Captive - Cheryl Brooks Page 0,7
fury, although Trag’s daughter had certainly provided him with a focus for that rage. A heavy stun would’ve served her right for even thinking about selling him as a slave.
Like father, like son.
The irony of his situation was almost laughable. His father, Carkdacund Tshevnoe, had been one of six soldiers captured near the end of the war against Zetith and sold into slavery in lieu of execution. Twenty years had passed before he was purchased and subsequently freed by Moe’s mother, Captain Jacinth “Jack” Rutland.
But Moe hadn’t been sold yet. Finding a way out of this dilemma might take some doing, but find it, he would. He always had. This solution would simply require more thought.
His options were limited. If he couldn’t access his funds, he could steal his money back, get a job, or enter that gladiator contest and win it—or die trying.
Resorting to thievery was probably his best bet. That is, if he could find anything on this stinking planet worth stealing. Certainly nothing in this trashy neighborhood. He was chastising himself for not checking his wallet before leaving that woman’s lair when he heard footsteps.
“Spread out,” a curt voice ordered from across the street. “He can’t have gone far.”
The sound of her voice sent hatred surging through him. She was keeping her voice down but obviously hadn’t reckoned on his superb hearing. That heavy stun setting was sounding better all the time.
I should do it right now.
Seeing her crumple in the middle of the street would be satisfying and no more than she deserved. What a horrible woman! Trag was a decent sort, which meant her mother must’ve been a real piece of work. Imagine going to all that trouble just to fuck a Zetithian—although she probably wasn’t the first to do so. Once again, Moe wished he’d taken after his mother’s side of the family. Sure, there were bad Terrans as well as good, but at least he wouldn’t have been quite so conspicuous.
Creeping toward the edge of the awning, he peered around it. All he could see were the three Racks and the Norludian. The woman and the Sympaticon were nowhere in sight.
Sympaticons were tricky. They could assume almost any form. He’d seen them morph into everything from boulders to enormous fish. He could walk right past the damn thing and never know it was there until it finally struck.
Therefore, although it went severely against the grain, going back for his credits was out of the question. He needed to get as far away from that woman as fast as he could. With no idea which way to turn, he opted to continue on his original path. Once the Racks were out of sight, he fired a narrow pulse beam at a nearby building to create a diversion and sprinted off in the opposite direction.
His curly waist-length hair was his most identifiable feature. Moe had never worn a hat in his life, but this seemed like a good time to start. The trouble was, he’d never seen a Haedusian wear a hat, either. Cutting his hair wasn’t an option, but braiding it would help. After finally reaching what seemed to be an inhabited area—although the condition of the buildings wasn’t that much different from where he’d just been—he spotted several rags hanging from a clothesline.
His first reaction was amazement that any of the locals actually washed their clothes. That was, until he snatched a bit of gray fabric as he ran past, figuring it was most unobtrusive of the lot. One whiff proved the cloth had only been hung out in the hope that the wind and sunshine would remove the worst of the dirt and stench. Obviously, this one hadn’t been hanging long enough to make much difference, although it was relatively easy to tear into strips. He crouched behind a ramshackle shed and managed two braids in short order. As disguises went, it wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do on the fly.
A hood would be better. One like hers. Whatever her name was.
Trag’s daughter.
That she would be the one to attempt to capture and sell him into slavery was wrong on so many levels and amazing on several others. The odds against running across her in such a manner were mind-bogglingly huge.
I should’ve taken her robe. Then she wouldn’t be able to hide. The Nedwuts would find her and—
No. He wouldn’t wish that fate on her, even if she had tried to turn him into a gladiator slave.
His mother