She’s sweet and kind and compassionate and brave. She deserves better than this, he thought, sinking his chin to his chest and heaving a sigh. A hell of a lot better. I really am a bastard.
It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep with thoughts of self-hatred running through his head, but when his guilty conscience finally let him sleep, he had the strangest dream…
* * * * *
“Careful with that crate! That’s live cargo, y’know!” A guard with a silver pain prod in one of his three sets of hands nodded warily at the thick, steel-wood slats of the massive cage. It was being lifted by hydro-blasts from the ship’s cargo hold, and the guard holding the controls wasn’t doing a very good job.
“Yeah, yeah—I know what it is,” the second guard growled, twisting the hover-knob to bring the cage higher and clear the ship’s hull. “Don’t worry—I know her worshipfulness, Lady Pope’nose wants him intact.”
“You don’t get it,” the first guard protested. “It’s the crate itself I’m worried about—you bash it around too much it’ll bust open. And then we’ll have to deal with the contents, y’know?”
“So what? It’s just another prisoner from the inner system,” the second one scoffed. “More meat for the Yonnie Six vag-mills.” He scratched his ear tufts with one of his six arms. “Sure am glad these bitches don’t find our kind attractive. I’d rather be dead than let some female subjugate me.”
“That’s exactly how these prisoners we bring them feel,” the first guard said grimly. “And you will be dead if he gets out. You know how many opponents this son-of-a-bitch put in the ground? One hundred and thirty-seven. More kills than any other slave on the Blood Circuit.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. They say he was unstoppable. And what’s more, he’s got a few more kills that weren’t sanctioned if you know what I mean. This bastard’s a class eight felon.”
“Class eight? Never seen a class eight before. The worse I ever transported was a six.” The second guard looked at the wooden cage he was guiding with more respect
“I did a seven once. Eight’s almost unheard of. That’s also why he’s been drugged to the gills with Ionian cluster juice.” The first guard shook his head. “I’ll be damned glad to drop this one off—just wish we had the Hurkon collar we were promised to deal with him.”
“I wondered about that,” the second one said. “Whatever happened to it? Thought we weren’t going to transport him without it.”
The first guard shrugged one of his three sets of shoulders. “Don’t know. Held up somewhere outside the system. Boss said go ahead with the transport anyway. I think Pope’nose must have paid him a shitload of credit to make the deal go through. He was supposed to go to the lockdown, but she wanted him as her personal slave.”
“Good thing the bastard is knocked out. Probably won’t be too happy when he wakes up and realizes he’s been put out to stud with a bitch like Pope’nose. He—” As the second guard spoke, something moved inside the cage. Spooked by the shifting contents and the flash of bright and angry eyes he saw between the slats, the guard jerked, dropping the hydro-blast controls. The cage immediately began to shift on its bed of closely controlled mist.
“Hey, watch it!” the first guard shouted, but the cage had already rammed a corner into the side of the cargo hold. The second guard grabbed for the controls with all six hands, fumbled and dropped them, ramming the cage again. The steel-wood slats gave an audible crack as some of them began to splinter and buckle. A massive hand appeared between them, groping for freedom.
“Goddess of Mercy…” The second guard gasped. “Your blaster—get it ready!”
“I’ve got it.” The first guard had his weapon trained on the ever-widening hole in the crate. “I’ll put him down for good if he tries anythi—”
His words were interrupted by a low, angry roar from the crate. Suddenly, the steel-wood slats burst apart as though they were no stronger than sugar sticks one might give to a youngling.
The prisoner was free.
“Shoot it!” the second guard screamed. “Shoot it—shoot it!”
His only answer was a gurgle. Turning his head, he saw a thick stake of steel-wood protruding from the other guard’s neck. Green blood poured from the severed vessels, coating all six hands and the blaster as the first guard sank helplessly to his four knees.
“The collar,” the second guard muttered wildly, scrambling to pull the blaster from the other guard’s clenched fist. “Never should have agreed to transport this bastard without the Hurkon collar…”