The OBF team and the Cantals were seated on a separate Tremulus. They had half a dozen Trimadian guards with them, and once more, they knew attempting to escape at this point was futile.
No one had told them where they were going or what was going to happen to them.
At least Pete seemed better, in fact both Tremaine and Mason at first feared the worst. They were stunned at how there was no bruising or marks left from the Gloctol blast.
“Must be Trimadian medicine or something,” Pete said.
Yeah, or something, Tremaine pondered.
Pete was upset Leah had not visited him since his injury, as she promised. The others were not surprised. Thoughts of relying on her to help them were quickly fading.
Unknown to them, they were traveling down the same road as Leah had earlier, except they made a detour that branched out into a huge room that resembled a hangar. The hangar was full of relatively smaller fighter craft, with maintenance staff working on them. Over one side, huge crates, and boxes of every conceivable description were neatly piled up on metal shelves and rose continually upward as far as the eye could see.
They stopped and disembarked.
Tremaine whispered, “Okay, this looks like a storage and maintenance area.”
Mason looking around gaped, “My God, there must be hundreds of these ships.”
One of the guards heard him and gloated. “This is only one area of many. Do not even consider escaping, human. You won’t last a second and—”
The guard stopped as a figure dressed in flashy black and gold robes and shiny knee high boots strode over to them. They recognized him as the one who announced they were prisoners on Ahmadeus.
He stood in front of the guard and seemed to have a sharp discussion with him in their native tongue. Was the warrior getting a reprimand for talking to the humans?
The flashy one turned and faced the prisoners. “You are impressed with what you see?”
“It’s not bad, pretty good. We have similar ships on Earth,” Tremaine tried playing their amazement down. He was sick of feeling inadequate.
The Trimadian Leader smiled and laughed. “Ignore my guard. You are now guests here, by order of our Supreme Ruler.”
“Yeah, so you say, but you have a funny way of treating guests, like kidnapping, brain washing, bad room service, though the food did improve—”
“Enough! You think you are funny, human.” The Leader moved into Tremaine’s face and stared down, unblinkingly into his eyes. Tremaine remained passive, refusing to be intimidated. The Trimadian’s lips pulled upward into an evil sneer and a hideous, belittling cackle emitted from his mouth. “Let’s see if you are still full of jokes where you are going, human.” He slowly stepped back, not taking his eyes off Tremaine, sharply turned on his shiny black heel and marched towards a ship different from the other fighter types. His guards shoved their “guests” to follow him.
The flashy Leader performed an abrupt one hundred and eighty degree turn and stood beside steps leading to the interior, indicating that they should enter. Then he strode away.
Tremaine, Mason, Pete, and the Cantals were bundled aboard and pushed down into some seats, Gloctols trained on them. Within thirty seconds, they were in flight. They expected to travel to the surface, but instead carried on their journey underground. They could not see out the windows, as there were none. They could sense by the lurching and swerving they were going at an extreme acceleration.
Tremaine’s eyes did a quick survey around him. This ship was noisy and rather crude compared to the previous one. His nostrils detected a distinct odor lingering like stale, rotting meat. He knew what that smell was and he prayed that was only from animals of some sort.
Mason whispered, “This looks like a cargo or transport ship for supplies.” He gestured to stacks of boxes and crates with Trimadian markings over them.
“Yeah, I don’t think we are exclusive, look up there.” Tremaine flicked his eyes up at four thick steel rods above their heads that ran down the spine of the ship. At varying intervals, sharp metal cuffs were hanging down. “I gather they are not for passengers to hang on to if the bus gets full, eh.” He wondered why they did not use them. Was it because of the Trimadians’ callous attitude that free Cantals and humans were weak?
The ship rose sharply for a few seconds and straightened out horizontally once more. “My ears just popped,” Pete exclaimed.
A few minutes later, they felt the ship slowing down for a landing. When the door was opened, they were met by a boiling hot sun glaring down on them. “Is this your tourist holiday spot?” Tremaine could not resist. “I will need my sunglasses.”
The same guard that had gloated to them turned to face him with a smirk.
“Where you are going, you won’t need them.”
They were hustled out of the ship and greeted by at least a dozen guards, waiting to check out these new “volunteers.” These guards were very different. They were unshaven, pretty mean looking, even by Trimadian standards, and obviously did not bathe often. One of them, probably their leader singled out Tremaine and walked into his personal space, glaring down at his prey. Not again, Tremaine groaned inside.
The guard opened his mouth in a broad grin revealing a variety of blackened gums and rotted broken yellow grey teeth accompanied with the foulest breath. This was not a face any sane mother could love. Military hardened Tremaine doubled over gagging.
All the guards, including their escorts roared with laughter and began handing over little pieces of metal, some type of currency to the ugly guard.
