Grey Eagle - Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Arion was cold. He curled into a ball, trying to sleep, but he was chilled and it was keeping him awake. And he was thirsty. Blast you, Sharsa. Please bring water today... He wouldn't be able to let himself die of thirst. The question was, would Sharsa be willing to force the issue?

Other than that, though, it had been easier than he had expected. A nagging voice in the back of his mind, condemning him as a quitter, but other than that... He was even beginning to feel comfortable, floating in a sleepy netherworld of acceptance. It seemed somehow fitting that he melt into nothingness like the corners that were not there...

His attention rose sluggishly from its bog as he heard approaching footsteps and arguing. He could hear Sharsa's voice, angry and insistent. The answering voice was flat and cold...

Arion rose, swaying. He leaned against the wall to steady himself, his head buzzing. He felt unwilling, incapable of dealing with whatever was coming, but it didn't seem he would have a choice. He tried to organize his thoughts, to pick out what they were saying, but it was hard...

Sharsa stepped into the doorway, blocking it, still arguing.

Arion's attention was promptly taken by the other two, venators in every sense of the word. One of them looked at Arion and snorted with disgust, while the other answered Sharsa in cold, level tones. "Move out of the way, kypatka. He was never yours."

Sharsa sagged, angry but surrendering. "Let me explain to him. At least that." The venator nodded, annoyed.

"The project has been canceled," said Sharsa, switching to Homonic as he turned to face Arion, his voice strained and formal. "It has been deemed a failure. You are to be removed and.. sold at auction. The Rikshastika feels they must obtain whatever remaining good is available before you expire. I... I am truly sorry."

"Let's keep the meat fresh," he answered with a weak smile. Sharsa looked pained, and Arion felt strangely pleased as he decided that Sharsa really did care. As for a pet, most likely, but he did care. "Is the door off?" he asked quietly as the venators came in and bound his wrists in front of him.

"Yes." He hesitated, helpless and troubled. "Arion, I'm sorry..."

"Not your fault. At least I'm getting -" He broke off as they grasped him by the arms and took him out of the room.

The hall seemed a dreamscape - stark, vivid, alien and unreal. As they walked, he was unpleasantly reminded of the classic nightmare of running in slow motion for a door that could never quite be reached. In this scenario, however, they reached the door, only to enter another hallway.

His breath caught as they finally went out the front door. Brilliant, dazzling, the light hurt his eyes. For several moments he could not see at all, and then only with difficulty. But there were no walls. Space, trees, buildings and brightness...

He was not a part of this world anymore, and it broke his heart. He looked about, mourning, and met Sharsa's eyes. He understood. How could he understand so much and be so blind to the impossibility of what he had wanted to do?

He was taken to a hovercraft and pushed into the back seat. Sharsa spoke to the venators, who nodded, and he climbed in beside Arion. He was glad, but in a vacant sort of way. He struggled not to care, not to be interested, but there was so much. Even the inside of the craft was rich in details...

The ride was short and they unloaded him next to a large plaza, attaching a short leash to the binding on his wrists. He saw other humans, boxes and crates, livestock. Noises and movements surrounded him, distracting, startling.

Finally outside, he had neither the strength nor the composure for an escape even if the chance came. Venators were everywhere, and he felt overwhelmed and exposed. "Ssh, Arion," said Sharsa softly. "It's okay. Calm down."

He cursed himself silently. Was he that obvious? The two venators stopped to speak with a third, but as Arion stood there his vision went dark...

He woke in the shade, lying on his side. Sharsa lifted him gently and gave him a drink of water. He had actually forgotten his thirst in the rush of events, but the water now was sweeter and fresher than any he'd had in the marshmallow room. After a bit he sat up, leaning against a crate, and had another drink.

He noticed then that one of his escort had disappeared, but it returned shortly, speaking to the other and pointing at him.

"He's arranged to have you sold first," explained Sharsa, noting his interest.

"How thoughtful," said Arion wryly. He had understood well enough, and knew it was simply to unload him before he got any worse.

Time seemed to rush by now, but it couldn't have been long before the two dragged him to his feet and led him to the center of the plaza. They stood on either side of him as various others wandered up. He saw no auctioneer, the interested parties asking questions and making offers as they saw fit. Sharsa spoke softly to one of the escort, but it made no response. "I'll buy you if I can," Sharsa explained, "but I probably can't afford to." Arion didn't answer.

A striking black venator walked up and smiled. "Hello, Sharsa," he said in Homonic. "Hello, Cedrychad. Remember me?" It was Raach.

"Hello, pyon. I remember."

"What do you want?" asked Sharsa, his ears low and his voice bitterly annoyed.

