“Free the prisoner.”
Jurub blinked at Eric, his eyes wide and clearly frightened, his expressive skin turning pale and transparent with agitation.
“My Lord…” The alien began, his words stopping when he had to visibly swallow before continuing. “My Lord, I humbly ask you to reconsider.”
“Why?” Eric forced an edge into his tone, his face hard and set.
“This prisoner… Lor… Nurixan always said he was dangerous, sir.”
“Dangerous, how Jurub?” Eric asked again, a growl entering his voice. He hated torture, having been on the receiving end more than once in his long career. He recognized the necessity of employing it to get quick intel during field operations, but he always balked at using it for general information gathering. People subjected to torture would often say what they thought the torturer wanted to hear just to stop the pain, leading to unreliable or worse, erroneous information, which could very likely lead to death and mission failure.
“Nurixan didn’t say Commander,” Jurub said, visibly wilting under Eric’s stony gaze. However, when he spoke again, Eric was pleasantly surprised to find that the System had once again done its translation magic, now allowing him to understand the alien’s words clearly. “All he said was that he would rather invoke the execute protocols on both the ritual and the machine than allow the prisoner to escape… he sounded horrified at the mere thought of that man escaping.”
“We cannot allow such torture to continue, sir,” Serra snarled as she stepped up to stand beside Eric, adding her own angry glare to that which the mercenary was already enduring. “We put the prisoner down if we need to, but we… I will not allow this barbarity to continue!”
“Nor will I, Jakobin,” Eric said firmly, earning a grim-faced nod of approval from Serra, her scars standing out stark white against her dark skin. Eric looked to his two other teammates. “Do you both feel the same way?”
Cid nodded tentatively, metal scraping against metal as he shifted nervously within his bulky battlesuit. “Let’s just be careful about it.”
“And you?” Eric asked Osar.
“We need the man, Jad-Os: That much I know for truth.” Carefully, Osar positioned himself between Eric and the prisoner before materializing his sword and taking a guard stance. “But, as friend Cid said, we do not have to be fools about it.”
“Yeah, let’s not be fools.” Serra mumbled beside him.
Eric tightened his lips in what could be technically described as a smile, looking towards Cid and motioning him to take position to the side where he could get a clear line of fire on the prisoner. As the scientist readied himself Eric turned back to Jurub, before jerking his head towards the torture machine’s controls.
Defeated, the mercenary reluctantly shuffled forward, moving his clawed hands gingerly over the triple orbs and rows of dials and buttons that adorned the top of the control console. His actions elicited several warning tones and bright lights from the machine, Jurub speaking several esoteric phrases that Eric could not make out at certain prompts during the process.
Unexpectedly, halfway through the procedure, Pig suddenly chimed in with a question. “How does he know the deactivation sequences if Nurixan controlled everything aboard the ship?”
Eric shrugged within his armor, thinking quickly before choosing to open the Squad Net.
< Attention team, > He ‘cast, prompting his team members to inadvertently turn to him before they caught themselves. < I’ll keep the ‘Net open between us, just in case. >
Slight nods all around, before everyone turned back to watching as Jurub deactivated the torture machine. After a few minutes, the lanky mercenary finally stepped away from the console, his ears laid back against his head and his breathing strained.
The change in the machine’s activities was gradual.
First the spinning, black and red mandala’s of aetheric script slowed, their randomized assaults on the man’s body decreasing steadily until they stopped completely. Then the aetheric core extractor’s wave-like discharges stopped, the entire assemblage humming into quiescence. Finally, the aetheric mandalas of the ritual hardened, before swirling away into motes of red and black dust that settled into pre-arranged receptacles set at precise intervals all around the ritual circle deeply inscribed into the cell’s deck plates.
With a loud clang that startled everyone and made them flinch, the two glyph-carved and blood-encrusted manacles at the ends of the prisoner’s arms crashed together above his head, magically fusing at the apex to form an inverted Y shape and forcing the man’s arms together before their weight dragged the man’s entire body down and forward from the metal frame to slam onto the blood-slimed and fluid-befouled floor.
Serra instinctively moved forward, only to be stopped by Osar’s horizontally extended sword.
“Wait.” The Urgan growled, eyes glued to the wreckage of meat, blood, and bone that huddled a few paces from his feet.
