Grey Eagle - Chapter 4

Chapter Four

...He was in an eggshell, the sunlight shining tan and creamy from the outside. He was safe here, but he felt vaguely guilty... Something about someone he was supposed to help... Only he couldn't. He didn't know how.

He was breathing. It was a curious notion, but true. Slowly, it dawned on him that he was alive. His eyes were open, which puzzled him because he couldn't remember opening them.

So thirsty! Where...? The little room.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he rediscovered his back. He rolled to his side, moaning softly as his discomfort reacquainted itself with life. Cold.

Fighting a painful dizziness, he looked about him, finding his shirt and jacket lying on the floor beside him. Oh, thank You. He sat up and put them on, clinging to this small comfort as evidence of God's continuing care. He looked about for his missing boots, but they were gone.

He was horribly thirsty, and he wondered if it would ever occur to any of them to give him a drink. Or something to eat. ...Or if it wasn't going to matter. More likely, it was being withheld on purpose.

It was a poor relief, being alive, but at least he was still himself. He smiled then, silently laughing at himself for entertaining Raach's threat. His soul was safe of course, but he had worried about becoming like Ky.

He got up slowly and walked about the room. It was six paces wide, six paces deep, with a commode in the corner, (if you could call it a corner). Small holes, about an inch in diameter, were spaced evenly along the walls near the ceiling. In the deep quiet of the room, he could hear a faint noise, the movement of air, and he decided that the holes were part of some sort of circulation system. And of course the empty doorway.

Well, they'd come and they'd done, and he hadn't escaped. But he was still alive. Where there's life, there's hope, right? You never know. If he could just escape...

The odds of rescue were nonexistent, and there was no point in thinking otherwise. Even if Tomlik didn't lie, and they knew where to look, they would consider him dead. In any case, they could hardly be expected to enter a Rikshastikan base, even if they knew he was alive.

But if he could get away, and hide for awhile... If he could steal a radio, maybe even learn a thing or two, or sabotage something... He sighed. Soren had often teased him for being overly optimistic. The whole bizarre episode hit him again, nightmarish and incomprehensible.

Raach had said they were human, but they couldn't be. What were they then?

Footsteps. He stood. Footsteps, but soft and light, unlike those of the venators. A boy appeared at the doorway, carrying a tray of food. "Hey," Arion greeted him softly, more interested in the boy than in the food.

He looked up but didn't answer. He placed the tray on the floor and pushed it in with a long stick, then sat, laying the stick across his lap.

With a wrench of loneliness, Arion realized that he was like Ky, though slightly older. Also like Ky, he had dark brown hair, straight and almost shoulder length, neatly combed. The dark forest green of his pants and shirt accentuated his doe brown eyes. His feet were bare.

He looked down at the tray, taking up the glass and drinking gratefully. Thank You. At first glance the tray looked generous, but he quickly became suspicious. Sausage, some sort of strange tuber he had never seen before, cheese, and two biscuits. He sighed. He was so hungry, but he simply refused to eat the sausage, fearing what they might put in it. And the tubers...? Better than nothing though.

He sighed again and looked at the boy. Here was an opportunity, if only he knew how to use it. He picked up a biscuit and came closer to the doorway. The boy rose then, reaching in with the stick for the tray. "No!" Arion dashed back, protecting his food. "I'm not done," he explained gently. "I just wanted..."

He was going to say, 'I just wanted to talk,' but realized how pointless it was. Maybe if he shared. He pushed the tray to the back wall and returned to the doorway with the biscuit. "Maybe we can be friends anyway, huh? Want some?" He broke a piece off and tossed it into the boy's lap. The boy ducked, then set the morsel aside without interest.

Arion laughed softly, warding off frustration. "Well, at least I can eat it myself then. And at least you're not afraid of me," he added. "Then again, you obviously know what's between us." He wondered again about the reality of the electrofield, but was disinclined to test it. The boy apparently believed in it.

"Are the tubers any good? Can humans eat them?" He had decided to go ahead and eat them when it occurred to him that the venators might think they were safe because these people could eat them. But that didn't mean he could. They weren't human. Maybe the venators were trying to trick him into thinking he could eat them.

He sighed, returning to the tray to sit, leaning against the wall. He stared at the boy, trying to understand. Whatever they were, they had some mighty odd rules. And they spoke Homonic.

He frowned, puzzling over the impossibility of it. If they weren't human, they shouldn't speak Homonic. Maybe the venators... Only Ky and this boy had been taken and raised... Or something. Was there any way to reach him then?

He eyed the stick. It looked sound, and was fairly thick. Maybe he could take it, use it for a weapon when the venators came back. He ate his last biscuit, weighing the possibilities. The boy certainly wouldn't trust him if he stole the stick, but he would be dead long before he could get the boy to understand. He might not be willing or able even if he did.

