Prince of Luster (7 page)

“You’re a coward,” the fighter cried out. “Your entire race is. That’s why the known universe will having nothing to do with your kind. Why don’t you untie me and fight like a warrior? Or are you afraid I’ll do to you what I did to Codge? Maybe if you lose, that other slug will take your head off, is that it? Is this the way you deal with defeat?” he ranted as he pulled at his bindings.

Nova swallowed hard and shook her head. The man was only making things harder on himself. He had no idea what was about to happen. But his loud questions—meant to encourage the crowd—infuriated Prometheus into action. She watched as the behemoth struck Green Eyes over and over. But the human stranger never cried out during the blows. With each strike to the face or body, she saw him lift his head and glare proudly at his torturer. She wished with all her heart she could see his countenance clearer, before he died. But she’d forever remember the baritone timbre of his voice. It rang out—clear, strong, and proud. He repeatedly defied the beast hitting him.

Finally, when Prometheus could withstand the taunts from his victim no longer, and his beating wouldn’t shut his captive’s mouth, the slug leader pulled out a dagger and dragged the edge of it across that beautiful torso. Blood gushed forth, and Nova’s eyes filled with tears again. She swiped at them with the sleeve of her robe and wanted to leave before watching any more. But she couldn’t. If she tried, and even managed, to get away from any pursuing slug minions, ten would be tortured in her place, just as an example to the rest.

“Someone stop him, please,” she whispered. But no one came forward. The crowd moaned in protest and many covered their faces. Mothers held children to them and tried to protect the youngest of them from seeing the hideous scene.

He lunged at the tied human before him and continued to strike him harder.

“Sir, the diffuser,” the slug aide said as he ran forward and tried to push the long, rod-like device into his leader’s hands.

Prometheus carelessly shoved his underling aside as he grabbed his final means of torture. He also grabbed up the diffuser’s attached canister, and put the butt end of the dispenser rod against his shoulder.

Before now, Nova had never stopped to wonder how or why the entire device looked so much like some ancient flamethrower. It was meant to do much the same thing with the chemicals stored in the containment canister.

She wished once again to be far away, not witnessing this horrifying event. She, like most of the women in the large crowd, cried out as Prometheus turned on the diffuser. The awful, telltale sound of a turbine starting always preceded the blast of fire
plasma that followed. But
she’d
been running when she and the other dissenters had been hit. Only her head and back had been struck. The green-eyed stranger would take the full force of the plasma, right to his torso. He’d likely burn to death right before their very eyes. And though she’d been ordered to stay, just as everyone else, she could have looked away. Instead, pity for the man who was about to be burned stayed her fear. He deserved to be remembered. Up until he took his last breath.

As Prometheus wielded the long rod and the canister dispensing chemicals through it, she kept her eyes riveted on the courageous soul still tied and helpless in front of them all.

The stream of volcanic-like plasma shot out the end of the Prometheus’s barrel. It struck the tied figure directly in the upper torso and lit him on fire. And this time he
did
scream.

His agonizing cries were heard throughout the marketplace. And after the plasma hit his body and clung to it in red-hot globs, the stuff quickly went gray as it cooled. That was the worst part of what it did. The gooey substance would stay there resisting removal and searing flesh from bone. Surely he would die soon, but not before he felt every drop of the chemical seep through his skin. He had the sense to put his head down when he saw the blast coming. That meant he’d either heard of fire plasma or his act was simply one of instinct; Nova couldn’t tell which. But the small movement likely protected his eyes from any residual spattering. In the end, it wouldn’t matter if he got any into his eyes or throat. He’d die from the horrific burns, and more slowly because he
hadn’t
ingested the stuff.

She saw him writhe and pull at his ropes as he cried out in pain. Parts of the plasma went over his shoulders and were probably flung across his back. Some of the glowing and cooling gobs of chemical were even spattered down his arms and on his hands. It then caught his hair on fire. The long, once-lovely sheen of thick black locks began to smoke.