"Why, the Cedrychad of course. He doesn't seem to be worth much anymore though." He began looking Arion over critically, asking questions of the escort. He argued calmly, aloof and unconcerned.

Arion didn't even try to follow the words; he was too busy trying not to pass out again...

Raach turned to Sharsa then. "You may make your offer now," he told him, "but whatever it is, I will top it. You are far too cruel to be allowed possession." He winked at Arion.

Sharsa said something in Venatese, his tone vicious. Arion struggled to pay attention, to understand...

The smile faded from Raach's face. "It's my turn now, Sharsa," he responded darkly, in Venatese. "So stubborn you would let him die, but I will make him live." He grabbed Arion by the collar, shaking him as he spoke. "I own him now, Sharsa. I can do anything I want. Anything at all." He released him and turned to pay the escort.

Arion stared at the ground, at the small plants and a tiny insect-like creature. He couldn't look at Sharsa, not now. He couldn't bear his helpless pity.

Raach took his leash and led him to an open air hovercraft. He guided him into the back seat and tied his lead to the inside of the craft. "You belong to me now. I will feed you and you will eat." He spoke quietly, stating facts that could have meant nothing. "If you refuse to eat, I will put a tube down your throat and feed you anyway." He turned and climbed in.

They traveled in silence. Weak and shaking, Arion sank down on the back seat and slept, oblivious to the warm wind, not waking until the hovercraft stopped. He sat up awkwardly as Raach pulled on his lead, his head foggy. Climbing out, he saw that he was inside, the hangette dim and cluttered.

Within the house it was somewhat brighter and he looked about, still dazzled by the new sights and smells, but comforted by the quiet of the house. It seemed to have a circular design, with two hallways leading off and around from the room where they entered, like the rim of a wheel.

He wondered briefly, what would be at the hub? Overhead panels of light softly lit the hallway, while the slightly brighter light of the front room went out independently as they left.

The house had the same blank walls, melted corners, and doorways with no doors. No windows. The rooms, however, were far from empty. The floors were covered with various furs, overlapping each other to form a solid carpet, except in the hallways.

Piles of cushions were the rule, but he also saw several heavy overstuffed chairs, and once, a videcom. One especially small room held nothing but a large quantity of furs; another larger room was dominated by a workbench cluttered with the makings of some unknown project, and beyond it sat another armchair. Everything was clean. Though the house was quite large, he didn't see anyone else.

Raach brought him into a room, the light coming on by itself. It was a large room with a bare floor, noticeably emptier than the others, but not barren. The center of the room was completely open, but to the immediate right of the doorway was a workbench, and beyond it, an armchair.

On the workbench sat an odd looking tool, and a coiled length of rope. Farther back from the door to the left sat a small, round table and a lightweight, straight-backed chair. Beyond these, lengthwise along the wall, was a mattress, with sheets, blanket, and a pillow. Past the foot of the bed, the wall curved around, and in the middle of the curve was a curtained doorway. Sitting on the bed was a white cloth bag.

Raach paused, allowing him to take it in, then brought him to the workbench and looped the cord around his neck. With the tool, he clamped the end of the loop, fusing the loop into a permanent collar.

Leading Arion, he took the other end of the cord to an eye hook in the wall, centered above the bed, fastening it in the same way. He returned the tool to the workbench, which Arion could no longer reach, then came and untied his hands.

Raach faced him. "Sharsa would let you die, trying to tame you. I will kill you, but you will die a Cedrychad."

"I thought you wanted to make me like Ky," he answered coldly.

Raach's ears twitched back, his eyes narrowing momentarily. "No," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Damats must be raised. I thought you understood that."

"Sure. But that's not what you told me when we met. 'We have a new drug,' you said." Arion spoke scornfully, at once accusing and contemptuous.

He nodded. "Yes. A new drug, which you have sampled, but I said nothing of Ky. The deception was of your own making." He turned and walked out.

Arion watched him go, disturbed. He took a deep breath, cleansing, releasing the unknown, and faced the room. If his new host was less pleasant than his old one, his new home was considerably more so. He started to explore, beginning with the curtained doorway.

Inside was a complete bathroom with commode, sink, mirror, and -God bless it! - a tub and shower. A towel hung on a hook, and beneath it sat a clean set of clothes. On the side of the sink he found a razor, a toothbrush, and a bar of soap. He laughed softly. The amenities he had longed for were his, but he was too shaky to use them.

He came out and found a meal sitting on his table. Soup, juice, water and toast. He smiled, relieved to see something light, and especially pleased to see no tubers. He ate, enjoying it immensely, though it soon became an effort, his energy gone.

