Hullo there Sparks!
I’m up late tonight trying to get this one done on time so please forgive me a typo or two if you can. This chapter is getting the better of me. I know exactly where I want it to go. I know exactly what has to happen and I have a pretty good idea of the pacing and the action and all that but I just can’t seem to get it all on the page at my normal rate.
Ugh. I think I need a week’s vacation just to clear my head and get it on straight, but with kids in school and husband dearest busy, hay baling season being in full swing, and silage season on the horizon, there’s no chance of that any time soon. Like, none. Zilch!
I need privacy and peace to do this thing, and I’m not getting that.
Okay, rant and complain over, I promise.
I’m calling this one “On my terms” because Misty is in a weird situation here. She doesn’t need to surrender. She is capable of fighting her way out, but she doesn’t want to kill a bunch of people in the process so she chooses to let them hold her for a while. And as soon as she’s had a little time to think she starts feeling guilty. Like the abused child she is, she’s convinced herself that she deserves every mean thing that’s happened to her and that resisting the punishment for her misdeeds, only justifies further punishment.
Anybody here feel like sharing something deeply personal and profound? No?
Well, I won’t even think of saying that I was an abused child myself, but I’ve met more than a few, spent time with them, and sadly even the very young ones are often damaged like this. But after a few months of gentle corrections, lovingly applied when they inevitably mess up and overstep, it’s beautiful and deeply rewarding to see them blossom and grow.
As for the story…
INDEX | Chapter 7 | Scenes 1 & 2 | Scenes 3 & 4 | Scene 5 | Next Scene → Coming soon.
Previously: When Logan and Luke make a second attempt at breaking into Misty’s mind she reacts badly. Logan gets seriously hurt and Misty runs away. After a few miles, she comes across a kind of military base and surrenders to avoid taking more lives.
As soon as my bare feet touch the gravel, a pair of short burly soldiers tackle me to the ground. I must admit, I’ve tasted nicer dirt. This is gritty, metallic, and sharp.
I don’t resist, even when, with someone’s knee on my back, and little stones cutting into my chest and cheek, they force my wrists and ankles into shackles and put a bag over my head.
Its finely woven dark fabric smells clean and does little to dull my senses. I remember the layout as I am led across the courtyard, southwards. I count my steps, fifty-seven before we go inside. First, the light goes as we step into the shadow of a building, and the texture of the ground changes from sharp and crunchy to smooth. Tiles. Now the sounds are crisp and echoey as if the room is long and close. Hallway.
I have a large escort. There must be twenty soldiers clustered around me in soft-soled boots. They walk fast, prodding me from behind whenever I start to slow. It isn’t easy to keep up with the short strap linking my ankles, but the smooth floor is pleasantly cool under my feet and thanks to my past life’s training, I don’t falter.
One-hundred-and-twelve steps. The closest soldier puts their hand on my shoulder to signal a pause. After a moment there’s a buzzing sound, low-frequency vibrations, like the ones I felt when Logan walked me through the wall into Luke’s little torture room. I sense my escort part and I am pushed towards the buzzing noise then into it and beyond it. For captors, these are less rough than experience has taught me to expect, but maybe that’s because I am cooperating. As I enter the bag on my head is plucked off and before I can turn around, the buzzing stops and I am alone. It doesn’t look like they are planning on letting me go. Not that I thought that they would.
With nothing else to do, bound and bored, I study my surroundings. The room is about three by three meters wide, windowless, obviously, with solid walls around half a meter thick if the doorway is anything to go by, and lit like Luke's room, by a light strip all along the white walls. The light is sharp, nearly blinding if you look right at it, and the high ceiling is stark white and plain, with one little silver blob of a camera in one corner. I keep my eyes low.
The room contains a simple wooden stool, that is about ankle height, sitting between two thick metal rings that stick halfway out of the ground, and one small bare table in the corner near the wall with the doorway. That’s it. A terribly boring room, and these shackles are getting uncomfortable.
