Testament of the Spirit- Chapter 1

Testament of the Spirit
by SpaceCowboy

Disclaimers in Author's Note/Prologue.

"I see the world gradually turning into a wilderness. I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us to. I can feel the suffering of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquillity will return again."
- Anne Frank
‘Diary of a Young Lady’

CHAPTER ONE

LIEUTENANT MALCOLM REED SIGHED, retracting his head from its portentous view. "They're still there," he reported mournfully, unleashing a chorus of moans throughout the cavern. The disappointment of forty odd men was depressing to say the least, causing the armoury officer to grimace.

“What d’ya expect,” drawled Commander Charles ‘Trip’ Tucker. “We're prisoners, not guests here.”

"I’m blatantly aware of that," replied Reed. "But aren’t you the one who said I should be more optimistic?"

Trip drew in a deep breath and turned away, picking his way through the crowded underground cavern. He shared sympathetic glances with those he passed, and after squeezing around a group of aliens in tattered leathers, he found a place to sleep.

"There must be a time when they’re vulnerable," Reed said, taking a seat next to the engineer.

“Not likely,” replied the commander, wiping a thick layer of grime from his face. But under that layer of grime was another layer just waiting to be cleaned. “But they aren't even armed. What's up with that?”

Reed frowned. "Actually, that is the only thing that makes sense."

Trip raised his brows in the universal gesture of confusion.

"It's an old trick of the trade, Commander,” sighed Reed. “Used centuries ago on Earth when weapons, and people, were relatively primitive- as like the inhabitants of this world.

“You don't arm guards in prison quarters like these, it reduces the risk of them being stolen and used against you. Brute force in confined spaces is usually enough to keep prisoners at bay. After being worked to death, going up against an army, even unarmed, seems impossible.” Reed noted his surroundings. “And it seems to be working quite well here. I don’t see any heroic uprisings forming, do you?”

Trip frowned. “I’d rather not think about this right now,” he replied slowly,

"Well, we’re going to have to sooner or later, sir." Reed closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Have you even considered a plan of escape?"

Trip didn't reply. He rubbed his back against the cave wall, refining the obstinate dirt. Drawing his legs up and resting his arms across his knees, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Reed watched for a moment, and then cast his eyes about the room as others bedded down for the night. The atmosphere assumed the personality of some weird camp-out. But knowing those guards were just outside the cavern's entrance was a sad reminder of otherwise.

He, along with every other misfortunate victim in the underground cavern, was a prisoner. Reed didn't know the chronicles behind each and every capture, but how he and the commander had been caught was still fresh in his mind. And it kept repeating itself over and over again. And each time he saw it playback, he searched for where he had gone wrong and how he could have handled it differently.

With remorse, Reed reached down to his waist, subconsciously fingering the non-issue Starfleet buckle on the belt of his leather pants. Then he turned to his sleeping friend. "I'll find us a way out of here," he said quietly. "I promise."

Trip shifted without comment.

*** *** ***

The prisoners learned to set their internal clocks to wake before the guards arrived, for they had such an unpleasant way of waking a person. Banging on a large metal plate, they shouted and kicked until they were all on their feet. One morning, a particularly evil guard used a flaming torch to wake a late riser. He had set the poor man's clothes on fire with a smile. So, as sleep deprived as they were, the prisoners managed to get up extra early to escape that torture.

His body begging for more sleep, Trip pushed himself to his feet. As he rose, nearly every bone in his body cracked, shooting pain through each muscle and leaving behind an aching reminder. Rubbing his back, he slowly made his way to the center of the room as he surveyed his dismal surroundings.

It was easy to tell how long a person had been there by the way they carried themselves. The new ones still walked proud and angry, and believing in escape. Trip could see it in their eyes- the look of a caged animal.

Trip remembered that feeling.