He lay down on the bed, spent and trembling. He snuggled his face against the pillow, stretched comfortably on the mattress and pulled the blanket over his shoulder, luxurious despite his fatigue. He was asleep in moments, never hearing the soft, bare footsteps as a young girl came and took the dirty dishes away.

He woke slowly, first becoming aware of the blanket... Then the pillow. Gingerly, his mind sampled the information, sleepily trying to assess the meaning... He opened his eyes to find it real, but the tiny newborn hope was quietly crushed as he remembered where he was.

He lay still, his eyes traveling about the room, wondering again what Raach's plans were, and wondering why Sharsa couldn't have given him this if Raach could. Lies, but the thought somehow disturbed him, disappointing...

His eyes rested on the white cloth bag. He had moved it without looking, too tired. He stared at it, savoring his curiosity, the ability to look when he chose.

A young girl came in, carrying a tray of food. Again so soon? Or had he slept that long? In any case, he welcomed it, and rose to eat. She left without so much as looking at him. Damat. Still, she had a lightness about her that Arion found refreshing, or maybe it was just him. Somehow she just seemed, well, lighter.

He smiled, laughing to himself. Perhaps it was her blonde hair, or the hazel eyes that seemed to wish they were green. Or maybe it was the yellow outfit, (otherwise identical to his own).

His meal consisted of juice, soup, (but a different kind), toast, and a hot cup of coffee. He sipped the coffee, but was disappointed. It was something else, with a strange flavor. After a few more sips, however, he decided it was good too, so long as you weren't expecting coffee.

His meal finished, he lay down again to digest it. He eyed the white cloth bag... But no, he would save it just a little while longer, until after he had showered. The girl came to fetch the dirty dishes and left.

He dozed lightly for a time, then rose and went into the bathroom. He turned on the water and started to strip, only to be brought up short by the leash. The shirt Sharsa had given him was a pullover; how was he to get it past the leash?

He didn't want to wait for Raach to come back, and he was leery of trying to call for him. He really didn't want him around anyway. Even if Raach removed the leash, he had no strength to take advantage of it.

He sighed, and considered the problem again. In the end, he found that he could get the shirt off by slipping his arms out first, then working the shirt through the collar bit by bit, and finally off of his head. It was an uncomfortable, tedious process, but checking the clean shirt, he was reassured to find that it had a zipper, eliminating the problem.

He wondered next about the leash and the shower door, but needn't have bothered. The door was set on hinges, opening freely on one side. Stepping in, he simply slung the leash up, letting it drape over the wall, then shut the door. Though terribly annoying, the leash was long enough that he had ample slack to maneuver.

Warm, wet and wonderful, he quickly forgot the leash for the pleasure of the shower. It was even better than Sharsa's bath. Almost as destructive as the nothingness, it was the stench and itching dirt that now melted away, freeing him from their stifling desolation. He climbed out and toweled briefly, suddenly exhausted. He slipped on the pants and stumbled into bed, trembling...

After a short nap he felt much better, though his condition bothered him. Had he deteriorated that much in the marshmallow room? Dismissing it, he stretched, luxuriating in his new comfort, smiling as he spotted the white bag. He propped himself on one elbow and drew it to him.

His smile widened, almost a laugh as he felt again the joy of curiosity. He hefted it, testing. It wasn't heavy, and seemed to hold several small things... But he was making too much of it for something from a venat. Quite possibly it wouldn't be pleasant at all...

He opened the bag and looked inside. His breath caught and he stared, unbelieving. Raach had given him his own things. No laser, of course, and no radio, but the rest... How had Raach gotten them? He brought them out one by one, long lost treasures, priceless and dear. He frowned slightly, wondering why Raach had given them to him. Did he know how much they would mean to him? Maybe not.

They weren't really that special, except that they were his. His pocket pal and the coin wallet, his comb, the pocket match from the snack-sack, (but not the knife), nail clippers... His insignia ring and his personal wallet. These last two were special, and Raach couldn't help but know it.

He slipped on the ring and gazed at the dancing stars of the sapphire. Raach had said he was to die, but as a Cedrychad. He was returning to him his identity.

A soft, sad laugh as he rubbed his thumb on the ring, fighting back tears. Discovery and loss, gratitude and fear. He wondered again what kind of death Raach planned for him. Was he a sportsman? Possible. Even likely. He tossed his head, angrily shaking the thought away. True or no, he obviously meant for him to recover first, and that meant he had a chance.

He opened the wallet then. His clearance card was gone, but still present were the pictures. Chelsea, Soren and himself, the squadron, his gremlin the Delphineus, and an ocean sunset where his father lived... The tears came then, unstoppable. He curled up on the bed, gathering his lost life within the circle of his body, mourning.