I huff out a sigh and mince my steps over to the stool to sit, trying to reign in my energy as much as possible. Conserve and endure, you don’t know how long this will last. Time trickles by. I wonder how long they’ll make me wait.
At first, I try to meditate. It’s been a while. I think my last time was under Teag back home. It’s been four cycles, probably five by now. That was not a good day, though so few of them were. I close my eyes and try to remember. Sit comfortably. Well, that’s not happening. Back straight and shoulders relaxed, okay breathe... What was it Teag said? Focus on the breath. Let the air fill your belly… Ugh! What’s that smell? Blood? How is there blood- Oh…
I open my eyes and see the dry brown spatters all over my dress. I remember my arms were caked with it as well. These people are the Planetary Guard. It’s no wonder they reacted the way they did when they saw me. Thinking about my arms reminds me how uncomfortable these straps are, and my ankles and knees ache in sympathy from the uncomfortable position, I’m surprised I can even feel it. It’s been so long since I last felt pain from anything but Penance. Stop thinking about it.
It’s quiet and the air is still and close, and after I convince myself that this small discomfort is pleasant enough because it’s nothing compared to the ache that has plagued me constantly these past months, the only thing going through my mind is whether or not Logan is okay.
I think about how I hurt him. How his bones bent and cracked under my fists. How his blood seeped out of all the tiny cuts, and then the bigger ones. I know I did a lot of damage, enough to kill most of the Lesser scum here, but Logan is full-blooded Manorian, and he’s strong, like really strong. He is a fighter. I’ve never seen him injured, even lightly, except for that one time I kicked him in the face…
By the time my captors decide to engage me, I’ve beaten myself to a bloody pulp inside. Nothing they do will make me feel worse than I am already. I could have killed him! Logan was the first person besides Chrys to show me kindness in my life. Luke only tried hacking my head because I can’t communicate with them. And I show them gratitude by beating one of them half to death?! Why am I such a terrible person?
Suddenly a voice booms at me out of the lights opposite the doorway. I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s a man’s voice, deep and gravelly.
“Stand. Walk to the wall and press your forehead against it.” I hesitate for a moment, blinking, thinking as guilt washes over me anew. Maybe I deserve whatever they might do. Maybe they will tell me if Logan is okay.
I step forward, and do my best impression of kissing the wall. The buzzing behind me signals the dooway’s phase and I sense an even larger group outside than before. I try to stand up straight but my shoulders slump with the weight of my despair. I am so lost in it that I almost forget to take note when a group of soldiers step through.
It’s only when two soldiers grab hold of my arms and lift me off my feet that I notice their energy is Drakisthan. Their rough scaly paws scratch against my skin and despite my heavy heart, I feel irritated. Scum. Without thinking I build up a layer of energy, a buffer between their skin and mine. They barely notice. Another pair of soldiers come and start fussing with the straps. I don’t even know which race they are. I’m too focused on the Drakisthan scales scratching my arms. I want to wriggle free,. The energy barrier is too thin. I didn’t mean to let the energy concentrate and heat up, but after about half a minute, the Drakisthan on my left hisses and adjusts his grip, letting me slip down on that side, his fellows grumble. A few seconds later when the other soldiers finally finish replacing the long woven straps with a shorter pair, the other Drakisthan lets go with a yelp, and I fall back down to my feet.
“Seargent, Report!” The voice booms over the speaker near the camera blob on the ceiling.
“She’s hot.” The Seargent says uncertainly, waving her hands to cool them and despite my heavy heart, I smile at the ground while the light green glow fades from the skin of my upper arms.
The other two soldiers drag me by my fetters back to the middle of the room and push me down to my knees. I could have resisted them. I could have fought them off and blasted my way out and gone to see for myself the extent of the damage I caused.
I let them fasten the chains to the rings in the floor and kneel patiently. They can’t hurt me anyway. Not really. I wonder what they will do.
