Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Wild West
Completed
Summary: A Bounty Hunter sits in a saloon, waiting for his prey to come along.
The Hunter
He'd been trailing him for a while now. Money was never this hard to get. He
was worth ten thousand dollars.
The Hunter calmly stepped through the swinging doors of the Saloon. The smoke
hit him like a punch.
Somebody was playing away on an out of tune, honky tonk piano. The player
stopped playing to catch a glance at The Hunter, who walked up and took a seat
by the bar. The Player started playing again.
"What'll it be?'' says the bartender.
"Give me a whiskey." Says the hunter, swallowing his saliva and placing 30
cents on the counter.
Somebody else entered the Saloon, and, as usual, everybody's attention was on
the person who entered, and the player stopped playing to catch a glance.
The Hunter looked at the new guest, who was a small fat Mexican. Nope, not
who he was hunting.
"Anything else?" Inquires the bartender.
"Just a peaceful half-hour to drink it in." He replies.
The Hunter went on drinking his drink.
"You stayin' in town long?" says the bartender.
"Just for some business."
"What kind of business?" he asks.
The Hunter looked up at him.
"None of your damn-"
The saloon doors swung open, and a filthy cowboy entered.
The Player stopped playing. Everyone looked at the cowboy.
Nobody recognised him, so everybody went back to their drinking and
conversing. The player started playing.
The Hunter knew him. He knew that filthy cowboy, and all he had done.
But what that cowboy had done didn't matter one bit to the Hunter.
That Cowboy was worth ten thousand dollars.
The Hunter stood up, gave his glass to the bartender, turned around, and just
stood, leaning on the stool behind him.
The Cowboy walked to the bar and ordered a Beer. The Bartender poured his
beer and gave it to him.
"You're gonna have to start a tab." Says the cowboy.
"I know, I know, you don't have the money 'cos you just rode into town."
Replies the bartender.
The Cowboy took his drink and took a greedy gulp from it. He took the glass
away from his lips and smiled. He then noticed the Hunter. The Hunter looked him
up and down while he drank his gulp. He looked at his long hair, his bright,
grey eyes and his scruffy beard. The absence of the top of his right ear gave
away his identity.
He noticed the Hunter, standing there. He stopped drinking for a second. He
stared at him.
"Want anything, cowboy?" He says.
"No, I'm just fine." Responds the Hunter. "Just thought you were my brother
out of Missouri."
The scruffy Cowboy looked at him for a second, and then went to seat himself
at a table near the door.
The hunter bought another drink and calmly drank. He payed for his drink, sat
up, pushed his stool in, and wandered over to the Filthy Cowboy's table, where
he sat, smoking a cigar and drinking his beer. The Hunter walked up, and stood
in front of his table.
"What do you want, now, cowboy?" says the Cowboy, threateningly.
"You're wanted, Munny."
"...You're a Bounty Hunter?"
"Man's gotta do somethin' for a livin'."
He paused.
"Dyin' ain't much of a livin, cowboy."
He tossed the table over onto the Hunter, who fell on the floor underneath
it. The player stopped playing and everyone watched. The cowboy ran towards the
door. The Hunter pulled his pistol and shot a stray bullet in his direction.
He only had one bullet left, and that was it gone. He hadn't expected it to
be as hard as this, so he hadn't bought new shells.
It nicked him on the neck and he fell over from surprise.
The hunter ran out with a chair. When the Cowboy got up, he smashed the chair
across his jaw.
The Cowboy stumbled and fell. But to the hunter's surprise, he came up with a
knife and cut off a piece of his ear.
"Come on," He says, "Fight me!"
He hit the Hunter hard right between the eyes, who came back with a punch to
the jaw.
Everyone was now gathering around to watch.
To the Hunter's fatal surprise, the Cowboy stabbed him right in the gut. He
yanked the knife out and punched him in the nose.
The hunter keeled over and fell on the ground.
