortured, experimented on, and killed countless people. This man was pure evil. I couldn't let him leave this room alive. I couldn't take that chance. Breathing hard, I shoved away any shreds of mercy I might have had, centered my stance, and swung again, bringing the clawed feet of the tray stand around in a vicious downward arc.

There was a dull thunk and a sickening pop — an axe striking a melon —and then the High Minister of the Coventry lay silent, his eyes staring unseeing from his fleshy, slack-jawed face, a mirror-slick pool of dark red blood spreading slowly over the tiles beneath his broken skull.

The distant wail of the alarm klaxon still echoed through the Medical Sector hallways, accompanied now by shouting and the tramp of many boots marching double time.

Feeling suddenly sick, I let go of the tray stand and backed away from the corpse, then turned and stumbled for the door.

My feet hurt. I must have cut them on broken glass without feeling it, but now every step burned as I limped down the hall, heading for the yellow accordion gate Kenoa had said would take me to the servant's stairwell.

The t would take me down to the servant's tunnels. From there I would have to find the service lift that would take me up to the command tower. I would have to hope the right ship was moored at the platform, find a way to board it, then get back to the service lift and back down to the Stables, all before anyone discovered the body.

More holes than a chunk of Carrakian cheese... What am I doing? This is insane... I'm insane...

As if to prove just how insane I was, there was a hiss of gas, and the mirrored lamps in the ceiling suddenly sputtered and went out, casting the hallway into near pitch-dark.

I froze, my breath rasping in my chest.

Up ahead around a corner, someone called out in High Altyran, "The Energy Hub is down! All units report to the parade ground!" at the same moment several beams of bright white light appeared and began sweeping over the floor, bobbing crazily as the soldiers carrying them broke into a run.

They were going to come around that corner and find me standing there.

With a gasp, I darted to the right, shoving through a set of swinging doors, dimly realizing they were the same doors the guards had brought me through on the way to the 'Dissection Room.'

For several seconds the dark was so thick I couldn't even make out my fingers in front of my face, and I staggered to the side until my groping hand encountered smooth glass tile while soldiers thundered past in the hallway behind me.

Cringing, I pinned myself to the wall, more than half expecting the doors to burst wide and a platoon of armed soldiers to come charging in. Those white lights flicked across the bottom of the doorframe a few times, bouncing off the floor and revealing snatches of long, plain corridor. Then they were gone, their voices and their heavy strides fading into the strange silence again.

They were running to meet an invasion. A giddy laugh almost bubbled to the surface, a weird lightness blossoming in my chest even while our plan came crashing down.

I needed to get back to the Stables. Legs weak with relief, I started shuffling forward as fast as I could, keeping close to the wall and trying to recall how many turns the guards had taken from the Stables. I had barely made it around the next bend when sets of rust-orange lights came on along edges of the floor, casting the corridor in an eerie amber glow.

Instantly, my mouth went dry. I ducked into a crouch.

The entrance to the Stable guard station stood directly in front of me, its large panes of glass rendering me perfectly visible to anyone inside.

But there was no movement. No lights other than the amber glow.

After another second or two, I crept forward and gave the door a gentle push, easing it open slowly.

One inch. Two inches. Enough to see that the chairs facing the bank of viewing portholes were empty. The portholes were dark.

I blinked. Then I stood up. The guards might just be inside the Stable. They might return at any moment, but wherever they were, I wasn't going to get a chance like this again. Quickly, I slipped into the guard station, stepping behind the armored counter that ran the length of the viewing booth.

Keys. It was right there, painted in neat Paradazh print on a lower cabinet door.

It was locked, but the lock was a simple pole and pin style. All I needed was something small enough to fit through the opening and apply some pressure to the pin. I began rummaging through the odds and ends on the counter. A stack of report forms. A small rollopress machine. To the left of the rollopress was a cup full of charcoal sticks and barrel pens. I snatched up a pen and yanked the long, slender metal nib out. Perfect.

Back to the 'Keys' cabinet. It took exactly two seconds to pick the lock.

There were four sets of key rings on hooks inside the cabinet, each with a neat little label: 'Hall 1,' 'Hall 2,' 'Hall 3,' and 'Spare Master.'

A chilly grin tugged my mouth askew.Funny, how they took for granted that none of the prisoners could read. I grabbed all four sets of keys.

Stepping out from behind the counter, I edged up to the swinging doors that led into the main Stable hallway and peeked through the windowpane.

The cell blocks were apparently laid out like a three-tined pitchfork, with the main hallway leading directly from the guard room. As I suspected, I could see straight through the mirrored glass into the cells. The cool blue lights had been replaced by the amber glow from the floor, but it was enough to make out NaVarre in the first cell on the right. He was sitting calmly against the wall, his legs out straight in front of him.

No guards.

The guard room doors had a locking mechanism on my side. Ever so carefully, I eased the lever up, wincing when the bolts slid out of their slots with a thunk. But there was no time to waste. I got the door open and pushed my way into the hall, holding all the keys tight to my middle as I put my head down and ran the short distance to NaVarre's cell.

I slid to a halt and began searching through keys, trying not to make any noise as I fumbled out the ring tagged as 'Hall 1.'

Behind the glass, NaVarre shifted, frowning and staring at the panel of glass, unable to see me, but aware that someone was outside.

The lock for the door was in the wall beside it: the first key din't fit, neither did the second or third. There were at least thirty keys, just on that ring alone. Then I noticed that there was a second keyhole beside the first, and I let out a silent snarl of frustration, glancing over my shoulder at the corner. There were still no signs of the guards. I took a deep breath and slowed down, concentrating.

Another three tries later, the key I fit into the top keyhole clicked into place. On a hunch, I tried the spare Master key in the second keyhole.

The cell door slid open with a whoosh of hydraulics.

For a moment, I simply looked at NaVarre, taking in the diminished state of him. He was gaunt, his jumpsuit hanging from his thin frame, but the crooked grin that slashed through his overgrown beard was all pirate.

"Hello, Bren," he whispered.

AN: 

So... No real notes today. Just, "Thanks for reading!" 

Any thoughts you want to share are greatly appreciated. 

Anna