He and Reed had felt it after their capture. But there was no escape, only hope of a rescue. And Trip felt he could never give up on that. Especially when he looked across the cavern at the ‘lifers’. They were the one's who had probably been there since it had all began- the one's who kept to themselves, spoke little and hoarded everything they could get their hands on. They were easy to find in a crowd, having given up on pretence and posturing a long time ago; moving about the day with their eyes glazed over, their shoulders slumped.

But it was their eyes that haunted Trip the most. He didn't want those eyes; hollow, lifeless, no glimmer of hope to be found. And their emptiness was reflected in their physique's as well. Emaciated and pale, ‘lifers’ bore the scars of long term imprisonment and torture.

Trip looked himself over, running a hand down his filthy shirt. All that remained of the once white T-shirt was the now murky grey body- the sleeves having been tossed aside in the defence of heat stroke.

Taking a deep breath, he hurried himself across the cavern and found Reed building a fire. This was the focal point of their new underground home; where everyone gathered to keep warm or talk when their loneliness became too unbearable. It also had a clear view of the cavern's entrance. The room was small with only one entrance, which made escape difficult since it was perpetually guarded by several men, menacing and bitter with their positions in life.

"Sleep well?" asked the lieutenant.

Trip nodded with a smirk, rubbing his bare arms with pained effort. “Just like a baby.”

"Funny, you don’t look particularly well.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” retorted Trip, bending by the fire to keep warm. Despite the heat outside, the caves were cold and blankets were extremely hard to come by.

Reed sat back on his heels. "I mean it," he said. "You’re looking rather pale."

Trip rubbed his hands over the heat, shrugging his friend's concern by the wayside.

"Well he better be careful," came a voice across the fire. Trip and Reed looked up to see a skinny man in ragged clothes and grim expression. "Looks like they took another last night."

The Starfleet officers darted their heads about the room searching for the missing victim. It was becoming a regular occurrence lately, to wake up and find one of them missing. Usually it was the extremely sick and weak who disappeared in the night. Their captor having no use for them anymore, he would have the guards drag them away in their sleep, never to be heard of again. And each morning the survivors woke up thankful they were still in the cave.

It was an odd thing to be grateful for.

"Who was it?" asked Reed, turning back to the skinny man whose name had slipped his mind. There were over forty men kept in this particular cavern, and he had yet to learn all their names- which he was beginning to think was a good thing. It made it that much easier when they disappeared. There was no use making a friend that was soon going to leave... or die. Which ever the case may be.

"Dovan," replied the man bitterly. "The one who broke his arm yesterday moving the rocks."

Trip swallowed hard. He had been working along side Dovan when he had broken his arm. And he remembered how Dovan continued to work despite the pain, for fear of what might happen. Unfortunately, the guards must have noticed. “Well, you don't have to worry about me,” he sighed, standing up. “I may look like the walking dead, but I'm fine.”

"Whether you are or not," said the man, rising from the fire. "You better keep that attitude up."

“You have yourself a good day too,” retorted Trip, his rebuke unheard by the retreating stranger.

"He's right you know," conceded Reed, throwing another stick into the building fire. "If you are getting sick, you better not let them know."

“I'm fine!” stated Trip, slowly backing away. “I'm just tired like everyone else here.” He waved his arms, indicating the other prisoners slowly moving about the cave. “We've been here for three days- most longer. No one has seen a decent meal, or bath, or even a clean drink of water! Of course I look ragged! We all do.” Finished with his speech, Trip turned his back on the lieutenant and walked away.

"Maybe," replied Reed, under his breath. "Only some of us look worse than others."

*** *** ***

The sun was just beginning to rise, but Captain Jonathon Archer had not slept. He had made a promise to himself that he would not rest until his friends were found. And he'd already broken that promise once when he fell asleep, if only for a few minutes, the previous night. He couldn't help himself. They had been searching non-stop since the disappearance, and his body couldn't take it any longer. He had passed out from shear exhaustion while everyone in the search party had stopped for a short break.

Phlox had told him to rest, that he would be no good to anyone if he was too weak to continue. But Jonathan Archer took no notice of his words, schooling all his strength to keep awake, and to keep searching. But now, as he knelt by the river splashing cold water on his face, he felt his body screaming once again for relief.