With a mechanical whine the torture cage’s frame retracted and folded into itself, until it was nothing more than a meter-wide and two-meter tall metallic wall standing unsupported beside an inert control console.
Accompanied by the sound of pained grunts, the popping of joints, and the wet sound of bare meat on meat, the freed prisoner shook his head wearily, spraying blood and pieces of flesh from his head. Eric caught a glimpse of empty, bleeding eye sockets and exposed yellow bones, before the horrendously-injured man laboriously pulled his body into a crouch with his manacled arms beneath him, showing everyone else present the extent of the terrible injuries his body had sustained.
For several minutes the almost flayed prisoner remained on his knees and crouched over his manacled forearms, the confined area of the entire cell resounding with his harsh breaths as he labored to draw in great draughts of air in and out of his lungs like a bellows, while gouts of deep red blood splattered onto the deck plates as they fell from his torn flesh. Then, accompanied by gasps of surprise from everyone except Eric and Jurub, the man’s flesh began to repair itself:
First the exposed and bleeding arteries and veins visible across the ravaged body began to constrict and clots to form, stopping most of the bleeding. Then the largest, deepest wounds began to close, strands of what looked like congealing blood and fluid tissue running in between the tears to bridge and finally close the gaps. New muscle grew and expanded, glistening in the room’s arc-lights. Fresh new skin followed, flowing along the man’s exposed musculature like a creeping, brightly-scaled tide, laying an integumentary cover over everything. Slowly, the prisoner’s harsh breath slowed, and he lifted his head, his newly-reconstructed eyes startlingly green and intense as he glared at the people in front of him.
“Who the fuck are you all?”
“We mean you no harm, Ser,” Osar began, before anyone else could think to reply. Still in his guard stance, his massive sword held ready to the side but the tip pointed at the ground, the Urgan turned his head slightly to the side to glance at his companions before turning back, giving everyone a glimpse of his fraught expression, his lips pulled back from his sharpened teeth in an almost-grimace. “You were being held prisoner in this bounty-hunter’s ship and we freed you.”
Eric, content to let his jadosi take the lead for now, took the time to study the man they had just freed.
The former prisoners face was handsome but distinctly reptilian in shape, with large, wide-set eyes, an elongated snout and powerful triangular-toothed jaws. Delicate, green-black scales covered the entirety of the man’s face, while his hairless scalp was adorned with four longitudinal ridges of tough-looking horn. Curiously, the scales of both his broad shoulders and arms were different from those that covered the majority of his body, with a clear line of demarcation extending from the base of either side of his neck, down across the rippling chest muscles, and cutting down to the level of the first few ribs of his broad torso. The scales of the man’s left side shoulder and entire arm were a bright, almost neon green in color, with bands of green black scales crossing over the upper arms before the rest became hidden beneath the restraining manacles. In contrast, the right shoulder and arm had dull-black scales faintly tinged with maroon the exact shade of dried blood.
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“Huh,” The prisoner grunted, eyes narrowing as he studied the people opposite him. “What do you want for my freedom then?”
“None but your Oath of Parole for now, ser,” Osar replied, tensing a little, although his blade never wavered. Eric paid particular attention to the former prisoner’s stance and the way his muscles moved beneath his scaled skin, trying to gauge the man’s intentions.
< Be ready, just in case, > He subvocalized. < Cid, you got him? >
< Zeroed and primed, sir. > The scientist replied, though he was beyond Eric’s peripheral vision.
Sensing danger, the prisoner straightened, giving everyone an idea of exactly how big he was, towering a full head above even Osar. His eyes flicked over everyone, judging and measuring, before finally coming to rest on the hilt of the Legion knife at Osar’s hip. For the first time since he had been freed, the prisoner’s expression softened a bit.
“You were in the Legions?”
“In the Six-Hundred-Twelfth ser,” Osar replied proudly, clashing his left hand against the armored plates on his thigh.
“Sixth Army,” The prisoner whispered, a gleam of respect in his eye. “I myself served the Seventh.”
“The Seventh?” Osar blurted out, surprise sharpening his voice. “But the Seventh…”
“By the System Infinite do I, Shander of Tarna, hereby give my word to abide by all the terms of reasoned and honorable surrender, foregoing retribution or rebellion, until this solemn Oath is withdrawn or declared void by the actions or inactions of the Principals or their agents thereof as stipulated in the Accords of the Nebuli.”