“What was that all about?” Pete said.
The gloating guard stated, “They like to have their little games to see if new recruits have strength, and not just in their muscles. I hope you enjoy your little stay here.” He went off to exchange some words with the ugly guard, while the ragtag smelly soldiers closed in examining the newcomers. The team silently appraised the new guards, who looked rough and dangerous, and wisely knew not too underestimate them.
They watched as the gloating guard and his troops reboarded and the ship sped away. Within a few seconds it was out of sight.
“Just being in the presence of these stinking assholes is punishment enough.”
Tremaine was rewarded with a vicious shove in the kidneys that sent him sprawling into the white hot sand.
They were smack in the middle of a desert. Mountainous sand dunes, blistering dry heat, alien insects buzzing around, and God knows what nasty events were in front of them. The guards moved their new captives on in single file, shoving and taunting them with their gloctols for what seemed like an eternity in the unrelenting heat. When they had covered one hundred meters, which painfully felt more like a hundred kilometers, and were about to collapse from heat exhaustion, an image appeared in the wavering heat. Tremaine swore it was a mirage, in the form of a thatched hut. As they got closer, it turned out it was no mirage, but it was no hut either. It was four wooden posts and a neat thatched roof, with a raised wooden floor underneath.
The guards pushed them on to the floor and surrounded them, with their Gloctols trained hard at them. Tremaine suspected they would not be set on stun.
The ugly guard activated a wrist device and the floor they were standing on began to descend.
The change from bright white hot light to sudden cool darkness made their eyes ache. No way could they see anything for a minute or two as their eyes strained to become accustomed to the darkness thrust upon them. The journey down was bumpy, and the men struggled to keep their balance. One Cantal, called Ramoy, who had been the unfortunate one operated on to pose as Sataal’s double, was shaking with fear. His operation had been reversed, as Talokta never transferred him to Marone’s ship. But today was not his lucky day as he lost his balance and fell into a guard. The guard’s response was a malicious shove to the hard floor where his head connected on another guard’s boot.
The lift finally came to a stop and they were hurtled forward off th
e platform onto a rocky floor. God knows how far down they were, as all that could be discerned was darkness. Looking up, not a pinpoint of light shone through. It looked like they were in a cavern. Flame torches were strewn up and down the towering walls giving a chilling shadowy effect.
They were led down a narrow, dimly lit passageway, which carried on what seemed like ages in their exhausted condition. The passage gave way to another huge cavern. Cages full of wretched life forms lined the perimeter. They were mainly populated with half naked Cantals, about an average of twenty in each cage. There was a bucket for a toilet and a couple of bowls of water. Crude flax like mats was strewn on the cold ground. A lucky few had the luxury of lying on rough wooden benches. There was little room to breathe.
When the newcomers arrived, the caged prisoners yelled, whistled, and banged on the bars.
The guards produced whips attached to metal bracelets on their wrists, so they could not be easily taken off them. When in action the whips let out a blue electrical discharge on contact. A short demonstration quieted the caged prisoners. It did not look pleasant.
“Get in here, you lot!” shouted a guard who had opened a cage that already had about a dozen Cantals inside who seemed less than willing to inherit more bodies in their choked quarters.
As they slowly piled into the stinking cage, Ramoy, who was still nursing a sore head panicked and ran back to the passageway. The guard that had opened the cage door shoved the helpless men inside and locked it.
“There’s always one.” The ugly guard yelled out imperturbably.
The other guards all laughed.
He cracked his whip that looked like an electrified cat o nine tails. Tremaine and Mason looked at each other. Tremaine grabbed the bars and protested, “He’s scared, leave him be.” The ugly guard’s answer was a vicious crack of the whip against his knuckles. He jerked back screaming, holding his hands, grimacing with pain, glaring at the guard who sauntered after the fleeing man.
“There’s no need for that!” yelled Pete, who saw blood running down Tremaine’s wounded knuckles.
There was an eerie silence in the prison room.
“Wait for it!” yelled one Cantal close to them. “He’s done for now.”
A lightning crack of a whip echoed within the passageway followed by a blood curdling scream. Seconds later, Ramoy came stumbling back doubled over with pain. The shirt he had on was torn to shreds revealing nasty red welt marks across his chest and stomach where the skin had been flayed off. He looked up, realized where he was, and frantically looked around for a way to escape. Confused, numb with fear and pain, he tried to run in the opposite direction, but it was only a dead end full of cages.
The men were petrified.
The ugly guard appeared with a wicked, sadistic grin. He raised his whip again, but this time the wounded man rushed forward and shouldered the guard square on his back, winding him. Ramoy began laying punch after punch into him. The other guards swiftly sprang into life, tearing Ramoy off, kicking and whipping him.