But he couldn’t forget the silence. The silence on the other end of the communicator.

It had been three days since he had last seen or heard from Trip or Malcolm. They were supposed to meet with the rest of the group three days ago for an unexpected departure. But neither had shown up, and the tricorders were proving fruitless.

That’s when the search party had begun.

And with Enterprise two weeks away, Archer was having the worst away mission he could possibly imagine.

Their first night on the planet, Archer had received a rather unexpected communication from Ensign Travis Mayweather.

“Ensign Mayweather... Captain Archer? Do... read me? Cap... ? Sub... ander T’Pol? Anyone?”

Again, there was a static filled pause before Mayweather’s voice was heard. “I’m talking to you from the Darillion shuttle ‘Pigot’. A few hours ago, Enterprise... Well, it was damaged, sir. Quite badly. But everything’s okay,” the voice rushed.

“Well, it’s not. From what Lieutenant Hess tells me, we’re going to need the Darillions to repair Enterprise. I’m actually on one of the Darillion shuttles. Enterprise is dead in the water, sir. We had to come back on one of their shuttles just to get into communication range.”

“About two weeks, sir.”

After speaking with the Darillion Captain escorting Mayweather on the shuttle, Archer had felt moderately assured his crew and ship were safe. But it left him with few options. He had wanted to retrieve his ground crew and return with the shuttle, but there had been two little problems- and their names were Trip and Malcolm.

They had not arrived or answered the hails. And none of the away team had wanted to leave without the two missing crew members.

It was three days later now, and Archer’s head was spinning.

Trying to keep his focus straight, he stared at his reflection in the water, rippling and rolling with the gentle waves. It gave his face a distorted image, reflecting how he was feeling. "Damn you!" you cursed, punching his reflection. "How could you let this happen to them?"

"You can not possibly be blaming yourself for this?"

Archer spun to see his Vulcan Sub-Commander standing behind him. "Why not?" he spat, standing abruptly. He brushed past her towards the encampment, not sparing the Vulcan a glance as he passed.

"Captain," called T’Pol, catching up to him. "This was not your fault. You do understand that, don't you?"

Archer marched ahead.

T’Pol stepped in front, cutting off his path. "Captain," she pressed. But Archer would not look at her. T’Pol stepped closer, making sure she had his undivided attention. "It is illogical to believe you had anything to do with Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed’s disappearance. You were not even present when it occurred.”

Deciding the Vulcan wasn't going to leave him alone with his misery, Archer relented. "I should have been aware of any problems that could have occurred on this planet. I was too eager to explore and jumped in without reservation.” He closed his eyes briefly, letting his tongue sweep across his lips. “And I just keep thinking what if. What if I had gone with them? What if I had tried to contact them earlier? What if..."

"What if," repeated T’Pol, dropping her arms. "You can not live in a world of what ifs. You can only live in the present."

"I see someone paid attention in Temporal Continuum 101," mused Phlox, coming up behind T’Pol. "Now if only our Captain would listen."

Archer shook his head, staring at the ground. "Doctor-"

"Now is not the time," interrupted the Denobulan. "A Hexite just arrived with news." T’Pol and Archer waited with anticipation as Phlox turned back to the camp, waving them along. "We may have a lead," he said over his shoulder. "There's a village up ahead that claims several more families have also gone missing recently."

"And they believe they might be with the Commander and Lieutenant?" asked T’Pol, picking up her pace.

"It's hopeful," replied Phlox.

"Then why are we moving so slowly?” demanded Archer. “We'll find out more once we get there."

*** *** ***

Reed shielded his eyes as he stepped into the brilliant sunlight. After time in the dim cave network, a candle's flame seemed intense. But he managed to retain his composure, helping the other prisoners climb the last leg of the steep incline leading from their interim lodging. The armed guards above were rushing them along with threats and screams as each person greeted the day with fear and anxiety.

