Chapter
KAESO
Infiltration
Kaeso descended the cliff-top to the concealed entrance with the blistering daylight on his back. The adjustment to Altyria played serious tricks on the mind, but the indisputable presence of two suns cemented the new reality. Days lasted twice as long as on Earth, and two dawns provided thirty-five hours of light. One moon shepherds the remaining thirteen hours at second dusk. Far more prominent than Earth's moon, on certain days it appeared close enough to touch from a mountaintop.
Countless theories arose about Altyria, with afterlife, hell, and a second chance at redemption among them. There was even a prophecy that the land itself waited for a unifying leader. To Kaeso, it was a mere story in an ancient book penned by an anonymous author. However, he was that hope for many, and he was not sorry to disappoint. He was no leader, and he never cared for the idea of a predetermined fate. Destiny was restrictive and folly, a hole awaiting its peg. By life or death, no hole, pit, or cage would have him. Kaeso was a free man, a free soul, and a free soldier always searching for a cause. In this world, freeing death slaves was that cause. This day was no different.
Found only if privy to the exact location, and he was, thanks to Lyle, a patch of withered shrubs obscured the hidden entrance. An assortment of skeletal bones lay a few feet from the door, arranged in a cryptic, yet purposeful way. A secret message to those who dealt in the slave business. He side-stepped the bones and squeezed through the dead bushes to knock on the camouflaged entryway.
There was no answer. Kaeso knocked again. This time the heavy door creaked open a few centimeters, and a deep, scratchy voice greeted him. "Who the hell are you?"
"Vikram," he said, the name falling from his lips with ease.
"And what do you want?"
Kaeso shrugged. "Slaves. What else would I be here for?"
"We don't have those. Now get the fuck outta here." Deep, scratchy voice moved to close the door.
Another twentieth century transplant, just like Lyle. Immortals from that time period, and later, aggravated him with their blatant disrespect and demand for unearned entitlements. They were a frustrating lot.
He blocked the door with his boot and snatched deep, scratchy voice by the throat. "Maybe you would prefer to be my death slave instead. I have plenty of room." Kaeso glanced at the short, stocky man's round physique. "I bet you are a squealer." He squeezed, grinning as the man's face reddened and eyes bulged.
"What the...? Okay, okay!" The stubby male squeaked before conceding. Kaeso released his grip, and the man took a few seconds to catch his breath as he rubbed his throat. "Come on," he waved him inside and sealed the door behind them. "Goddamn tribal trash fucker," he muttered. Kaeso ignored that last comment. As much as he would enjoy it, he was not there to kill stout, smart-mouthed gatekeepers.
Deep, scratchy voice led Kaeso down a steep and narrow staircase. How did the stout man in front of him fit in such a cramped stairwell? As he turned sideways and tucked in his arms during the descent, he wondered how he managed to squeeze through the winding space.
Kaeso covered his nose with his coat sleeve to snuff out the stench of body odor fused with sweat. Once at the level where the auction would take place, they followed a long hallway - the kind seen in nightmares - to the end where a set of doors twice his height groaned open. Sauntering over the threshold, he mimicked the arrogance of a slave trader.
Someone who lacked decorative taste had filled the sizeable space with a vomit-green area rug, chipped, split wooden folding chairs and a raised, uneven platform resembling a stage. Gaudy candle fixtures rounded out the ambiance of filth.
The "merchandise" would soon march out for viewing. He assumed the selection was women only, as usual. Although Immortal women were as strong as men, some food, water and sleep deprivation reduced them to the inferior sex the traders enjoyed dominating. Killed for experimentation or sport, death slaves suffered the curse of their natural healing abilities. Torturing Immortals was a regular occurrence, and slave keepers could dole out executions several times a day depending on the kill. The masters praised themselves for developing new and innovative ways to murder people.
