Grey Eagle - Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Arion woke slowly, fighting against consciousness... It was the headache, the stupid, blasted headache, forcing him awake. He rolled over and sighed audibly, aching. He opened his eyes, then closed them again. What use with nothing to look at? They opened once more and he sat up, relinquishing the last vestiges of oblivion.

That venat had been there, he suddenly realized, but he couldn't remember it leaving... They had talked... And he had let his guard down. The memory loss troubled him deeply, and he'd felt this same pain before without knowing why. They were doing something to him, but he seemed helpless to stop it.

Stupid, bloody venat. To enjoy the company of a venator was unthinkable, but so totally starved for diversion, he had enjoyed its presence very much. Well enjoy your aches now, he thought bitterly. You earned them.

He had never before heard of venators keeping anyone alive. The notion that he would be kept in here indefinitely terrified him. He remembered that much at least. What were they trying to learn? He couldn't, mustn't let them win. He might be beyond hope, but that didn't mean other humans were beyond hurt. If this homologist character wanted to study him, it was his job to keep it from learning anything.

When at last the homologist came, Arion mustered all the hate he could find, shielding himself from his own loneliness.

"Hey there," it said pleasantly.

"Drop dead."

"Whoa, where's the friendly guy that was here yesterday?"

"Dropped dead."

It smiled. "That's a shame."

Arion looked at him, resisting the playful repartee. He mustn't. He couldn't afford it. "Cut the act, Sharsa," he said, spitting its name like an insult. "What do you want with me?"

"I told you yesterday," it said mildly, bringing the tray over to him. Arion tensed. "Take it easy," it said then, one ear tilting back in concern. "I told you before, no one's going to hurt you. What's bothering you?"

Arion snorted in disgust. "That's what you said yesterday. I do remember that much at least."

Its confusion melted with a nod. "The doorway. How much do you remember?"

"I remember you were in here with me," he growled.

"Fair enough, but take the tray already and I'll explain."

Arion took it, glancing down at the food. Same old story. The venat sat down against the wall and Arion chose the opposite wall. He washed his face as usual, then began eating.

"We had a good talk yesterday," said Sharsa pleasantly. "You told me about the names for your god, and what they mean. You told me where your spirit goes, and how you don't know what it will be like there. When I left, you tried to come out with me. You mustn't do that. The doorway doesn't affect us, so we don't turn it off to come and go."

"Doesn't affect you? What kind of crud is that?"

"You don't believe me."

"No. I don't."

"You had creatures on your native planet that could generate electricity, protecting them from predators. We did also, even more powerful ones, but we are resistant to it. This allowed us to hunt them. The doorway is designed to be low enough not to hurt us. Sensible?"

"Any good lie sounds sensible."

Sharsa sighed. "Okay, I know. Let me have your jacket." Arion handed it to him. It took the jacket and stood in the doorway. Static sparks danced along the zipper, but Sharsa stood there, untouched.

"When I went through, I guess you assumed it was off, but it wasn't." He stepped back inside, handing the jacket back. "I'm sorry I didn't think to warn you. Some things you learn to take for granted."

Arion stared, wondering if they had it turned down. "How come I can't remember it?" he asked suspiciously.

"That's because of the shock. It causes a low grade amnesia, immediately surrounding the shock, but it should return with time."

Arion fingered the zipper, noting its heat. "How can you do that?"

Its head cocked to one side, curious. "You're a fighter. You know what spot to attack, that organ we guard more closely than a man guards his groin. You people never figured out its purpose?"

Grudgingly, he allowed the memory of his drowning to return. He remembered the venator, its yellow eyes, and how hard he had struggled to land a blow to its middle, angled slightly upwards into what would be a man's solar plexus. A poor, glancing blow would have stopped it cold, stunning it, while a good, solid shot would have resulted in a screaming, writhing death in which the oblivion of convulsions and death were a mercy. "No," he said, answering the question.

"That organ is what allows us to absorb the electricity. Almost the entire nervous system is channeled through it. The organ stores the excess and trickles the charge out slowly, distributing it throughout the body. The tingle you feel in your hand when you get a light shock, from, say, a stock fence, I feel all over my body. There are some exceptions, like the lungs.

"The organ is filled with an acid which stores the electricity in much the same manner as a battery, until it can be safely dispersed. Where you cease to feel the tingle as soon as contact is cut, I can still feel it from standing in the doorway just now." He held out his hands as if Arion could see what he felt. "Not painful, but I can still feel it.