“What’ll it be today boys?” mused Trip with a jocular expression, bringing up the rear of outgoing prisoners. “Tree cutting or rock removal?”

"Don't forget construction," added Reed, giving his friend a hand up. "That is after all, why we're here."

"And don't you forget it!" threatened an eavesdropping guard, jabbing his weapon behind Reed's knees.

Recovering, Reed threw the guard a beleaguered look and followed the rest of the prisoners. He couldn't decide which he liked better; the caves or the compound. Down below they had some privacy and a little refuse from the blazing heat, but above they had fresh air. Each had their own set of pros and cons, so Reed decided in the end they were both equal.

They both sucked.

He and Trip made their way through the crowd as their group joined with the others. Each morning the underground caves emptied, spilling hundreds of prisoners into the compound. Once they were all accounted for, they were broken down into work parties- as far as Malcolm could tell, by ability.

A group of artisans were being kept in the cavern adjacent to theirs who worked on the stone carvings and molds, and were usually kept under extreme lock and guard. Another group, Reed could only assume was located in another cave across the compound, was responsible for the cooking and cleaning for all the guards.

There were more groups, but he had yet to figure them all out. But he was certain of three things. One, aside from Trip and himself, there was a severe lack of educated persons being held prisoner. If ever one showed up, they usually didn’t last very long. Second, there were plenty more groups similar to his and Trip’s. The one reserved for the young and strong- hard labour.

And three, each day he and the commander would be assigned a back breaking task; clear cutting trees, rock removal, gravel pit or fortress construction. All of them Reed hated, but building the fortress he hated most. It meant being in close proximity to the despot himself.

Through rumours, spreading quickly amongst the slaves, they had learned of Blasius, the tyrant responsible. He wanted to rule the planet, and later, the universe apparently. He was building his empire here, where ever here was- Reed had no clue, and was using slaves to do his dirty work. And he had quite a congregation so far the lieutenant noted, rising on his toes to look around.

The compound was built into a large canyon medial to two sloping hills, their terrain’s cliff-faced and jagged. One end of the canyon was cut off by a wide rushing river too dangerous to cross. The other was protected by a thick forest, dense with unfamiliar brush and exotic wild animals. And right in the middle of all this was Blasius' soon-to-be fortress, from where he planned to live out his delusions of grandeur.

The commander tapped him on the shoulder, breaking Reed from his musings. “Let's head for tree cutting.”

"Why tree cutting? I still have splinters from the other day."

“I'm not up for heavy lifting,” replied Trip, rubbing his shoulder. “I haven't ached like this since I was pregnant.” The commander paused, rolled his eyes. “And let’s not dredge up the particulars on that incident, please.”

"Tree cutting it is then," replied Reed, studying his friend. Trip’s eyes were tired, his face drawn out, and he had lost his usual confident gait. Reed turned his attention back to the guards doling out the daily duties. Seeing a group being led toward the forest, he grabbed the commander. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "We'll join that group."

The two prisoners bolted from the crowd, heading for the thirty or so others being led to the edge of the compound. But as they were about to join them, a burly guard dressed in black leather and brandishing a sturdy weapon stepped before them. His weapon resembled an old staff used on Earth centuries ago. But in this case, the ends were capped with circular metal globes, each spiked several times with serrated barbs.

"Where do you two think you're going?" the guard snarled, holding the officers at bay with his weapon across their chests.

Reed pointed at the group walking ahead of them. "We're with them," he explained. "We're just a little slow today... You know, tired and all..."

"Well get moving!" warned the guard with a shove.

~

Trip stood back and watched the large grey tree crash to the ground.

Reed eyed the axe-like tool in his own hand, turning it over and casting a glance at the guards surrounding them. "You know," he began, leaning close to Trip. "It would be so easy to take them. Catch them by surprise."

Trip looked at one of the guards resting against a tree. He looked no more than twelve by Earth standards, and hardly cultivated enough to use the weapon leaning idle at his side. The commander nodded regretfully, turning back to Reed. “Whatta ‘bout the rest of the prisoners?” he said carefully.