Osar rocked back, surprised by the man’s outburst, the tip of his sword striking the ground. He quickly recovered however, and said the words that finished the Oath of Parole’s ritual.
“I… I, Osar Baratuu of the Dagyam Urgan Gene-line, take your Oath as Oath-Sworn to Jad-Os Eric Rama of the Obsidian Moon. I swear by the System and under Ifni’s gaze to honor your Parole and extend you peace and mercy, so long as you abide by the tenets of the Oath as put forth in the System Guide.”
As with Ranla the two oath-takers were enveloped by opalescent rays of light. A deep-toned bell sounded, and the now-familiar white window appeared before Osar’s eyes.
Oath of Parole accepted between Osar Baratuu and Shander of Tarna.
Violations of the Oath will result in severe penalties for the Oath Breaker.
< What was that about Osar? > Eric asked as the light of the ritual died down around them.
< The Oath of Parole, Jad-Os. > Osar said, finally allowing himself to relax enough to stow away his sword. The big Urgan was careful to keep his front to the former prisoner, but he elaborated for the Terrans: < The Oath allows a peaceable surrender, guaranteeing a certain degree of treatment for defeated but still valued opponents… The words this Shander used were archaic, but I received the System notification saying it was accepted. >
< And this will ensure he behaves? > Cid asked skeptically.
< On pain of some very unpleasant punishments if he does not. >
“You mumble among yourselves like shu-geks on an orchard raid.” The prisoner growled as he extended his still gauntleted hands towards Osar. “I have given my parole… these bindings are both insulting and unnecessary.”
“Unfortunately,” Eric said, stepping forward. Osar stepped aside for him, and for the first time Eric felt the full brunt of the former prisoner’s glare. “We do not yet know how to open those manacles. I ask you bear with them for a while.”
“And who are you, human?” Shander’s tone was not unpleasant, but it was hard.
“Ser Shander, may I present my Jad-Os Eric Rama, Lord and Commander of the Obsidian Moon, on which this bounty-hunter’s ship is currently grounded.”
Shander’s vivid eyes turned from Osar to Eric and then to the rest of the people in the room, his purple tongue flicking out speculatively as he judged the situation.
“Jad-Os to a Cut-Man eh? And armless to boot.” The scaled man began, before bowing his head slightly towards Eric to forestall any untoward reaction to his words. “I find it unusual for a human to rise so high within the Empire… But perhaps times have changed during my time in the Farthest Reaches: As your Jad-Os, I accord him due honor.”
Eric returned the slight bow precisely as it had been given, making the former prisoner frown a bit. “I am glad we have an understanding Ser Shander…”
“That ring however, is mine.” The former prisoner interrupted, pointing at the rings that Eric had hanging by a cord from his neck with his fused hands, particularly the one that had been pulled from beneath dead Nurixan’s armor. The still naked man’s tone was pleasant enough but his vividly green eyes were very serious and very intent.
Eric gritted his teeth as rage suffused his face with blood, caught by surprise by the strength of the sudden upwelling of anger that he felt. His Blood-Soaked aura flared in response, striking at Shander in angry, inadvertent reflex.
“NO!” Osar shouted, hand held out in alarm, too late to stop the aura strike.
Except Serra was there, her own Blood-Soaked aura slamming into Eric’s, enveloping and suppressing it before it could touch Shander, who had not moved a muscle. She grasped Eric’s shoulder’s and forcefully pulled him away, bodily slamming him onto the wall.
“CAPTAIN!” She shouted in his face. “FOCUS ON ME!”
Eric shook his head, fighting against the rising, roaring red madness that suffused his mind and body. It was strong, very strong, and it was only with great effort that he was able to lock his muscles down and prevent himself from lashing out at the woman who was doing her best to restrain him. It’s a good thing I only have one arm then, isn’t it? The small part of his mind that was still in control wryly commented.
“I can shut down the impulses to your brain, sir.” Pig offered, his voice sounding as if he was speaking from far away. “But it will leave you unconscious.”
Eric felt his core spinning, the aether gathering along his conduits, building to a crescendo that would be sure to cause injuries or worse.
“DO IT!” Eric shouted, the tendons of his neck standing out like cables as he strained against Serra’s grip. Osar rushed in to help, wrapping his armored arms around his Jad. Cid for his part, kept a wary eye on Shander, who had not moved except to incline his head inquisitively as he watched the struggling group.