While it would have been better for him to take the plasma head-on, and stand totally still so he’d breathe it in and end his life quickly, how could anyone do so? She hadn’t been able to. The pain was too great; the instinct to shake if off was primal.

Some of the chemical landed on the rope binding him. He fell from his tied position and began rolling in the dust of the street, trying to be free of the substance burning his flesh. It now slid downward and began to burn away clothing. He clawed at the globules but it did no good. Nova remembered the pain, and felt hot tears fall down her cheeks. No one should have to die like this. No one.

Prometheus turned to the crowd.

Nova kept her gaze lowered and pulled her hood more closely to her head. This was the part where they were all warned
again
. She’d seen and heard the speech so often.

“Let no one come near him. Anyone who does so will suffer the same fate.”

The slug leader slowly ambled away. But as he got near his aide, he loudly muttered, “Let him lie here so the people can see him. When curfew comes, take his body to the hole and dump it along with Codge’s.”

The aide bowed. “Yes, my leader.”

Nova wept harder now. The figure writhed helplessly, and everyone was inflicted with his screams, but there was nothing anyone could do. His brown pants and tall boots were melting right into his skin. He was so far away, but she felt closer to him at that moment than she’d ever felt to another living soul. Not just because she’d been exposed to the plasma herself, but because this brave man had been so abused and no one helped. That included
her
.

Once the crowd was finally allowed to leave, they did so in great masses. No one wanted to see more than they had.

She stealthily crept back to her little, hidden cave, sobbing with each step.

There was no hope left. The next transport crews, whether they were offloading supplies or picking up gems, would be severely restricted to the airfield outside of town. The population who’d witnessed the carnage wouldn’t be allowed to speak to anyone working aboard those shuttles. Prometheus wouldn’t allow witnesses to testify as to his brutality.

She knew what everyone else did, even if no one spoke it. They were, more than ever before, truly alone.

• • •

Marcos could no longer move. His pleas for help went unheard, and the plasma kept burning. He groveled in the dirt and scooped handfuls of dust over his flesh, in an attempt to stem the fire.

“P-please let me die,” he begged. “Please, please, please … ”

No one came near, and night finally fell. His breathing became shallow, and he struggled to clear his lungs. Even as he pled for release from life, autonomic responses kept him breathing. He cursed the ability the human body had for compensating when all physical hope was gone.

He heard someone approach. Heavy footsteps fell on the earth around him.

“Put him in the back of the hauler with Codge,” one voice growled out. “We’ll take them to the pit as Prometheus ordered. The incinerators are due to burn off bodies tomorrow.”

“Hurry, then,” a second voice advised. “There’s a whore waiting for me at the tavern, and I have a taste for human women.”

Marcos lay quite still as two slug minions conversed, and as they heaved his body into their hovercraft sled. He bit his lip against crying out, even as he was thrown in, and some of his burned flesh came loose. In the dim light he could see it falling from his forearm, like water fell from his body in a shower.

“Did you hear something?”

“If he’s still alive, the incinerators will take care of him tomorrow. I’ll lay odds he won’t survive the night at any rate. No one has ever been burned that badly and survived.”

Thankfully, Marcos felt himself losing consciousness. Blackness finally engulfed him just as his body was dumped among the other dead of Delta Seven.

• • •

In the cave that now served as her home, Nova wept harder. She held her pet in her arms and rocked the small animal back and forth.

“They didn’t have to do that to him, Una. They could have just killed him outright. There was no reason to hurt him so badly. I’ve never seen anyone get that much plasma.”

The puppy whined, licked its mistress’s face, and put one tiny paw on her chest.

“If only I could have done something,” she sobbed. “I’m no better than all the others I’ve blamed for not standing up.”

As Nova sat there, she imagined those beautiful green eyes as the man had stared courageously at his attackers. Perhaps someone would look for him. But if he were a lone gem merchant as rumors claimed, then he would be incinerated without anyone even saying words over him. There were many at the pit that’d died because of exposure to fire
plasma or some illness. At least some of them had family who would ask the Goddess for acceptance into the next life.