Reed dropped his head. "I know. That's why I'm not actually considering it," he said. "If we escape, that means the others are going to be punished."

“And in case you haven’t noticed, the odds are still against us,” continued Trip, as he bent down to rest. “There's forty guards here, albeit young, but still armed with weapons I don’t even want to think about. There's only five of us with these flinty axes. Personally, I’m giving odds to the spiky death sticks.”

The armoury officer rolled his wrist, spinning the axe in a circle. "They planned the odds that way. They have to give us tools, but they want to make sure we don't get any heroic ideas," he said, heading over to yet another tree. He pointed his axe up and nodded to the engineer.

Trip took a wilful breath and pushed up with great effort. It was like that morning, every joint creaked and ached.

"Sure you want to go up there again?" asked Reed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It might be easier chopping rather than clearing the branches."

The stubborn southerner shrugged the hand off. “I'm okay,” he insisted, and then he grabbed a low branch and hoisted himself upwards. “If you wanna worry, worry about the other prisoners. I'm fine.”

Reed watched the engineer carefully climb the tree, taking on each new height with a deep breath. The lieutenant positioned himself directly under him, moving around the tree as Trip did. He hated to think it, but Trip seemed a little unsteady and there was the possibility of a plunge.

If Trip wasn't going to take care of himself, then Reed was damn sure he would.

*** *** ***

Captain Jonathan Archer had gathered the rest of the away team around a bare flag pole in the center of the small town. No one had news that could direct them in any particular direction, but as fearful as they were, many of the town's people had discussed their opinions concerning the planet’s political underbelly. And some had even volunteered to join their party in order to find the stolen families.

"Perhaps you should start your own party?" suggested the captain, speaking to a town member, a somewhat elderly and crippled man. "That would allow us to cover more ground. We’ve come across several other towns such as yours, and some have sent out their own people to search and share information. You and your town's folk should consider doing the same."

With what appeared to be fearful reluctance, the man had merely just walked away. This left the captain with the remnants of his away team; T’Pol, Ensign Hoshi Sato and Doctor Phlox. They opted to keep their search party constrained to Enterprise crew only, keeping their minimal technology and secrets to themselves. Although the Hexites knew this planet better than any on the Enterprise, Sub-Commander T’Pol urged to keep their true identities quiet. They could use their own devices to navigate.

Unable to sit still, Archer paced the small square, going over in his mind the information they had gathered.

Phlox fell into step beside him, crossing back and forth in front of the bare flag pole. "There appears to be a lot of degradation on this planet,” he said, as they turned back for another crossing.

"I was thinking the same thing," replied Archer. "And from the looks of things, the young and strong seem to be on the menu." He paused, stared at the Denobulan. “And doctors.”

Phlox stopped mid-step, a questionable look on his face.

“Out of all the villages we’ve been through, haven’t you noticed a certain lack of cultivation?” noted Archer. “No disrespect intended, but the Hexites we’ve come across hardly seem capable of running their own house holds, let alone building these villages and towns. I have yet to come across a single doctor, student, politician, engineer, lawyer or teacher of any kind- male or female. It’s like someone has eradicated anyone who dares independent thought. All that’s left are the drones.”

“Well, I hate to agree,” started Phlox. “But you do bring up an excellent point, Captain. Someone has carefully selected their victims. It seems that intellect is our adversary’s adversary.”

"But they also need labourers,” added Hoshi. “How many are actually missing from here?"

"One hundred and sixty-seven," answered T’Pol, her tone stoic and dry. "Plus the two hundred and fifty-three from the town we reconned yesterday. And of course there are..."

"Lieutenant Reed and the Commander," finished Hoshi with a sigh.

"That is a total of four hundred and twenty-two. That we are aware of." The Vulcan paused, shifted her gaze to her captain. “There are most likely thousands of victims missing from this area. Perhaps even spanning several hundred kilometres. This leads me to believe that whoever is conducting this endeavour has a regimented hierarchy and a well constructed plan.”