"The organ is highly sensitive, and any attack is painful to that area, but it is a shock to the nervous system from the organ which stuns us. If the organ is ruptured, the acid leaks out and destroys the surrounding tissues, most notably the nervous system itself. This is what kills. Sometimes quickly, like an explosion, sometimes more slowly, with convulsions and paralysis. It all depends on how badly ruptured it is, and where the rupture itself is located."

Arion barely heard him, struggling against a sudden, overwhelming depression. "It never gets turned off?" he asked softly.

"Only when we want to take humans in or out."

Arion was silent for a moment, trying to assimilate the information. "How long before you're done with me?"

"I just want a chance to talk with you, Arion. They insisted on the security of this room, but with a little time, I'm sure we can do away with it."

"Then what?"

"We'll see when we get there."

He gave a short, hard laugh and smiled bitterly. "Wonderful."

"Arion, it's not so bad as you think. I just want to talk."

"And what if I don't want to talk to you? Why should I?"

Sharsa hesitated, looking at him intently. "Because I want to help you."

"Right. You beat the stuffing out of me for answers you know I can't give, pump drugs into me, and lock me up in here, all because you want to help me!"

"I didn't say they wanted to help you," said Sharsa softly. "I said I did." The same, intense look.

More lies. "Why?"

Sharsa smiled then. "This isn't your typical base here. Please be patient with me. Before you can understand why, there are other things..."

"What other things?"

"I am very limited right now. Please be patient. But I do want to help you."

Arion was silent, trying to think... "That other guy, Deerta. Why didn't he kill me?"

"He got answers he believes in."

"Answers, plural? As in, something other than I don't know where the Arlemagen went? What else?"

He spread his hands helplessly. "Maybe nothing, I don't know. I didn't mean to phrase it that way. You have to remember that I'm not with the Rikshastika. All I know is that they were done with you."

"So why didn't they kill me? If they were done, why didn't they kill me?"

"You're Cedrychad. A Cedrychad isn't easily taken alive, and you're not only alive, you're healthy. Your life isn't to be wasted."

He frowned, proud yet ashamed. "So why did he give me up so easily? If I'm so valuable, why did he give me up? He isn't really done, is he?"

Sharsa looked down, hesitating. "He had better opportunities."

Arion's heart sank. "Like what?"

Both ears went back in its version of a frown. "Let it go, Arion. It won't do you any good."

"Like what?" he repeated coldly.

Sharsa looked at him, then down, sighing hard. "Someone else," he answered softly. "One of the pilots sent to rescue you."

He closed his eyes. "Who?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there."

"You were there when they brought me in," he said bitterly, glaring at him.

"I wasn't there."

"Where is the pilot now?"

"I don't know."

"You were there when they brought me in," he repeated. "I was more of a surprise than this one. You were there with me. Why don't you know anything now?" He was furious, shaking, desperately wanting to attack him, but knowing it was pointless. It wouldn't help Liam. Worse still, for all his grief, his anger frightened him, knowing he was losing control. "What do you want with me?" he demanded softly.

Sharsa shook his head, seemingly unhappy. "Now isn't a good time."

"Good. If you don't think it's a good time, then now is perfect. What are you going to do with me?"

He looked at him, his brown eyes sad, but intense again. "I want to be friends," he said softly.

Arion stared at him, and burst out laughing. He stopped then, feeling hysterical. "You want to be friends. You want to help me and you want to be friends. And to prove it, you lock me in here, tell me my friend has been captured because of me, and then refuse to tell me anything about him. Some friend. Big help. Go kiss a porcupine."

"Would you prefer lies?"

"Being friends isn't a lie? Of all the outrageous... Do you really expect me to believe you?"

"It isn't a lie. And no, I don't expect you to believe me. I said it wasn't a good time. I need to show you, not tell you. I'm trying to show you by being honest."

"Why don't you show me by being helpful? Help me. Let me out. Help my friend. Something."

He shook his head. "I want to help you, but I don't want to get in trouble for you. I'm not Rikshastika, but everything I do is controlled by them. I can be far more helpful if we go carefully. You understand? If I just let you out, they'd stop us both. I'm sorry. I want to help, but you'll simply have to be patient."

Arion was impressed. He was a good liar. He really seemed like he meant it. He was up to something, obviously, but maybe he could use it. "Why do you want to be friends?"