He finished his water and set the tray within reach. When the boy stood and pushed the stick in, Arion grabbed it and held on, not pulling. "I don't want to hurt you, okay?" he said softly. "Let go. You can have the tray." He kicked it out the door.

The boy looked down, but held on, and Arion noticed with surprise that he didn't seem angry, merely puzzled over what he should do. He clearly didn't want to give up the stick, but he wasn't strong enough to pull it free.

"Okay now, I'm going to pull my end in and you're just going to have to let go." He began drawing the stick in, slowly so the boy would realize, and have a chance to turn it loose. He did realize, and Arion could see in his eyes now that he was well aware of what the doorway would do.

He did not let go, but retreated to the end of the stick. Arion paused. "You're not going to get in trouble for losing your stick, are you? You look like they take pretty decent care of you."

Still, he hesitated. The boy couldn't help what he was, and he was, after all, only a child. He thought of Ky and his extreme fear of 'talking' humans. Who knew what rules those animals had made for him? Frustrated and disgusted, he released the stick, sitting down on the floor. Now he had nothing, and the boy would never trust him.

Stupid stick wouldn't have stopped a venator anyway. Just stand outside the room and shoot him if they wanted to. It would be just as unfair to ask the boy to help him, too. He would get in more trouble for helping than for having his stick stolen. The venators weren't stupid. He sighed, dismissing the lost opportunity. It was too late now anyway. The boy was gone, and they'd be back soon, and...

Time passed.

Slowly.

Very slowly. He sang to himself. He hummed. He whistled. He paced. He slept. No one came. Knowing they would come any time now, he tried to steel himself for whatever was in store...

But no one came. He was incredibly glad to hear the soft, light footsteps coming down the hall. "Hey," he said in greeting, knowing it was pointless, but needing to say it.

The tray slid in, and he took it eagerly, a small smile of relief flickering briefly on his face. Thank You. The sausage had been replaced by chunked Hereford meat. The tubers were still there, but he didn't care anymore.

"Say, I thought up a name for you," he said quietly. "I know you can't understand me, but... Anyway, I thought Yavin would be a good name for you. It means 'God will understand' or 'God will judge kindly'. And He will you know. If you have a soul. But he knows its not your fault." He sighed. 'Yavin' was completely ignoring him.

He slapped the floor to make him look over, then smiled at him. But Yavin only looked down at the tray, then away. Arion tried several more times to make eye contact, to draw some sort of response, any response... Nothing.

"You know, I pretty much decided they won't get mad at you if I take your stick," he said, voicing the one thing he knew Yavin would notice. "I know it won't do much good, but neither would nothing. At least I could put up some kind of a fight." He sighed. Yavin simply didn't care.

He finished eating in silence and pushed the tray close. Yavin reached in with the stick, jerking back when Arion grabbed for it, too late. Arion held on as before, drawing it in slowly and kicking the tray out. "They aren't stupid, even if they are rough. They'll know it's not your fault, okay?"

Yavin released it finally, not having any choice, and stood staring, frowning. He picked up the tray then and ran off. "Sorry. Go tell the big bullies that a little bully stole your stick. Let them get mad at me for you."

He sat down with his new acquisition and looked it over. It was solid, sturdy plastic, about five feet long. Gray. There wouldn't be much room to use it inside the cell here, but it was better than nothing. Of course, they could still stand outside the room and shoot him, but they would have a fight if they tried to take him anywhere.

He sighed. Now you're fighting to stay in? he asked himself. I thought you wanted out? He waited expectantly for awhile, thinking they would come to do something about his theft. When nobody came, he decided to take a nap.

He woke with no idea how long he had slept, or what time it might be. The room was dimly lit by an overhead panel that never went out. Aboard the Hammerstar there were, of course, no days and nights, but life was scheduled, and one had the illusion.

After the long flight, two planets, and bouts of unconsciousness, he was completely disoriented. Constantly hungry, he wasn't even sure how long it had been between Yavin's visits. Other than Yavin, he could see and hear nothing beyond his little room, and he felt as if he were in limbo.

He looked at his stick again, pleased to have it, but still unconvinced that it could be of any help. He looked at the doorway. The stick would have far more purpose if he could just get through that doorway. If only he could tell whether it was really on or not...

He smiled. Maybe he could. He stood up and took his jacket off, hanging it on the end of the stick. Holding it out, he pushed the jacket into the doorway. Static sparks danced along the zipper, miniature arcs from zipper tooth to zipper tooth. He pulled it back in.

Yavin had seemed to know, but at least now he had proof, even if it didn't help. No, it did help, he corrected. It helped because it settled the question for him. One less irritation. He practiced with the stick then, testing what moves he could make within his limited space, fighting off invisible venators.

And time passed. He sat, meditating to calm himself. He paced, venting his tension. He exercised and he practiced, gamely denying that he was cornered and helpless.

And he waited.

He hung his jacket in the doorway just to watch the sparks dance. He whacked the edges, to see if he could do anything spectacular like ruin whatever made it work. But no one came. He slept.