The fight was over. Everyone went back in.
The Player began playing once again.
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on 08/17 at 06:07 PM
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or gory violence however.
Genre: Drama, Adventure
Chapters 1-4 completed
An exploration of what an exceptionally good guy might find himself doing in an exceptionally evil situation. Rayman's planet is defeated by invading pirates and he comes up with a scheme to free his people, at great cost to himself. The question is, what does this deal with the devil do to him?
Disclaimer: The characters of Rayman and Ly are ) Ubi Soft. The situation/enemies of
this story were suggested by the game Rayman 2, The Great Escape, but are different from the
game. Otherwise, all other characters and the actual setting and incidents can be blamed on me.
Any resemblance to any other characters, living, dead, or imaginary, is purely coincidental! This
is a dark story, and Rayman is not always in his usual character, so be forewarned!
Story and original characters 2000, 2002 Rayfan
Piranha
Chapter One: Death
In absolute darkness, incarcerated in a coffin-like box that serves as cell, life support,
and torture device all in one, Rayman is suspended. A procession of images moves across
the blackness before his eyes, voices so real inside his ear that he would turn his head to
look, if he could. Closing his eyes makes no difference. Pictures of the war, the events just
preceding, during, and following the defeat of his planet and his own capture the
successes, the failures; his inspired ideas, his catastrophic errors. And then the one that
comes back, over and over, crowds out all the rest, the picture that crushes a moan out of
him: the picture of Ly, blindfolded, her hands tied, brutally struck, forced into a concrete
coffin while he watched. He cant turn his head away from the sight, he cant close his eyes
to it, he still hears her gasp of pain and shock as the metal fist strikes her head... And then
seeing so many more of his people meet the same fate, thirty, fifty, a hundred, losing track
of how many, seeing each of them locked away, for what unknown purpose to die?
before he too is shut into an oblong grey concrete box. And, as he knows, thousands, tens of
thousands more of his planets people are still being captured, still being herded in and
locked up somewhere on the immense pirate ship.
They had lost. They had lost. It was all his fault. His people were killed, enslaved,
their world devastated, and it was all his fault. They had counted on him, and he had failed.
***
After having been forced to witness the fate of all his friends, he too had been thrust
down into a coffin, lying horizontal on a waist-height pedestal, a box just large enough for
him and its own machinery. Medical slaves had rapidly hooked up the many tubes and
electrical leads of the life support system, along with the complex series of restraints that
held him motionless. He had lain silent, glaring up at his tormentors with ferocity, although
more than anything his awareness was fixated on how horribly difficult it was becoming to
breathe.
And then, his enemy, Anaconda, the conqueror had bent casually over him for a
last look.
"Goodbye, Rayman," he smiled. Startling in the flat matte black of his metallic face,
the small glowing yellow eyes were half-shuttered with satisfaction. "They explained to you
about the life support system, I hope? Youll have a long life as long as this ship keeps
going. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years, who knows? You wont... theres no time in the
box. Or, theres infinitetime. So, bye-bye. It was a fun war, Ill miss you. I really will. Eh,
maybe some day Ill drop by to see how youre doing. If I think of it. Enjoy your retirement.
Sorry about no gold watch. Dont rust, now." And the heavy concrete lid scraped shut, slicing
away the universe, bringing utter blackness.
Rayman had only glared at him with contempt. But after the lid was closed and the
machine activated, and he felt something slow, burning cold, terrifying, like liquid nitrogen
creeping into his body, like a mass of solid fire, his eyes opened wide in the darkness. His
mouth opened, though no sound came out. He tried to take a deep breath, but he couldnt.
There was no air. And he was an explosion of raw animal panic.
Then he calmed. He almost chuckled. What? Resisting death? Now?