Sharsa smiled, pleased that he was calming down. "That's kind of complicated. I'd really rather save that for later, okay?"

"And in the meantime?"

"I'll try to prove that I want to be friends."

He nodded. This had definite possibilities. "Okay. I want to know who was captured, and I want to know where he is."

Sharsa smiled and lifted his 'eyebrows' for a decidedly human expression. "I'll try. Anything else?"

"Yeah. I want out."

"I'll work on it, but like I said, it'll take some doing."

He smiled. Golden carrots... "So what now?"

"Well, right now I have to go. I'll see what I can find out." Arion stood with him, disappointed, but still unwilling to let it show. When he was gone, he sat again, laying his head in his arms. He still felt lousy, still had a headache. But somewhere around here was another pilot, quite possibly Liam. If he was still alive. If he could find him... If he could get out... If.

More than likely, if he was still alive, the venats would try to play them off of each other. Maybe that's what Sharsa was setting him up for. His thoughts buzzed, bouncing off the walls, breaking and scattering...

The venators were well aware of it however, and would have none of it. Instead of following, they hung back, placing shots. The Peregrines dodged with agonizing slowness, followed by complicated counter moves just to maintain position. As if on ice without ice skates, straightfoward motion was fast and simple, but turns were hard to direct and difficult to control.

A shot here, another there, near misses traveling on into emptiness. A hit - and one of the venators lost control. Drawn in by gravity, grinding against the atmosphere, the ship burst into a flare of sparks like magician's flash paper. A whoop of victory ringing in the silence, and the dance continued.

Then, a thud, and Arion knew he had been grazed. Blast! His stomach knotted as he wondered how much damage had been done. He still had control, but he seemed to be losing power. Cautiously, he allowed the venator to move in on him, playing decoy.

Soren knew the skit well. He succeeded in his role, and destroyed the fighter. There was no whoop of victory this time as they immediately began the task of assessing Arion's damage. "What can you see?"

"It went in just behind the tragen port," Soren said levelly.

"Went in?" Arion's voice was incredulous. "What are they shooting with? If it went in, I shouldn't even be here!"

"Well it went in anyway. Tidy little hole the size of your fist. Looks like it may have come in near the diapol housing."

"Probably hit it," Arion said gloomily. "I'm losing power. How do my solar shields look?"

"They're fine. All you have out here is that little hole. But you'd probably be safer on the ground. We're too far out. They'll catch up to you."

"I know," he answered, already moving into the atmosphere. "Gonna use 'em for drag. I'm losing power too fast. Won't have enough power to get down with, so I need something to help me slow down... Save all the power I can for.. for brakes, and... Blast!" His voice was tight.

Soren said nothing, watching helplessly as the severity of his predicament sank in. The Peregrine slid like a bobsled, picking up speed. "Arion, you're moving too fast. The shields won't give drag, they'll just tear off. Can you slow down at all?"

"Soon. Soon. Gotta conserve power. A bit of brakes, then the shields..."

"You're the expert on crashing."

Arion laughed slightly in spite of himself. "I told you before. I'm not crashing. I've been shot down. Again! There is a difference!" They were silent then as the heat of descent disrupted communication. Arion studied the analysis readout, trying to judge how much longer the power would last.

"Okay dear heart," he whispered, "let's slow down a little." He flipped brake switches one by one, pausing between each. Little by little, she slowed, the power dropping alarmingly with each one. Below him, the surface hid beneath a hazy blanket of white.

"Looking good hot shot," said Soren from above, his voice fuzzy with static, but audible now.

"Naturally," said Arion with a weak smile. "Okay. Here goes nothing..." He keyed the solar shields and held his breath. Designed for deep space, their bulk had the initial effect of a parachute, and the Peregrine jerked like a puppet on strings. Arion was thrown to one side, hitting hard within the confines of the cockpit.

One of the shields broke free, jolting the ship again. She began to wallow side to side, and Arion fought to steady her before she flipped. After several eternal seconds she stabilized. The remaining shields held.

It was then that he discovered that the landing gear would not come down. He keyed them again. The analysis readout flickered: RETRACT SOLAR SHIELDS. Crud! "Yehiel..." he said aloud.

"What is it?"

"Trees. Whole blasted forest!" He threw the remaining brake switches. Creation became a chaos of noise, jolts, and flashing branches...

"...Arion! Arion!" Soren's voice was far away... "Arion! Hang in there buddy, I'm coming down."