The fighting had lasted only a short time before Arion saw the break. He shot through the hole to the surface of the planet, the reflection of his Starphire racing across the dark green of the glossy rooftops as he approached the carrier. He punched his laser and rolled. "Blast!" he growled as the shot dug into the ground, short. He had to disable that carrier!

He banked around. The new angle was not as good, but he was unwilling to give them the same shot twice. Then he smiled. "Watch this," he whispered. As the laser tracked toward his Namid, he tipped up his nose and climbed. The laser followed. He ducked under, punched his laser, and rolled. "Yes!" he crowed as the carrier lurched, her landing gear crumpling beneath her.

The laser lurched with her, like a spasm, and Arion's heart grabbed as the laser burned through his wing, a slicing gash from midpoint to back. Struggling for control, he guided the Namid towards the lake where she bellied down as gracefully as a swan - and promptly began to sink. He bailed out and began swimming for shore.

Several yards short of the bank, he was met by one of the venators from the carrier. He dove under and circled around it, trying to reach land. He gained yardage, but the venator intercepted him. It grabbed Arion by his jacket collar, lifted him, and smiled.

For an eternal second, he stared back at it, caught by the horror of the smile, by the sheer hatred in the brilliant yellow eyes... It shoved him under. Arion twisted, rolling over and over, breaking the grip. He came up, lunging, fingers seeking the yellow eyes. A useless scratch beside the eye, and he was shoved down again.

Beneath the water, he attacked its middle, striking for the elusive yet often fatally sensitive organ, but the water slowed his movements and the venator avoided him easily. And so the contest went : while Arion fought for a way to effectively injure it, the venator sought merely to keep his head under water.

It was larger, stronger, and standing on its feet. More and more of Arion's energy was required just to break the surface for a gulp of air; less and less was available for anything else. Slowly, inexorably, it was winning.

The venator embraced him then, arm around his neck, drawing him tight against its side in a headlock. Secured beneath the water, his fear edged toward panic. He bit, but the jacket was thick and unfeeling.

He was being towed. He tangled its legs with his own, trying to trip it - no good! His feet dragged on the bottom, and he kicked down mightily, hauling on its jacket, forcing his head above the water. He gasped desperately, but the hold was so tight he could scarcely get any air, and he was quickly pulled back under.

He strained against the arm, pulling franticly at the waterlogged jacket it wore, then played possum... This gave him one more breath, but nothing else. He tried again, but this time there was no loosening of the grip. He writhed, weakly now, and knew that he had lost. He was drowning.

Arion started awake, gasping for air...

He could breathe, but the barren, melted walls brought no comfort for his fear. Trembling, he sagged, resting his head within his arms. No villager could intervene for him this time.

Slowly he calmed, his mind focusing on the insistent complaint of his belly. Had Yavin come and gone while he was sleeping? No, he would have heard. Maybe he would be starved for taking the stick.

But why wouldn't the venators come? Maybe they don't care if you have a lousy stick. Maybe that homologist wants to see how long it takes you to get out of here. An IQ test.

Yavin came at last, carrying a tray of food, no stick. He stood, looking at the stick in Arion's hands. "Set it down and I'll get it myself," suggested Arion, patting the floor. Yavin remained oblivious to him, his eyes on the stick. He turned then and set the tray down - against the far wall of the hallway. He came close to the doorway and held his hand out, eyes on the stick.

Arion laughed softly. "Ah, Arion, my boy," he said aloud, "you're in pretty sad shape." He sighed then. He didn't want to give up his stick, if for no other reason than it gave him something to do. The boredom of the room, (while waiting to be taken and eaten), was worse than he would have imagined. He was hungry though, and thirsty, and he obviously wouldn't be allowed to eat until he gave it up. He hesitated...

Yavin picked up the tray and started to leave. "Wait!" called Arion, tossing the stick out. He was angry now, though not with the boy.

He hung back, sullen, while Yavin pushed the tray in. With a sigh, he sat down to chunked Hereford meat, tubers, biscuits, and a fruit. He took his water and poured a small amount into the palm of his hand, washing his face with it. More gesture than effect, he nevertheless felt better for it.

He lingered over the food, delaying Yavin. He moved about, smiling, waving, trying again to make eye contact, to receive some sign that he was being noticed... Nothing. He finished his food in silence again, discouraged. When it was gone he brought the tray within reach.

Maybe he could keep the stick until next time. Yavin pushed it in and Arion grabbed for it, jumping back in shock as Yavin smacked him hard, then stabbed at him with the stick. The eye contact he had longed for was finally made, but the irritation in Yavin's eyes was surprisingly demeaning.

Arion sat down against the wall, rubbing his arm and chiding himself. He had asked for it. He wondered if the venats had punished Yavin after all. He had decided they wouldn't, but what did he know? Depressed and angry with himself, he curled up and slept, shutting out his predicament in oblivion.