Then Eric’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut, falling limp into Serra and Osar’s arms. Quickly, Serra slung Eric’s remaining arm across her shoulder and began to walk him out.
Osar turned to Shander, giving the man a quick head bow.
“You are free to walk the entire ship, ser, although I ask you refrain from freeing any prisoners or violating any of the Oath’s strictures.”
“I know the rules of my parole Osar Baratuu,” Shander replied acidly. “Go and tend to your Jad.”
With a grimace that could have been confused for a smile and another head nod, Osar left the room, followed by Jurub and Cid, leaving Shander in possession of the room.
Eric came back to his senses a few minutes later, blinking under the lights over the examination bed where Serra had previously been strapped, with the frog-faced Ranla standing over him.
“Good, awake you are finally.” The savant said irritably, taking two steps back as the Serra and Cid crowded in.
“How is he?” Serra asked Ranla.
“There is nothing wrong with the man,” Ranla announced as she walked off. “You delved him with your own ability did you not? He was unconscious and now he is not.”
Eric propped himself up on one elbow with Cid’s help. “I don’t think that woman likes me at all.”
“What do you expect?” Serra said happily, slapping a hand on Eric’s dark black pauldron. “You threatened to kill her after all, sir.”
“What happened back there?” Cid asked, his brow furrowed with worry.
“The Flaw again,” Eric growled, slamming his fist onto the armored plates covering his thigh. “Pig made me lose consciousness so I wouldn’t cause any harm to anyone.”
“Good job, Pig.” Serra said, but Cid frowned.
“Your AI made you unconscious? They’re not supposed to be able to do that.” Cid touched the back of his right ear with his armored fingers, his thoughts troubled.
“They’ve been changing recently,” Serra contributed, crossing her arms. “Angel has been more… proactive lately. Whatever the System is doing to our bodies is undoubtedly affecting our AI’s too.”
“I have noticed some instances of anomalous behavior, but I put it down to our circumstances…” As he thought on the matter, Cid became more and more concerned: AI’s were closely associated with the tissues of each of their brains and, as any AI technician knew, malfunctions could have dire consequences.
With Serra’s help, Eric swung his legs off the examination table and stood up, just now noticing how crowded the room was, what with everyone except Shander squeezed into the space.
“Glad to see you well, Jad-Os.” Osar greeted him while Jurub whistled his own greeting. Even Luna was present, fully materialized, standing patiently at the doorway, one of her drones hovering by her head. “We await your orders.”
Eric thanked Serra and stepped away, suddenly feeling confined and cramped within his battlesuit. Perhaps it was time to get his arm attached and the entire team rested before proceeding with any other plans. However, before he could speak Luna stepped forward.
[Commander, my drones have scouted the vicinity of the Red Gate and found them clear of hostile creatures. It is ready to be opened.]
“Sir,” Cid interrupted, uncharacteristically stepping into the conversation, but inadvertently speaking Eric’s own concerns aloud. “I believe some rest and consolidation would be the best course of action for now… we are pretty much the worse for wear at the moment.”
Luna paused, as if considering, but she merely looked at Eric, waiting for his reply.
“I agree with Cid,” Eric said quickly. “Osar, get the pilot to fly this ship back to the Fortress… we shall see to settling everyone down and evaluating our changed circumstances.”
Osar slammed his fist against his thigh in acknowledgement before motioning at the waiting Jakkata pilot at the corner of the room. After a moment of hesitation Er-Ra-Lo lurched forward, following the Urgan out of the room and towards the Issurath’s helm.
“Serra, Cid,” Eric continued, turning to the two other Terrans. “If you can, I would like to have my arm reattached as soon as we can.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Serra said. “Perhaps we can ask Ranla for help with that.”
“Good.” Finally, Eric turned to Luna, even as the Issurath’s engine came to life and sent shudders thrumming through the ship’s superstructure, before a lurch signaled that they had lifted off from the ground. “We will breach the Red Gate in time Luna, but we need to be at our best when we do so.”
[That is acceptable, Commander.] The VI replied, her voice level and inflectionless. [I shall bide until all of you are ready.]
With that the VI disintegrated into shimmering motes of light, while the hovering drone flew towards the exit hatch on some other errand.