This last chased the remaining cobwebs out of his head. "It's okay, Soren. I.. I'm okay."

"...You sure?"

He laughed weakly. "Uh, yeah. Shook my marbles pretty good there, but yeah. I'm okay."

"How's the Peregrine?"

He sighed. "Seems she's one falcon that doesn't like trees. You'll have to go back and send me something to ride home in."

"Really, Arion," chided Soren, smiling. "You'd better quit smashing ships or the Ealdred's going to put you on ground crew!"

"A hot pilot like me? Nah. But Brian might!"

Soren chuckled. "That's Brian's Malise? Oh brother, are you going to get it! ...Well, if you're that stuck, I'd better go now. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed, wishing they had their Starphires and feeling less fortunate than he knew he was. In the Starphire, Soren could have taken him along. "I'll set charges here and get a move on."

"All right. Walk with God, my friend."

"I'll do that," he answered, smiling. "And you fly with Him!" He heard static then and knew that Soren had left...

Arion sighed, feeling again the poignancy of that parting. How many times had he played that through his mind? But he was not alone now - not really. He wondered who the other pilot was. Cedrychad, or Fadeydushka? Male or female? Not that it mattered.

Liam was a Cedrychad, he thought, his mind pursuing the question anyway. Had he flown solo, or as escort?

Sharsa had said "one of the pilots sent," plural, which meant there had been a Valerian. And that meant the downed pilot could be a Fadey. Or Liam's wingmate, Rachel. But his mind continued to place Liam in the cell.

His stomach rumbled. Was it the next day yet, or somewhere in between? If Sharsa wanted to be friends, he could start by bringing him more to eat. Only that wouldn't matter soon.

Soon. Nothing in here was ever soon.

He sighed then, knowing that his hopes were unrealistic, but desperately wanting him to be alive, to escape together... Whatever happened, it would be easier to face together. But how? Knowing where he was wouldn't be enough. He had to be able to reach him. Sharsa? He was obviously lying, but he might be manipulated...

He sighed and stood up, pacing. The big problem was the door. They were right about keeping him in here; it was secure, no doubt about that. But nothing's impossible. Where there's life, there's hope. You never know, and don't you forget it.

He started to sit, changed his mind and continued pacing. When was Sharsa going to come? And what was he up to? There wasn't room to pace and he sat, hiding his face in his arms. He felt horribly unstable and rocked back and forth in agitation, holding onto himself.

Time passed, more slowly than ever, and when he finally heard Sharsa's footsteps coming, he rose quickly, pacing in front of the door in his eagerness. He pictured himself, what he must look like, and stopped.

"Hey," said Sharsa. He looked unhappy.

Arion looked at him, searching his eyes. "Where is he?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Arion..."

"Where is he?" His voice was flat.

"I'm sorry, Arion. He's dead."

He said nothing at first, because nothing mattered now. He was alone again. The thought struck him as unforgivably selfish, so he asked softly, "Who was it?"

"I'm not sure. They said it was something like Leon, but nobody really paid attention. He was pretty far gone to begin with. I'm sorry."

He nodded, staring at the buttons on Sharsa's coat. Liam. They were gold buttons, with silver centers. Round.

"You should eat," said Sharsa, holding the tray out.

Arion took it. Tubers. Chunked Hereford. A fruit. Two biscuits. Water. He sat down and sipped the water, clinging to basics. "Raach said the food was better here."

"Than on Lenis? It is."

He sighed and shook his head. "Something's better than nothing, right?"

"What sort of things did you like to do back home?"

"What? Oh..." He hesitated, his mind stumbling between two trains of thought. He's either dense, or he doesn't care. "Had my own little gremlin," he said quietly, pulling a biscuit apart. "The Delphineus. Used to take her out on the ocean, find a nice spot and settle her down. She wasn't big, but she did just fine..."

"A gremlin?"

"Private craft. A ground effect machine. She could go anyplace that was relatively level, but she was more at home on the ocean. Wide open and peaceful..."

"Not much in the way of wide open space on a Hammerstar."

"Noisy," he answered, concurring. "Ag deck was nice though. It has trees and canals, and if you don't look too far, you can pretend... The Starphire was good. Out in open space, and it goes on forever. My little Namid..." His voice trailed off.

