Tiny
03 May 2016Terra Sheer
Any slave ship worth its salt needs a good brig. But there's an issue with supply. As far as I know, Imperial authorities shut down the last franchise of Dan's Slave Ship Emporium and Supply Depot about fifteen years ago, and there hasn't been a good place to pick up hand-crafted wall-shackles and human-trafficking cages since. So the 'brig' my hosts bring me to is more a modified storage closet than a proper holding cell, with a rickety bar door welded together out of scrap and bolted over the entry port in place of a proper hatch.The place is roomy, well-lit ... with just a lingering whiff of old cheese and spoiled oats. It was probably retrofitted as a crew bunk before it was repurposed as a brig. And there -- taking up nine fifths of the small cot wedged between bare shelves at the far end -- sits my new roommate. Tiny.
He doesn't live up to his name, exactly. I suppose I might owe Scar and apology on that account. He rises up off the bunk when we approach ... and somehow, after rising a reasonable amount, he just keeps going ... bigger than any human being has any business being. Muscular. Dense. Things would orbit him if the rippling tautness of that physique and the hard look in his eye didn't scare them away. He makes Meatbrick look downright Lilliputian.
"Get in." Lizard unlatches the door, swings it open and shoves me through. It squeaks as he throws his shoulder against it to force it closed. He bolts it, then stands there staring at the lock for a while before he licks his lip and squints at me.
"Look," he says. "Whatever you said to him ... you shouldn't say it again. It's not like I really care, but...." He glances back over his shoulder, first at Meat and then past him, off down the corridor. "Let's all just try to keep our skins through this, okay?"
"Don't worry." I smirk. "I'll keep your skin when I'm through this."
He grunts and pushes away. Meat lingers for a second to inspect the door. Then he mumbles something about "chartreuse nickel brunt flower" and follows Lizard.
It's quiet. Cold. I rub my arms, only a little bit happy I can feel them again. I realize I'm in my underwear. Nice of them to leave me that, but not exactly dignified. And it means I don't have much to work with.
I glance at Tiny. Staring at me. I smile at him. The look he gives me is likely the reason for the accelerating expansion of the universe. Dark with a contempt that could wither worlds.
"So...." I'm never at a loss for words, but suddenly my mouth is dry. "It's Tiny, is it?"
He stares. Etched in scars in the middle of his forehead is the mark of a Kumo slave, barely visible beneath a tangled mop of salt-and-pepper curls. How they managed to wrestle down a mountain like him for branding is beyond me.
"Any thoughts on how we're gonna get out of here?"
He stares. Reaches out and pushes off the wall with a thumb. I swear, the whole ship moves around him. He gestures toward the cot.
I pull the rough felt blanket off of it and wrap myself up in it. Shivering. I'm shivering again. God damn ... isn't there anywhere in this universe that's warm?
He hands me a plastic jug of water from under the cot. I don't even care about where it might have come from or when there might be more -- I drink until the need to breathe stops me.
The look in Tiny's eyes softens by degrees. I try to hand the jug back to him, but he refuses with a raised hand and a subtle shake of the head.
"Dehydration is a side-effect of the cold adaptation response," he says. "Drink it all."
I don't really need the encouragement. Just a moment to catch my breath. "But ... what if it makes me gotta pee later?"
"Then you'll have an empty jug to go in."
There's a hint of a smile in his eyes, but it doesn't show on his lips.
"Thanks, Tiny. You're a big man, you know that?"
He closes his eyes in a long blink, sighs through his nose and looks away. I guess not everyone can maintain a sense of humor under duress.
Oh, well. Nobody's perfect.
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