Nova gently put Una aside and stared at the entrance to her cave.

“I can at least do that much. No one goes to the pits long after dark, not even the slugs.”

She grabbed her cloak and made her way to the marketplace. Stealth was her companion as it always was. Unfortunately, to get to the death pits where the bodies were thrown on Prometheus’s orders, she had to go back to the scene of the horror first. The pits were only a short distance on the other side. But the journey vividly reminded her of the shrieks and moans she’d so recently heard.

As she crept through the shadows and listened, she sensed she was alone on the street. The day’s events found the slugs drinking in the tavern and loudly boasting of their prowess in killing a tied man. She actually heard them laugh about it.

With grim intent, she kept to the shadows and made her way to where the stranger had been tied.

In the light of the full moon, the stranger’s cloak and shirt still lay on the ground. Nova grabbed the garments and held them to her chest. For some reason, no one had picked them up. Likely, everyone had ignored them in order to get away as soon as they’d been allowed, just like she had.

Guilty pain settled in her heart. She looked across the marketplace once more and stared at one of the columns. It was still smoking. There was even a black, oval burn mark where the stranger had fallen to the ground. It led to a trail of ash and charred bits of other clothing where he’d dragged himself and rolled in the dirt. “No one should have to die like that,” she whispered again, then hurried away toward the pits.

When she arrived, there were only a few bodies, but some of them had been there for a week or more awaiting incineration. The smell was indescribably abominable. But she clenched her jaw and searched through the rocks and rubble. Then she found him.

He lay on a pile of loose stones, his hands reaching for the sky in a clenched posture. She’d seen that before, when the last stages of death overtook the victims. They’d tried to breathe, then had gasped their last as they’d clawed and writhed for air.

She knelt beside the horrible, scorched figure and placed his cloak and shirt over him. They were his property after all. And putting them in the pit with the man meant no one would steal them.

She clasped her hands together, looked toward the night sky, and quietly prayed.

“Creator Goddess, please let this brave stranger come into another life. Please lead him to an existence where he’ll be rewarded for his deeds this day. Have pity on him, I beg you.”

One reaching hand slowly turned toward her and stretched outward.

Nova almost froze in horror.

“H-help me …
please
,” he croaked.

She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and glanced toward the heavens before pulling the cloak and shirt off his face. She finally got a good look into the open green eyes of the stranger. In that poignant moment, the moonlight illuminated his face, as if to punctuate the last remnants of a battling god.

“You can’t be alive,” she whispered. “No one could have survived that much plasma.”

“P-please …” he begged as he stretched his hand toward her again.

She put out one shaking hand on the side of his head. He weakly cried out. By some miracle, his beautiful eyes had been spared, though the rest of his body seemed burned beyond recognition.

In the moon’s light, those striking eyes begged for some tender mercy in the universe; mercy not shown on Delta Seven in a very long time.

She couldn’t leave him. In that moment, Nova knew she’d been brought there by the Goddess’s hand.

“I-I’ll take you someplace safe,” she quietly told him. “But you’re too large for me to carry.” She thought for a moment. If she’d been brought there for a reason, then there was a solution to the problem of getting him to safety. He might not last long thereafter, but he’d be with someone who’d help him into the next life.

It suddenly occurred to her that the slugs had parked their hovercraft outside the tavern. Attached to one was a hauler—likely the very one that’d carried her victim to this pit.

She remembered how to operate a hovercraft, though those she was used to were different from the small conveyances slugs brought from their cargo ships.

Still, it was worth trying. She could take one, have the stranger to her cave in just a few minutes, and get it back before the Limaxians ever knew what happened. They’d likely be so drunk that they’d never know the transport had been moved.

“I’ll be back,” she said as she whispered down to the surviving hero of the day. “Do you hear me? I’m coming back. Don’t give up. Just keep breathing. Okay?”