The Namid was now at the bottom of a lake. Soren had teased, blaming him for relegating them to scouting duty... Sharsa's hands were large and powerful, the fine, feathered hair/fur a rich brown-black brindle against gray skin beneath. Sharsa's claws looked blunted, but he had seen dead ones whose claws were quite sharp...

"...at least not right away. What would you like most? Besides out, I mean."

Arion looked up at his face. "You mean what else do humans hate to be deprived of?"

"No. What could I do to make you feel better? What can I give you to cheer you up?"

Arion sighed, knowing what he really wanted. Unable to resist, he said, "A shower."

"Mmm. A shower would be hard. Would you settle for a bath? That would be much easier to arrange."

"Sure," he answered blandly, nodding slightly. Another golden carrot. Are you going to jerk this one out of reach too? Did you know he was dead when you told me yesterday? "A bath would be fine," he said, not wanting to spoil it if it was real, feeling callous and selfish in the face of Liam's death.

"A hot bath it is then. I'll arrange for it as soon as we're done here. I'll probably have it for you sometime tomorrow."

Arion nodded, unconvinced. Feeling numb and distant, it didn't seem to matter. It wasn't real. "That'd be fine."

"Arion, are you going to be all right?"

He laughed softly at that, scornful. "Gee, I don't know. But somehow, in the long run, I kind of doubt it."

"I don't want to hurt you."

The stitching in Sharsa's coat was not the same shade of brown as the cloth. Almost, but not quite... He sighed. "A bath would be nice."

"I'll get you some clean clothes too."

"And a razor, so I can shave." His eyes had not moved, his inflection had not changed, but something within him had taken notice. "The regular kind. I don't like energy shavers."

"Mm, I don't know. I don't think I can do that."

He shrugged. "You're the one who wants to be friends."

"Yes, I do. And I would give you a razor, but I'm not the only one involved here. I have rights to you, but I can't just do whatever I want. It's not like I own you. I have conditions to meet."

"Doesn't matter," Arion said, looking up. "It'll never happen anyway. How long did they give you to make friends with me?"

"That's open. You know, if you promised not to use the razor for anything but shaving, I might be able to convince them. Your word. A Cedrychad's promise is known to be very reliable."

Arion looked down at his food and laughed sourly. "What are they afraid of? I'll slit your throat and make a bold getaway? Killing you wouldn't turn that blasted doorway off."

"True, but you might find it worthwhile for the sake of vengeance."

He acknowledged the thought with his eyebrows, then shook his head. That's what you're afraid of. "Nice idea," he said, smiling slightly, "but I'm too much of a coward. I wouldn't mind making you guys angry, but I don't' really want to stick around afterwards. I'm in enough trouble already."

"Then will you promise?"

"As if it would make a difference."

"Will you promise?"

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess so," he said, surrendering. It was no worse than not having one.

"Good. Now I ought to be able to swing it."

Arion looked up at him, frustrated, angry with himself yet again. It was so bloody satisfied. It was drawing him out, and there would never even be any stupid bath. Dirty, bloody, blasted venat. And yet he didn't want to say it aloud because then he might leave. This made him angrier still. "Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?"

"It's kind of hard to be friends with a dead person."

"Easier than what you're trying to do."

Sharsa sighed, one ear betraying his frustration. "Maybe so, but I'm a stubborn sort, or I never would have been able to save your life in the first place." He stood and picked up the tray though Arion hadn't finished. So much for delaying him. "I'll be back tomorrow. With a bath."

Arion watched him go, his emotions caught as before between his anger and his lonely boredom. Scylla and Charybdis. To be friendly was to give in, to be hateful was to be left alone. And he was so very much alone, beyond help, beyond knowledge, beyond understanding. He put his head down in his arms, tired and chagrined. He was supposed to be a Cedrychad - well trained, brave, and faithful to the death.

He was willing to die, he thought defensively, but no one had ever taught him how to survive. It was an odd thought, and he gave a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. No one had taught him to survive. No one had taught him about being a prisoner. What need was there? Venators didn't keep prisoners, they just ate people. If you got caught, it was all over. Everyone knew that.

He could fly all right, too. Walking away from Brian's peregrine was a feat to be proud of, but no one had warned him about solitude or monotony.

So what was so hard about sitting and waiting, anyway? As Sharsa so constantly insisted, no one was hurting him. He lifted his head and gazed about at the blank walls, the melted corners, the soft panel of light that never went out... He was supposed to be a Cedrychad, but he felt shamefully inadequate.