"So, what does this all mean?" asked Hoshi.

Archer turned back to the ensign, arms entwined across his chest. "I know exactly what this means," he responded sternly. "Cause I agree with T’Pol. Somebody out there is doing something on a grand scale, and he needs specific people, and specific manpower."

“Or someone needs to get rid of specific people, and specific manpower,” added T’Pol.

"Well?!" urged Hoshi. "Which one is it?”

Walking past her, Archer spared Hoshi a fleeting glance. "Either there’s a black hole on this planet sucking people into its event horizon," he replied. "Or I think someone is afraid of retaliation."

*** *** ***

Before Reed had a chance to leave the food line with his tray, a guard grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. "Hey," growled the guard, eyeing him sideways. "You and your friend better hurry along."

"Love to," replied Reed acerbically. "But you happen to be impeding our exit."

The guard snarled. "Walk around me."

Trip leaned over Reed's shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak a nasty rebuttal, but was cut short by a jab in the ribs from Reed.

"What was he gonna say?" asked the guard, poking Reed in the shoulder with the tip of his staff. "I’m curious."

"Nothing," droned Reed, sharing a levelled glance with his commander. "He has an odd condition commonly known as Foot in Mouth Disease. He has a tendency to open his mouth when he shouldn’t.”

Harrumphing, the guard let them move away from the line without further discussion.

Reed and Trip found a semi-secluded spot near the rest of the eating prisoners. They made themselves relatively comfortable, ready to digest their daily meal. “I’m about ready to tell these backward heathens who we really are,” stated Trip. “Maybe knowing there’s a star ship com’n with a weapons compliment powerful enough to blow ‘em to bits, might make them re-think their plans for us?”

"Oh sure," answered Reed. "I'm sure they have real nice accommodations for aliens here.... Nice cushy ones, with extra special torture that is. Sir, they probably think their planet is flat. Telling them we’re from a different one all together might put the fear of death into them. And unfortunately, that death would probably consist of ours.”

Trip drew in a deep breath, wincing at the pain, but nodding his understanding. Then he looked at his plate- unidentifiable alien food. He shook his head and tossed it to the ground.

Reed manoeuvred so they were shoulder to shoulder. "Commander," he whispered. "You have to eat. You have to keep your strength up, even if this does taste like..."

"Ungrateful slave!" came a booming voice above them.

Reed and Trip looked up to see the guard from the food line standing over them, snarling at the discarded food.

"You take what we give you and you eat it!" he ordered, spitting on the food lying in the dirt. Then he turned, marching away to join the other guards.

Trip stared at the food, then glanced at Reed “You wanna trade, mine's got sauce?”

Reed broke off a piece of a bread-like substance, cracking it on the edge of his plate like an egg. "Here, have some of mine. I think he's gone now."

Trip pushed it away, clutching his stomach. “I can't,” he said, eyes closed. “It’ll only resurface later.”

Reed didn't think it was possible, but his friend actually looked worse than he had that morning. Under their living conditions this past while it was no wonder he was sick. They were given food, if it could be called that, once a day and in child sized portions. What little water they were granted was usually brown, tepid, and stinking of musty wood. And the living conditions were no better; forty men crammed into a small underground cave where air couldn't circulate, and forced to breathe in each other's sweat.

But escape seemed like a myth, the guards out armed and out numbered them at least twenty to one. And even if Reed or Trip could plan an escape, most of the prisoners were too weak or frightened to fight anyway. They would be slaughtered in minutes.

The only thing they could hope for was a rescue, or a miracle.

Reed was betting on the first. And he thanked every God he could think of; even one's he didn't believe in, that he had friends worthy of the task. It also didn't hurt they were crew members of the star ship Enterprise. That thought reassured him greatly. For if and when they got out of there, he knew what his first action would be when he got hold of his armoury. And no mighty fortress or autocratic dictator was going to live to regret that day.