The noise from the chaos was deafening within the cavernous walls. The prisoners were yelling and screaming. But the screams of pain and terror emitting from Ramoy rose above all.
Finally, some semblance of order prevailed and two guards held the half dead bloodied man under the arms. They dragged him out to the middle of the floor. The ugly guard, who did not look any worse for wear walked up in front of him, then turned to address everyone.
“My name is Balock, you must call me master. Most of you know the rules and they are very simple, easy to follow rules. For those that don’t, listen up, as I will only say this once. Dissension is not tolerated, ’specially in my camp. You do your work; there is no problem. You don’t work, you die.” He turned back to Ramoy, grabbed him by the hair and put his disgusting mouth close to the ear of the half conscious Cantal. “All the Cantal rebels have fallen, as the Supreme Ruler has uncovered their treachery on board his warships.”
Pete knew he was referring to what Sataal had told them on Ahmadeus before the attack. The Trimadians had technology to scan a Cantal to see if he had a Cathexistome in him. If not, he was considered a spy. No wonder the cages were full of Cantals. The mines were their punishment, well, the ones that would have survived any torture.
Without further ado, Balock drew a Gloctol from his belt and shot Ramoy in the head. The head exploded and bits of flesh and skull disintegrated in a bloody blaze.
“As you can see, I do have mercy. He died instantly.”
The guards dropped the body onto the floor, wiping Ramoy’s remains off their bodies and walked off laughing.
The team stared in shock.
“You’re not going to just leave him there,” screamed Mason. “You cowards, he was only scared. You should have given him a chance.”
Balock whirled around and walked up to Mason.
“Ah, so pretty black boy has shown concern. Why don’t you and your eyeglass boyfriend take the carcass to the incinerator?”
A guard unlocked the gate and grabbed Pete and Mason around their necks and threw them out.
Balock sneered. “You arrogant humans think you are top of the food chain. You will learn that we do not and never will take your kind as a serious threat–or seriously at all!” He left with the echo of his malicious laugh ringing through the rocky tomb.
Three guards surrounded them, daring them to retaliate. One look at the dead, mutilated carcass was enough to sober anyone up.
They picked up the bloodied torn body between them and followed the guards through the passageway that went on forever. Into yet another open ended lift and traveled a good five minutes further into the belly of the planet. They entered a huge cavern where half a dozen giant furnaces were blasting out white hot heat.
“So this is your power source?” Pete said fascinated.
One of the guards nodded, “This room is one of many. We used to only run these particular ones at night. It comes in useful for burning the bodies of the dead, amongst all the rubbish. The carcasses are an excellent source of energy, and it keeps us warm during the freezing nights.”
“This is not happening,” Pete said to himself.
“Shut up, and do what you are told, if you want to live,” Mason hissed at him.
Not daring to get too close, they used all their strength and threw the body unceremoniously into a furnace.
What a way to end a life, Pete thought. Yet, how different was death if one was to spend time in this hellhole. In time, death would be their only friend, their only escape.
They headed back to the cages. A paltry meal waiting for them consisted of stale bread and some foul meat. Tremaine had bandaged his hand using his shirt. “Back to shitty living again, eh.” Tremaine scowled. “I bet queenie is living it up.”
Leah was never far from Pete’s thoughts.
In fact, the thought of her was the only thing that kept him sane. The Trimadians on Talokta’s ship had treated them well, a ruse to keep Leah happy. They had done some serious brainwashing on her. Where was she now? Whatever, he just hoped she was okay and she would wake up to the truth of what these alien bastards were like and at the first opportunity get the hell out. But, what would happen to her if she did not do as she was told. Would she end up here? No, they would keep her faraway from this destructive reality. They had more serious plans for her. He wished he could be with her; his heart ached with a pain that nothing could cure.
It was strange how one minute he was okay, could think lucidly, then his body felt like it was on fire, and his concentration would lapse to the point where he would feel as if he was stuck in the zombie zone. Then everything would flash back to normal. He had no control. What the hell was happening? Or more specifically, what the fuck had the Trimadians done to him?
The three friends slept on mats and were rudely woken a few hours later by the whips hitting the bars. After forcing down a watery porridge like mix, their day began.
&nbs
p; All the cages were empty, except for two bodies of Cantals who had died during the night. One of the Cantals they were sharing with told them that it was very common to have several deaths each night and not all by exhaustion.
There were huge machines at work developing and extending the mines. Some of the Cantals explained that the Trimadians used some kind of incredible cutting technology that formed an intricate pattern of underground passageways. The team was given simple axes and shovels to mine for the crystals. This was their back breaking, soul destroying existence day in and day out.
The rumble and humming of distant machines and the screaming of tortured slaves rained into their brains.
Pete could only think of Leah.
Chapter 32—Rescue?