Tyral

CHAPTER THREE-1

CHAPTER THREE

WAS he okay?

Ty could barely hold himself in a sitting position with his back propped against the wall. The blasters had done a number on him and these goddamn slavers had taken more than a few potshots while he was unconscious. His ribs were miraculously unbroken, but he’d have bruises until his dying day.

No. He wasn’t going to think about that. If he let himself spiral then he’d never defeat these people. And he knew he couldn’t do it alone. He’d gotten a glimpse of rooms when they started to drag him through the ship, but they weren’t the glorified cattle pens he’d seen on other slave ships. That give him a little privacy, which he appreciated, but it also meant he had to find a way to communicate with any other captives.

And talking was so much easier than knocking.

“I’m alive,” Ty called back in Interstellar Common and flinched as the air in his lungs pushed against his ribs. He clutched an arm to his side and clenched his jaw. His ribs weren’t broken and he kept talking just to prove it. “Though I’d rather be on a beach right now with a frothy drink and the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.”

“Oh.” That one syllable was filled with something that Ty couldn’t define and just a hint of amusement. “I’m Dorsey and I don’t have any drinks. And the other thing...” She laughed.

“My name is Ty.” He would have given his full name, but each word he spoke burned deeply where he was badly bruised.

“Are you human?” Dorsey’s tone made Ty want to sit up a little straighter and smile. There was a light in her voice that he couldn’t ever remember hearing. With just a handful of words, he already knew that he was going to do everything he could to make sure that she got off this ship and to safety before it was too late. Maybe one final good deed would see him on to a happy afterlife.

But he needed to answer her. “Detyen.” Normally a question like that wasn’t asked so baldly, but normally conversation didn’t happen through a ventilation pipe between prisoners on a slave ship. Adjustments to the typical flow were necessary.

“I don't think I've ever met a Detyen before,” she responded. “Do you have any neat tricks to get us out of here?”

Now Ty did smile. “Unfortunately all superpowers were bred out of my species long ago.”

A heavy breath that might have been a laugh traveled down the air vent. “Damn, then I guess we're going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

Distantly it occurred to him that his captors could have planted her in that cell to give him false hope or to thwart any of his plans. But there was honesty in her voice and Ty had nothing to lose. She didn't have enough time to betray him.

Ty looked around his cell. The light from the ceiling barely illuminated anything, and what he saw was beyond sparse. There was absolutely nothing in the cell that could be used as a weapon. Other than himself, there was nothing in the cell at all. They hadn't furnished a cot or chair, and the solid door meant that there were no loose bars to pry off. He ran his hands across every centimeter of wall that he could reach, but it was all completely flat.

“Is your cell empty, too?” he asked Dorsey, clenching his jaw against the pain in his ribs.

“Affirmative,” she called back. “And all of the meals are sent in on some sort of degrading plates. They only last a few minutes before they're basically dust.”

That was not helpful. “Have you been here long?” He leaned against the wall to give his legs a rest. The kidnappers hadn't been kind and he wanted to sleep, but he feared wasting even a moment.

“Not too long, I don't think.” But she didn't sound certain. “They mess up the time.”

Of course they would. Disoriented prisoners were more likely to be docile.

Ty massaged his knuckles as he and Dorsey spoke. She explained how the guards came and what they did. From her experience, they didn't stand guard outside the cells when they weren't giving her food or bringing in the hose to bathe her and clean out the cell.

And he didn't think they could hear them in the cells. Letting any rebellion foment among the prisoners was a recipe for disaster. If the guards could hear them, they would have come in and shut them up.

At least Ty hoped that was correct. He knew he was placing a lot on instinct and the knowledge that they couldn't hurt him for long.

But they could hurt Dorsey.

It was a long time later that she spoke. “I think they're going to bring food soon.”

“How do you know?” If they hadn't been consistent there was no way to time it.

“I'm starting to get hungry and they haven't starved me yet.”

She was right. Several minutes later, he heard footsteps outside of his cell, and when they stopped, the slot at the bottom of the door slid open. He couldn't see outside to the hallway; it was blocked by a darkly gloved hand and a bowl containing an unappetizing stew and a separate small container of water.

Since Dorsey hadn't warned him off it, Ty drank the water down quickly and ate the stew before his plate dissolved. It began to crumble in his hands before he finished the last bite.

“Is that how they always come?” he asked her.

“So far it is,” she confirmed.

“I think I can work with that.”

***