Aetheral Space

Dragan listened.

Through the sealed door of the storage module, he could hear the voices of his captors - muffled, but just audible. Every other word could be plucked from the conversation, analyzed, dissected for meaning. It wasn't like he had anything better to do: his arms were bound behind his back with a length of steel rope. Even with Aether enhancement, he got the feeling he wasn't breaking out of that, which was probably the intent now that he thought about it.

He turned one of the more recent statements he'd heard around in his mind's hands.

"Took more damage than I thought we would. Gonna have to make repairs before we get out the system."

It had been the older male who had said that, the one Ruth Blaine had called Skipper. From what Dragan could work out, it seemed this Skipper character was in charge of this operation.

A few things were clear from the statement. It seemed they hadn't taken him with the intent of getting a ransom - they were taking Dragan with them wherever they were going. There was something they needed him for specifically - or, rather, something they needed a Cogitant for.

They had a method of getting out of the Caelus system, too. That hadn't been brought up as an obstacle at all, only the fact that the ship was damaged. The Supremacy would be picking the area down tight, yet these criminals were still fairly confident. Had they bribed some official? No, more likely they had ties to criminal elements already in the system. A smuggling route, maybe?

Muffled laughter rang out from behind the storage module door. Not mocking; someone had told a joke.

There seemed to be five people aboard this excuse for a ship: himself, Ruth Blaine, Skipper and two others. From their voices, the unknown two seemed to be around Dragan's age, male and female respectively. But there was an unusual quality to their voices he couldn't quite place.

His nose wrinkled. This wasn't the most hygienic room he'd been in. From the smell, it seemed it had been used to store perishable food not long ago. They'd probably cleared it out in a hurry to make room for him. Such hospitality.

If they needed repairs and they weren't leaving the system, they could only be going down to Caelus Breck itself. That was good for him; the planet was under the firm control of the Supremacy. No doubt a search for him was already underway - this was a blow to their pride, after all.

As the door slid open, Dragan folded away his Archive, storing everything he'd managed to reason so far.

Cold eyes looked down at him. The person who had opened the door had a harsh gaze, with dirty blond hair pulled back into a rudimentary bun. They wore fatigues, dark fatigues intended for an urban environment, with a backpack slung over their shoulder. From their stance, the backpack seemed heavy - stuffed with equipment. This was a person prepared to operate alone.

Dragan didn't recognize them. The owner of one of the two unknown voices, then. He couldn't be sure which, as they were fairly androgynous.

"How's our boy, Bruno?" called Skipper from somewhere out of sight - the cockpit, presumably.

The person in the doorway - Bruno - looked Dragan up and down, his eyes lingering on the steel rope for a moment. Checking to see if he'd managed to damage it all. Him being able to use Aether had been a surprise to them, so they were clearly uncertain about his capabilities.

Apparently satisfied, Bruno spoke: "Fine. Looks pissed off, though." His voice was low, quiet, cautious, but strangely anxious as well, as though worried he'd be overheard if he talked too loudly. Not a conscious thing, but learned behaviour.

"Huh? Pissed off?" came Skipper's voice, mock-surprised. "Why's that?"

Swallowing his own anxiety, Dragan finally spoke up, the first words he'd said since being brought aboard this ship. "There's no way you get out of this alive, you know. This is a stupid plan." Each word was painful - sneaky uses of Aether had healed some of the damage from that kick, but not all of it.

"What'd he say?" shouted Skipper.

Bruno called back: "He said our plan sucks and that we're all gonna die."

"Huh. Well, he's half-right."

When Bruno spoke next, it was with a strange, higher-pitched voice, head cocked to one side. "Huh?" he said, dragging out the word. "Which half?"

"Never you mind, Serena. Stop standing there and grab the kid, yeah?"

Serena?

Bruno - Dragan had thought his name was Bruno, at least - stepped into the storage module, hands clasped playfully behind their back, a neutral smile on their lips. Their body language had completely changed, caution replaced with curiosity in an instant.

They reached down, grabbing Dragan by the wrists and pulling him up with one hand effortlessly.

"There we go," they said, in that strange high-pitched tone. Now that Dragan observed more carefully, it was actually hard to tell whether they were heightening the pitch of their voice now or had just been lowering it earlier.

The person blinked, watching Dragan watching them, and leaned in uncomfortably close. Dragan reared back, almost tripping over himself and earning a giggle from his captor.

"Look at that, Bruno," they said. "He's deducing! That's so cool!"

The second they finished speaking, their face snapped from the excited smile back into a serious scowl. Bruno narrowed his eyes.

"Don't get any ideas about trying to bust out," he said, and Dragan understood.

Two personalities in one body. This serious one, named Bruno, and the cheerful one named Serena. Dragan had heard two voices through the wall, but they came from one mouth.

Stepping back in close, Bruno forcefully turned Dragan around and started pulling him backwards out the storage module using the steel rope.

He gulped. What kind of treatment was he in for, here? How brutal were these criminals? Being tied up was par for the course with kidnapping, really, but would there be beatings? Torture?

Back on Crestpoole, people who pissed off the gangs would often find themselves without fingernails. Could he expect the same?

Bruno pulled Dragan out into the main body of the craft - a cramped, pipe-shaped module with the cockpit at the front. Along with the storage module to the right where he'd just come from, there were sealed modules to the left and behind him.

Behind him was the loading bay he'd first been thrown in. He couldn't see Ruth Blaine - only the back of this man called Skipper in the pilots seat - so was she in the module to the left? If that was the case, it was likely sleeping quarters.

If he was being interrogated, it wasn't by her, then. Skipper was flying the ship, which left this Bruno person. He clearly had experience with these kinds of matters, which was worrying. Not easy to fool.