When eating time came to a conclusion, the guards rounded up the slaves while the prisoners assigned to kitchen duties gathered all the plates and mess left behind. If Blasius was anything, he was obsessively neat- bordering on anal retentive. It was just another element that validated his insanity. That and the fact that he had yet to show his face amongst the prisoners.

“It makes me sick,” Trip said to Reed, as they headed back to the forest with their work party. “He has hundreds, maybe thousands of slaves workin’ and dyin’ under his rule and he doesn't give a damn about anyone of them.”

"I can't believe he has a following," replied Reed, keeping his voice low. "How can anyone advocate this Blasius? He's a nut case bent on domination. I want to just grab this guy and smack him into reality."

“Yeah right. Then you can make all woman adore me and take your place as High Commander of the Universe,” mused Trip. “Face it, Blasius is so far gone there's no hope.”

"I swear there's a village out there missing their idiot," sighed Reed.

"Hey! You two!" bellowed a voice behind them. They spun to see approaching guards. "You're coming with me!" ordered one of the men. "You're needed elsewhere!"

Reed struggled as a guard grabbed him around his neck, dragging him away from the other tree cutters. "Hey! You don't have to be so rough! I'm going, I'm going."

The guard pulled him harder, looking back to see his comrades tugging at Trip- also putting up a fight. "Blasius feels you two would serve him better in construction," rumbled the guard. "Think of it as a compliment. A step up in life."

“I don't care what you think!” riposted Trip, as he was shoved passed Reed. He turned back to the guards, his face contorted with anger and frustration. “Call it what you like, but it's still slave labour! And Blasius is a maniac! He's sick if he thinks he's gonna get away with this!”

"Hey, Trip," Reed placated, as he wrapped an arm around the commander’s torso. "Don't make it worse."

“No!” countered Trip. “I’m tired of this! I’m not holding my tongue any longer!” He tried to escape Reed's grasp, but he had a good hold of him, so he settled on yelling at the guards over his friend's shoulder. “You can't treat people this way!” he continued. “Haven’t you ever heard of peace, love and respect thy neighbour!? Blasius doesn't even have the courage to show his face! He sits in his tent all day surrounded by guards, too afraid to face the shit he's created around him!”

"Comman- Trip," pushed Reed, slowly losing his grip on his angered friend. "Let it go."

"I'd like to hear this," smiled one of the guards, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let the slave continue," he finished with a sneer. "Please."

Trip broke free from Reed and stepped up to the guard. "Blasius is a coward. He doesn't even have the common decency to face his slaves. What? Can't he stomach what he's doing? He’s a freak who’s going to one day meet his match. And believe me, I’ll definitely have front row tickets to that bastard’s demise!”

Reed swallowed hard as he listened to Trip's final words, wishing his commander wasn’t so hot-headed at times like these. But part of the armoury officer was smiling. He would have loved to let out a little steam. But Reed also knew it would only bring further troubles- something of which they didn’t particularly need at the moment.

The guard laughed, grabbing Trip by the neck and yanking his head back. His eyes reduced to mere slits, he leaned over the slave's face. "Harsh words for someone in your position," he snarled. "Fortunately you are nothing, so your words mean nothing to someone like Blasius. You should be honoured to be building his empire. You should bow down each day and pray he's as good to you as he is."

When the guard finished he released Trip, ordering one of his henchmen to seize him. Then he turned to Reed, ordering his capture as well. "Now I suggest you both be good little boys and do as you’re told," he said, as the two prisoners were carted off towards the construction area. "You may regret it otherwise."

*More to Come*

Continue to Chapter 2

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Four of you have made comments

I read this before and it's great!! Love the picture of Trip.

SpaceCowboy, I liked this story when it was first posted at ff.n. It's great to see it here! The images you conjure up are very powerful.

I too recall this story but I do not recall ever reading the ending... I look forward to rediscovering this.

good pacing and it's making me nervous for them! Hope to read more.