Head down and coat collar up, Kaeso observed the other participants. He recognized no one, and he did not expect to. Fighters and cowards did not share the same space. No faces here ever fought beside him on any battlefields for their fellow Immortals' rights to exist in that world. These vagrants not only benefited from his efforts, they took their people's victories and soiled them with a multitude of wicked debaucheries.
Kaeso lingered in silence to avoid scrutiny. Given the numbers and the current location, even he knew the odds were against him if a fight broke out. Good luck saving any of the slaves if he could not save himself.
Fate proved unkind when a beefy nomad accosted him, and he reprimanded himself for his prematurity in crediting good fortune for his inconspicuous presence. His best friend, Sam, would say he jinxed himself.
The unwelcome nomad's abrasive drawl carried an offensive undertone that grated Kaeso's nerves. "I hear they got all the males caged up. Gonna be all pussy to pick from." The man snorted crud from his nasal passages into the back of his mouth and spit out a large, brown-stained glob of mucus that landed inches from Kaeso's foot.
"I heard that too," Kaeso said. Only that was a lie. The slave masters alone decided which slaves to sell, and changing their minds up at random was their prerogative.
The man readjusted his genitals. "Imma get me a tall blond. Hope they got one. Last one got away. Ain't found her yet. Need that pussy. Right man?" He held up a sausage-fingered hand, and Kaeso suppressed a scowl as he met it with an iron slap.
Motions remained fluid and his game face stayed intact as he burned the nomad's ugly mug into his brain to grant him the agonizing death he deserved later. "Right. I prefer dark-haired girls though. Too many blondes in our flock," he said, with expanding nausea in the pit of his stomach.
The nomad's eyeballs darted around, scanning the room. He stepped closer to Kaeso and without moving his head, spoke in a low voice. "How many blondes you got? We can work out a trade. I got some brunettes and a redhead. Ain't nobody here need to know."
Kaeso flared his nostrils and filled his diaphragm with a quick inhale. This fool would get them both thrown in a cell. No side deals permitted in slave camps, period. Slave masters earned commission on trades. Any secondary trading happened far from the camps and in secret, or risk being branded and banned forever. Dealing with disgraced traders was bad business.
How was that for ironic? No one in this market realized they were all a disgrace.
"Three days from now. Second sun. Two hundred clicks northeast at The Barren key. Drop it.” He banked on the quick answer to shut the guy up fast
The contemptible male smirked in agreement. Kaeso wished he could tell the Immortal traitor how he looked forward to beheading him that evening, but it would undermine his plan. Pity, though, because he loved making those kinds of promises, and he loved fulfilling them more so.
The doors opened, and he steeled himself against the torrent of fury about to course through his veins. As the slaves marched out, he feigned interest by stepping away from the nomad and approaching the stage. A closer look revealed ten pale-skinned women with sunken eyes and slumped postures. The inadequate lighting made it difficult to conclude if their slick hair resulted from being water-boarded by their captors, or from festering in their own mix of body fluids. If they were, in fact, clean, the fetid scent filling the room spoiled the fragrance.
To avoid appearing anxious, he idled for a bit until the auctioneer pushed the fourth slave forward. The girl wore tattered rags and covered one of her revealed breasts with an emaciated hand. The hovering guard struck her with his whip, and her head snapped up. She pierced the guard with a glare radiating hatred before dissolving into unyielding defiance.
The auctioneer grinned. "Vultures," he said, the single word meant to remind her of the brutal punishment carried out for insolence. The girl shrank, defeated.
All the slaves emanated gut-wrenching fear, and a surge of rage boiled Kaeso's blood. Everyone in attendance needed to die and stay dead. Goddamn immortality.
He started his bid low to smoke out the competitors and engaged in a bidding war with a haughty aristocrat across the room. The pompous ass must have been there to add to his collection, but his air was a facade. He operated out of a pit in the desert, like the others, and satisfied his perverted fetishes by robbing freedom from their own kind. Kaeso aimed a steady, intimidating glare at the perpetrating high class miscreant until he conceded with an exasperated sigh.
Phase one complete.