Dragan didn't have any information worth knowing, though. Would they believe that? More importantly, how many fingernails would it take for them to believe that?

Well, these people weren't pacifists, obviously. Ruth Blaine had killed an admiral - a Zef Barridad, if he remembered correctly. The entire incident was classified as classified gets, but it couldn't have been an easy feat.

She knew Aether, too - could he assume her shipmates did? She was only a year or two older than him, so he found it hard to believe it was from self-training. Were these people backed by the UAP or the Final Church, maybe?

"Move."

No, no. Apart from the assassination, they were much too quiet to be of use to a foreign power. Not worth the money it would take to train them.

"Move."

Dragan stumbled forward as Bruno pushed him, almost falling over before managing to right himself.

Without looking, Skipper called back: "Be nice, Bruno. Kid's probably scared."

Dragan frowned. He was being called kid much more than he liked. He'd like to see this guy try achieving any kind of growth on one Crestpoole meal a day.

This Skipper person, he was older than the rest of the crew, with black hair fading to grey around the edges. A dark green coat hung around his shoulders. The thing was mostly patchwork, Dragan could see, but lovingly maintained all the same. Sentimental value.

He sat in the pilots seat, monitors and readings arrayed around him like a spider's web. Ideally a ship like this would have two pilots, but Skipper seemed to be doing just fine alone.

"So," said Dragan, more confidently than he felt. "You got me. What do you want? Information? I'm nobody important, you know. They won't pay."

Skipper tapped a few buttons, switching the ship into autopilot, before swinging around in his chair. His face was tan, grey eyes neighbors to a collection of laughter lines. He smiled for a moment, but it quickly shifted to a quizzical frown.

"Why do you say things you don't mean?" he said.

Dragan furrowed his brow. "What?"

"You said the Supremacy wouldn't pay for you."

"Well, it's true. I'm a nobody from the administration corps."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that," said Skipper, raising a finger to punctuate his speech. "But we've no intention of ransoming you anyway. You're not stupid, you must have realized that early on. I, uh, I don't get it. Why are you talking like that's a possibility?"

He'd read Dragan like a book. Cogitant? No, his eyes were grey, and they didn't seem to be contacts. Just sharp, then.

Dragan looked away. "I don't know what you mean."

Skipper gaped, pointing first at Dragan and then at Bruno behind him. "See? He's still doing it!"

Bruno gave a non-commital grunt.

"The cheek on this guy," said Skipper, shaking his head and chuckling as he leaned back in his seat.

"What do you want, then?" said Dragan, somehow glaring at Skipper while refusing to look at him. His pride was taking a blow a second here, and it was visible all over his face.

Skipper sighed - and it was if he was expelling his jovial demeanor along with the air. When his grey eyes opened again, they were cold, pragmatic. Before, he'd struck Dragan as a man in a perpetual midlife crisis, but these were the eyes of a soldier. The eyes of a killer, even.

"I have a friend who needs the help of a Cogitant," he said, voice steady. "You provide that help, then you go free. It's not a bad deal."

Dragan rolled his eyes. "There are easier ways to get a Cogitant than breaking into a Supremacy ship - like hiring one. Oh, don't tell me! You don't believe in money?"

Yes, Dragan, that was the way. Antagonize the armed criminals who have you tied up. This was the premiere method of escape.

Skipper's eyes slid off of Dragan, looking again at Bruno behind him. His mouth was a thin line. He raised his eyebrows.

"He's got jokes," Skipper chuckled, his mouth spreading into a grin.

This was a man who didn't like to take things seriously - no, one who liked not taking things seriously. A subtle difference but an important one. Irreverence as a form of resistance.

Dragan had to be honest though, that was fairly obvious. He could have probably worked it out even if he wasn't a Cogitant.

"Skipper," said Bruno, annoyance clear in his tone. "You're undermining your own authority talking like that."

"Fine, fine," Skipper turned around in his chair again, returning to his instruments. "Show us how it's done, Mr. del Sed."

The moment Skipper finished speaking, Dragan found himself swung off to the side and slammed backwards into a wall, the clang resounding throughout the ship. Intended to intimidate, but not seriously damage - that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

As Dragan staggered back up to his feet, sliding up the wall, Bruno grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in close. Tiny crackles of purple Aether danced around his captors gloved hands.

"Listen, errand boy," he growled. "I'm sure you've figured it out already, but we're going down to the planet to get repairs. We won't be able to keep you tied up all the time, and we can't leave you on the ship while it's being fixed."

Dragan made a show of gasping for breath that wasn't being cut off, and Bruno loosened his grip somewhat. Much more comfortable.

He continued: "I will have my eye on you every second of every day. If you try anything, anything, I will break the part you tried it with. Understand?"

They were practiced words, with a slight monotone to them. Bruno was clearly used to interrogation, but not in a formal environment. Not criminal, either - too much discipline, his walking and breathing too even and regular. Intelligence work?

Dragan grunted, nodded, twisting his face in sympathy-inducing pain.

"Say it." Alas, no sympathy was coming. This Bruno wasn't stupid either - although, Dragan couldn't be sure if Bruno had seen through him or if he was just a jerk in general.

"I understand," groaned Dragan - and a second later he was dropped down to the floor, left to massage his sore throat as best he could with his wrists.

Bruno began to walk over to a loose flap of metal which seemed to serve as a seat, but stopped for a moment, and Serena offered a cheerful smile. The smile disappeared a second later, and Bruno sat down.

A long beep rang out from the pilot controls, and Skipper looked back at them, face illuminated by the ghostly green of Caelus Breck.

"Found us a place to land," he grinned. "Better get comfy, y'all."