“Are you asking me to speak?” he asked, choosing the most passive words and tone he could.
“You playing with me? You having a laugh?” the guard replied, raising his hand once more.
“Leave him be,” the other said. “It’s gonna be bad enough for him once they put him to work.” He turned his attention to Bodok, looking at the scars breaking up his patterns of tattoos and disrupting several of his runes. “But yeah, call me curious. Whose prisoner were you? Dinarians? Or maybe the Plaxx?”
Bodok looked at the man with a cool gaze that spoke volumes. He had been subjected to far, far worse, and any bullying this lot might attempt was child’s play by comparison.
“The Raxxians,” he said calmly.
The guards shifted uncomfortably at the name.
“Shit. Raxxians are bad news,” the guard said, not apologetic, but clearly losing some of the aggressive wind from his sail.
His associate was likewise affected by those words. No matter the conflicts between various races, just about all of them hated the Raxxians. Normally skirmishes and even wars would happen, prisoners would be taken, used for labor, then traded back eventually.
The Raxxians, however, would eat their captives, and that had left them something of a very well-armed pariah throughout the galaxy. In fact, if they were not so powerful a race and if the cost would not be so great, the others might very well have joined together to wipe them from existence.
The guard tapped Bodok on his chest where fresh skin met tattooed flesh. “What about this, then?”
“Again. Raxxians,” Bodok replied.
The guards seemed a little confused by the answer.
“I am a Pokri,” he added. “As I am sure you are aware, my kind are known for their speed of healing.”
A horrified light went on in his captors’ heads as they put two and two together and realized what he meant. He hadn’t simply been tortured. Judging by the shape and size of the sections of regrown flesh, the Raxxians had cut chunks off of him. And they knew what they would have done next.
They didn’t apologize—that would be unheard of for Mondarian guards. They did, however, ease up on the abuse meted out to this prisoner. After what he’d been through, not only did he not deserve it, but whatever they could do to him would pale in comparison to what the Raxxians had done.
The guards all turned to the door as it slid open, immediately snapping to attention. Someone of importance had arrived, it seemed.
A Mondarian, but not nearly as broad of shoulder as the guards. Upper class, no doubt, and slighter in stature for the avoidance of hard labor. He wore ornate clothing and moved with the air of one used to having his way. Judging by how the guards reacted to his arrival, Bodok was pretty certain his assessment was accurate.
The man walked over to the nude prisoner and grabbed his arm without hesitation, squeezing Bodok’s impressive bicep then moving on to survey his shoulders and chest.
“This one will do,” he said. “But I see his runes are damaged. He is broken goods. A lesser prisoner will not be as effective as the others, and not able bodied enough for hard labor. Clean him up, give him prisoner attire, and put him to work in the kitchens. At least he can be of some use there.” He then turned and headed for the door.
The guards grabbed Bodok by the arms. Unlike before, however, this time he struggled, holding his ground as best he could.
“Wait,” he called out. “It is Mondarian custom for a prisoner held for non-violent offenses to earn their freedom. Put me to hard labor and let me earn my freedom sooner. The kitchen will take far longer.”
The guards wanted to hit him, he could see it in their eyes, but with their superior present they merely held him in place, holding back their aggressions. Bodok saw this and decided he would take advantage of their hesitation as long as he was allowed to.
“I am strong. Strong enough to survive the Raxxians.”
The Mondarian stood in the doorway, a bored look on his face, but a somewhat intrigued look in his eye. “Raxxians, you say?”
“Yes. It is the reason my runes are damaged.”
“Damnable creatures, the Raxxians. But they know far better than to ever come near our borders. How did you escape them? So very few ever do.”
“There was an incident aboard their transport ship. I do not know all of the details, but it broke apart and crashed on this world. That is how I have come to find myself freed of the Raxxians.”
“And in Mondarian custody,” the lead guard added. “He was found harboring a female with no Infala. No markings.”
The man tsked and wagged a finger at him. “That is a grave violation of the law. Ten years is your sentence.”
“She was a fellow prisoner aboard the ship. Her kind are not a part of the Dotharian Conglomerate. They do not possess runes as we do.”
