“That matters not. You are subject to those laws and have violated them. And you are now being punished for it.”
“I understand. I just wished to explain the situation,” Bodok said with a defeated air. “And, if possible, earn a shortened sentence through my labors.”
The elite looked at him a long moment, studying him with this new information rattling around in his head.
“Hmm. You have suffered much, then?” the man finally said.
Bodok nodded once. “Greatly.”
The man’s shoulders twitched in a tiny shrug. “Very well. We shall put you to hard labor as you wish. It will still take some time to earn down your sentence.”
“I understand.”
“But I warn you, if you perform poorly, it is off to the kitchens. Or worse.”
“Thank you,” Bodok replied with a little bow of his head. “I will work hard for my freedom.”
At that the man laughed. Even the guards snickered.
“What did I say? It is the Mondarian custom.”
“On other worlds, yes,” the man replied. “But here, so far from the core systems, things are a bit different. You may reduce the length by a few years, but here the magistrate has dictated that the only way for one such as yourself to earn their freedom outright is through the tournaments. And onlyrealfighters are accepted. And you, my damaged friend, do not have the bearing of a fighter.”
Bodok was both shocked and confused. For a magistrate to override Mondarian custom, they must be far from oversight indeed. And that did not bode well for his aspirations of freedom. And freedom was his only way to find Maureen.
“You mention tournaments,” he said questioningly. “And freedom.”
“Oh, not without fully functional runes,” the man replied with a laugh. “It is hard enough for the intact to advance. You would lose horribly.”
“But if I am willing?” Bodok asked, not wanting to fight, but forced to consider the option. “If I could repair my runes?”
“If by some miracle you find a way to come out on top for a few rounds, then your winnings—held in a prisoner account on your behalf, of course—could be used to hire a Skrizzit to repair your runes.Then, I suppose you could improve your odds.” He stepped closer, looking at the damage to the deep-blue man’s body. “But you are a Pokri, yes?”
“I am.”
“Then you should be regenerating those connections on your own.”
“There was much damage done by the Raxxians, as I am sure you can see. And regenerating flesh is one thing, but to regenerate one’s runes? I do not think it is possible.”
“Oh, you would be surprised,” the Mondarian said. “It has been a very, very long time since I have seen it myself, but it has occurred. The process, however, is extremely slow. The flesh knits quickly, but the pigment bonded to it can only utilize your healing factor at a greatly reduced rate. In any case, that would only matterifyou decided to engage in the tournament. And as I said, in your condition, only a suicidal fool would even consider it.”
The man nodded to the guards then turned on his heel and left the room.
“Come on,” the lead guard said. “You heard him. You’re going to get your wish. Hard labor. I think you’ll regret that decision soon enough.”
They clothed him in basic prison laborer attire and led him from the chamber, headed off to wherever they would be putting his strength to use, but his mind was in a different place. He was still replaying the man’s words. About how his kind could actually repair their own runes.
Bodok had never heard of such a thing, and he actuallywasa Pokri. That another race would know things about his body’s potential that he didn’t was shocking. But on his own world there had been no need to think about such things. It had never crossed his mind.
He began to consider just how long he had been a prisoner and realized it had been a substantial amount of time. In that period there had been the occasional sensation, as though a fine tendril of contact with his damaged runes was making a connection, but he ignored it as phantom nerve pain.
But if what this man said was true, that could explain it. How his body was actually healing what he had thought unhealable.
He felt a tiny twinge in his chest at the idea of being whole again. Then his mind wandered to Maureen, wondering how he might find her. How he could see her again, the memory of her touch lingering on his skin, making him long for the strange human woman in the flesh once more. That was the plan, and he would find a way to set it in motion, whatever it took.
But first, he would have to survive.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
