The crash must've been more realistic than he'd planned, Ranger Esteban
Tarlac thought groggily as he regained consciousness. His head hurt
where something had hit it, and his body ached in a pattern that
matched the crash webbing's. But at least one thing was going
according to plan: he'd obviously been captured by the rebels, since he
was hanging by his wrists with his arms stretched painfully apart--and
only the rebels, on this world, would be willing to risk treating a
Ranger with such hostility.
He blinked a couple of times, then got his feet under him and
straightened, taking the weight off his arms. A look around satisfied
him that he was indeed a prisoner of the rebels--and on display in the
middle of their base. That detail hadn't been part of his plan, but
shouldn't affect it adversely. Even from here, the base looked like
the large recreation area it supposedly was; if Tarlac hadn't been
familiar with sensor data that showed it was actually close to the
equivalent of a planetary defense base, as far as equipment
went--personnel were a different matter--he would have thought himself
at the main campfire site of a particularly prosperous commercial camping
area.
"So Your Highness finally decided to honor us by waking up."
Tarlac winced inwardly at the sarcasm in the man's voice. It was the
first time since he'd become a Ranger that he'd experienced open
hostility, though he'd known from the beginning that sooner or later he
would. He looked toward the voice, immediately recognizing the older
man as Lord Robert Kaplan, second child of Count Jonathan Kaplan and
the reported leader of this rebellion. "Your hospitality leaves
something to be desired, my Lord. I hope you're giving my pilot and
bodyguards better treatment than you're giving me."
"In a manner of speaking," Lord Robert said. "They, at least, are in
no discomfort."
"They're dead?"
"I'm afraid so," Lord Robert said. "Not that you would really care."
The rebel leader was mistaken there, Tarlac thought grimly. He did
care, very much, about the Navy pilot and the four Security Division
Marines who had volunteered for the mission that had cost them their
lives--but he couldn't let those feelings show. "What do you plan to
do with me?"
"Trade you for rule, I think, rather than fight for it," Lord Robert
said consideringly. "That way, none of my people suffer. And I think
I should be able to get . . . oh, a Subsector at least for you."
In spite of his position, Tarlac had to laugh. Lord Robert was
deluding himself if he honestly thought the Emperor would make that
sort of trade! "You must know better than that, my Lord. The Empire
doesn't make deals with criminals."
"I think His Majesty will make this one, Highness. You are, after all,
his newest Ranger, and he is bound to want to keep you; Rangers, for
whatever reason, are scarce enough to be worth trading for an entire
Sector." Lord Robert looked thoughtful. "Yes, a Sector would be even
better. Myself as Duke, my lieutenants as Earls and Counts, other
officers as Barons--that would be just enough." He scowled. "There
may even be places for my beloved parents and sister, once they
acknowledge that I am truly the best of them, cheated out of what is
due me by the accident of being born second."
"You're welcome to try, but you'll be disappointed." Tarlac remained
outwardly impassive, though he was becoming convinced that Lord Robert
was, to use the Marine expression, firing from a dead powerpack. Well,
he could manage to tolerate a couple of days like this while Lord
Robert called the Palace and tried to negotiate; then the time limit
he'd given the colonel in charge of his ship's Marine forces would
expire, a company or more of power-armored Marines would land to pull
him out and take prisoners, then--if necessary, which he hoped it
wouldn't be--his ship would destroy the base and any of its personnel
who chose not to surrender.
"We'll see," Lord Robert said, smiling. "In the meantime, I think your
capture is cause for celebration."
His people evidently agreed; not long after he left, they began party
preparations, bringing out folding tables and loading them with food
and drink--mostly drink. Their festive mood didn't extend to the young
Ranger, though; Tarlac found himself the object of curses, gloating,
and comments about what most would like to do with the ranking Imperial
officer who was so totally in their power.
Tarlac ignored curses and threats alike, since there was nothing he
could do for the moment, and since he was convinced that nothing
serious would be done to him, whatever was threatened. He'd never
heard of anyone deliberately injuring or killing a Ranger, which wasn't
surprising; the punishment was death, with no reduction of sentence or
mitigating circumstances allowed. He didn't notice--and wouldn't have
cared--that his disregard of their threats made the rebels more
determined to break through the reserve that was so much a part of him
that he never noticed it.
As dusk turned into night and the campfire was lit, the party got both
loud and violent enough that he couldn't disregard it any longer.
Eventually, one of the rebels brought out an animal whip, suggesting it
might be fun to see if they could get some amusement out of the damned
Imperial.
* * * * *
Somehow, Dave Scanlon thought, being held prisoner by a bunch of rebels
just wasn't what it was cracked up to be. He wasn't even locked up,
and his guard had won every one of their chess games so far! Oh, the
rebels themselves seemed to be having a good enough time--it sounded
like a fun party--but he was bored. Then he heard something odd, and
looked around. "Hey, Theo, what was that?"