Angel 6.0 Episode I Concubine: Chapter 2

“D’Anton, listen. You must wake up and listen.” I shook his shoulder and he mumbled in his sleep. “Dr. Pascal, wake up!”

He sat up in bed and squinted at me. His gaze traveled up and down my half-dressed body and settled on the splat of blood at the lower hem of my shirt. His eyes flared with alarm. “What has happened?”

“I’m okay. It’s not me. The Gran are here. There’s a problem. They’ve seen me.” His eyes sharpened, and his whip-like intellect focused on me, on what I hadn’t said yet. “When they saw me in the hub, they argued with Carver. They want to take me.”

“Merde!” In an instant he was up out of bed and reaching for his lab coat. He never left his cabin without that coat.

I pulled on his hand. “You have to help Carver fix it. He won’t admit it, but he’s scared. He fears angering the Gran.”

“Imbecile! Why didn’t he send you to your cabin? How could he let them see you?”

“They came early. They weren’t expected for three more days. You have to convince them. Carver barely speaks their language. He told them I’m no good. He said I don’t meet their specifications. You’re the Doctor. You could show them reports and data. You could prove that I am different. That I was never intended as a work drone laborer.”

“Angel, you are so different, no one would believe the truth.” He shook his head. “Casting pearls among the swine. No amount of reports can convince these animals. They are traffickers of flesh, slave traders.” His face turned gravely serious. “You must get into the ducts and keep moving. Whatever you do, stay hidden until they leave. Do not come out of hiding, no matter what happens.”

He turned away and opened a drawer at his desk. His hand emerged with a small plasma pistol. I’d rifled through his cabin enough times to know he had the weapon, but I’d never seen him carry it. He checked the setting and looked at me with determination. “I’ll never let them have you. Now go, run.”

I ran.

No sooner had I sealed myself into the ducts when Carver and several Gran warriors marched down the hallway for Dr. Pascal’s cabin. I held my breath and remained still and silent as they walked past my ventilation grate. D’Anton stepped out to meet them with a hard edged look on his face. He had always been passionate about his work, about me. Though he complained, moaned and worried endlessly, he was not prone to fits of anger. I’d never seen him look so cold and furious.

Carver spoke low in English, his gaze flickering back and forth between the warriors and Dr. Pascal. “Captain Cronin of the Gran Traders Guild has provided me with these lovely escorts until I meet his demands. He wants a sample of the Angelina stock.”

D’Anton eyed the tall warriors carrying their staffs and battle gauntlets and cut into Carver with a jagged whisper. “Are you so selfish and stupid that you’d give the hope of humanity’s future to these beasts? I help you run this slave trading operation for one reason – her. She is all that matters in this waystation to hell.”

Carver laid his hand on D’Anton’s shoulder. “Doctor, I wasn’t suggesting that we hand her over. I didn’t know you’d already been briefed on the situation.” Carver looked over his shoulder and down the hallway towards the ventilation grate where I sat watching him. Though he couldn’t see me, I know he felt me hiding in silent support of his struggle to save me.

He turned back to D’Anton. “I am asking for your help. Word came from Nugene Corp Earthside. They don’t want to upset the delicate footing of our contract with the Gran. They’re writing her off as a loss for a tax deduction. They aren’t even aware of everything you’ve been doing here. The reports we submit on her are redacted. To them, Angel is simply a research expense in the budget, a failed investment. Now please keep a smile on your face and help me find a way to placate these creatures. We wouldn’t want our guests to think us inhospitable.”

* * * *

I followed them at a distance as Carver led his guards on a leisurely stroll throughout the station. They checked every room, every cabin, the incubation area, the common areas, the training grounds, everywhere. Level by level they inspected the entire station. They were looking for me.

I wondered how long they would look for me before they gave up. I could wait. I knew where to steal food and drinks. I knew the ducts and maintenance access tubes better than the techs who built this station.

I could wait almost indefinitely.

Captain Cronin was not a patient male. He growled orders into his wrist-com and an hour later a new shuttle arrived, filled to capacity with thirty Gran warriors in full battle gear, and gauntlet blades.

They were taking over the station.

Carver, D’Anton, and all the white coats were sealed into the labs at threat of death from blazing gauntlet blades. The Gran gauntlet was a huge metal fist that lit up with an arc of white-hot energy that covered the entire knuckle like a brightly burning torch. It was rumored the Gran could cut through anything with those blades – even steel. Next, the kitchen staff, gardeners, housekeepers and maintenance techs were rounded up and locked in the dining room. Once they secured everyone, the Gran roamed the hallways and corridors uninterrupted as they tore the entire facility apart, room by room. They shredded mattresses. Seat cushions were tossed. Closets and storage bunkers were emptied.

After a day they started looking into the station diagrams. They sent two of the smallest Cats crawling through the maintenance tunnels. For two days they searched for me. Every hour that passed, the Captain became more enraged. He hadn’t slept. He snapped orders in harsh growls and yowls. “See how they hide her away? See how she eludes us constantly? This is the best stock they have. She is highly valued! Find her and bring her to me!”

His ears twitched and his claws flexed with irritation. The Captain exuded ferocity at every turn, a very unhappy Cat.

Then, when I thought they might finally give up, the Captain snapped. He stood up from his chair outside Carver’s office, downed the liquor in his cup, and hacked through the middle of a plastisteel table with the energized blade of his battle gauntlet. We’d all heard stories of how they used their blades in hand to hand combat, but seeing it happen was another thing. Growling in frustration, The Captain barely held his anger in check as he breathed in and out through his nose, scenting the air carefully.

“She is here, watching us, mocking us.” His feline vertical pupils scanned the room, until he settled on the ventilation grate where I sat holding my breath. He growled at the Warrior standing nearest to me. The Warrior activated his white-hot blade and started cutting through the walls a few inches away from me.

I sprinted down the ducts fast as I could run. Watching them night and day, I had become overconfident and forgotten to bathe. Predatory fuckers caught my scent.

Again they sent one of the smaller Warriors into the tunnels after me. I could hear him growling and huffing behind me as the claws on his toes scraped and scrambled. Minute by minute, he gained ground, ever closer on my heels. He was taller, lankier, with a longer stride. My chances of outrunning him were slim, but I knew this station like no other. This was my playground, my home, and I knew all the pitfalls of grav-spin.

I switched from corridor to corridor, diving, sliding, leaping, jumping, always working my way up towards the central hub. They wanted to see me dance again.

So let’s dance.