A tall, wide man with short silver hair and a neat mustache, steps through the shimmering buzzing wall as the restraint soldiers leave. I look straight at him for a moment to get his measure. Human. He seems okay. He has a very trustworthy air about him. Yeah, right.
He mutters something to himself facing the doorway, and then the biggest bear I have ever seen steps through right before the buzzing stops. It is so tall that the tops of his small round ears brush the ceiling. My first Grismand. Funny. I thought they were bigger.
Immediately all thought of Logan leaves me, and I’m focused on the moment. He is an imposing figure with his short tan fur and razor-sharp claws. I’ve heard that they are unpredictable and quick to violence when angry. I’ve heard that they are filthy creatures that don’t bathe, instead licking their fur to comb it clean like cats.
This one looks clean enough, he doesn’t smell bad. His uniform fits well almost as if it was specially designed to fit his stocky neck and bandy legs. The name tag reads “R. Grora.” I look down quickly. I’m not afraid, but I don’t need them to know that.
"Hello, young miss." The human says in the same deep, gravelly voice that spoke to me through the lights, looking down at me with a friendly smile.
"I am Colonel Daniels.” He says. “We have a few things to talk about, you and I." There’s something in his tone that seems… off.
I can feel the Grismand staring at me, though he hasn’t moved. I keep my energy low and my eyes on their boots. The Grismand stands in front of me. His feet planted.
“I bet you’re wondering what it could be.” The Colonel drawls as he paces around me. His tone has changed. He has a slyness... I don’t react. "Elle. Can I call you Elle?” He asks, then continues without waiting for an answer, “See I know that's not your real name, I know that your real name is Jenina."
I start. I can't help it. I know Luke knows my old name but hearing it from this stranger is shocking. It floods my mind with memories. The name my parents gave me. My dead parents. I’m blooded. I escaped. I’ve done my right of passage. I have earned the right to choose my own name. It’s Misty now. All I have to do is say it and it will be so. Then I can freely take the life of anyone who dares call me by my old name….
"I'm guessing that was unexpected, Jenina. Look at me!" He shouts suddenly. I jump, but my eyes stay on the ground. He is going to get violent, soon. The Grismand stands unmoving, like some kind of robot, awaiting instruction.
"Now listen, Miss!” The Colonel orders sharply, “You're going to do as I tell you. Do you hear me? You're going to obey my every word...or else."
I look up at him at last, laughing. The thought of it is just too much. Or else! Ha!
He raises his left hand across his body as I look into his eyes. He is just about to bring it down when there is a loud ping from the speakers in the lights. The hand drops harmlessly to his side.
"Come in." He says and then a woman’s voice comes across clearly.
"Colonel." She says.
"Lieutenant Morgan?" He assumes that friendly openness again.
"Yes, Sir." She answers with subdued irritation in her voice.
"What is it?" He asks, less than impressed.
"We need you in communications, Sir." She says.
"Alright." The Colonel turns on his heel and Grora follows.
"What about..." Lieutenant Morgan interrupts causing another bout of irritation in the Colonel.
"Oh, her? We’ll hold her here for now. I'll deal with this later."
Next Time: Misty finds herself firmly in the grip of the Planetary Guard and for some reason, R. Grora and Lieutenant Morgan are where she is being held. Is this the same base Logan and Luke visited for the Ruby Observer interrogation? Is this the base where General Morgan presides? What will happen when he gets back?
Thanks so much for reading! If you like, please:
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and as always, I love hearing what you think so, feel free to:
Well, well, well Jenny...sorry to have been delayed reading this episode. Hardware issues!
A very big congratulations on this Big 50! You have proven your stamina I think, in spite of interference from the real world. And I think it's safe to say this story has legs!
Pretty sophisticated in spite of comments to the contrary. There is some irony in this unexpected gift that has dropped into the PGs lap. And finding Lt. Morgan back in play after her history with Logan and Tom could make for very interesting developments. I am intrigued, to say the least!
I kind of feel sorry for the PG. They don't really know what Elle can do.