***
He is entombed. There is no light. There is silence, except for the faint clickings and
sighings of the machine in its homeostatic operations. He cant touch anything, cant even
feel the wires and tubing and restraints on him, at most can only sense the closeness of a
rough surface just beyond his face, unseeable, unreachable. The only variety in his
experience is the waxing and waning cycle of the pain. At its peak, red and gold explosions
go off in his eyes, his brain whites out. At its lowest point, he is able to feel how desperately
he wants to breathe. Yet though he cant seem to breathe, he is alive; and though something
unnameable is searing him from the inside, atom by atom tearing him apart, he is conscious,
he cant lose consciousness, he cant faint, he cant sleep, he cant quit, he cant give up. And
he still knows where he is ... even if the idea that there was once another place beyond this
pain some other world of light, motion, life seems more and more hallucination.
And the hallucination creeps closer, tempting him: its colour, its freshness, its light
and air. It grows brighter, more vivid, he edges closer and closer to plunging in. There they
are, his friends, his world, the trees and water and sky; faces, kind laughing eyes,
outstretched hands.
And then there is Ly. On her knees, in tears, hands covering her beautiful eyes,
devastation crashing all around her, so many falling trees, so many villages razed, so many
clear rivers defiled, and the slaughter of so many people ...
Now he sees her moaning, trying to writhe, unheard in her coffin; and he is back, fully
aware, in his own. Only one thought grips him now: What if the bastard does come back?
What then? What then? What then?
He feels himself dying. He cant, he mustnt, he has to be ready, Anaconda might
come back. The lid might crack open. He has to be ready.
He is dying. A deep coldness, a stillness, advance on him silently, under the
distracting barrage of his agony; but he doesnt quite die. Perhaps this is how its supposed
to be, in the box. And all in the midst of his dying his mind goes on working, working,
turning this way, that way, tearing like a panther into every possibility. Fighter as he was,
Rayman never fought like this in that mythical time when he was alive.
Meanwhile, he doesnt know if hours have passed, or days, or years. Anaconda, as
always, was right.
***
In the midst of that endless, timeless battle, something different happens. Something
tugs at his attention, pulling him bit by bit out of the hell of his own body. There is a
rumbling blast like the explosion of a planet, and then a nova, shattering brightness; then
empty space. The concrete lid is being dragged open.
Despite his desperate effort to perceive, to see, to hear, it is a few moments before he
is physically able to make out the face of his enemy smiling patronizingly down on him. He
struggles harder, a ghastly effort to get air, to find his voice he has to seize the chance
before the tormentor closes the lid and goes away, never to return. But his half-paralyzed
body responds sludgily, in slow motion. The tormentor stands over him, watching, grinning.
Rayman at last coughs and forces breath into his aching chest. Even as his dazzled,
bewildered eyes still struggle to focus, his face becomes steady and composed. He looks up
at his enemy with a strange mixture of a sort of honest recognition of helplessness, and an
implacable self-possession that makes nothing of that helplessness.
Anaconda looks at him with some touch of recognition in his own eyes. "No
screaming, no begging, and yet youre quite conscious," he says. "I have to grant you, youre a
tough little bastard, pipsqueak."
Rayman is coughing, chest heaving in a savage attempt to activate his voice. "Listen,"
he gasps. "Listen."
"Make it quick."
Rayman looks into that narrow yellow gaze, his own large eyes now calm and
focused, quietly angry, and showing a quiet, very quiet challenge. "I have an offer to make
you," he whispers hoarsely. He cant speak any louder.
"Really," says his enemy. "What can you possibly have to offer me?"
Coolly, Rayman looks at him. "Myself," he says.
Anacondas metallic eyebrows go up. "Yourself? Rayman, do I need to point out that
I have you already?"
Rayman cant shake his head, but isnt there just the hint of a smile on his face now?
"Have me? No, you dont," he says. "You have my body. A useless corpse. No, Im offering
you me. Your living enemy. To work for you."
"What? You to work for me? Why should I want ..." But the conquerors voice falls
away as he looks into those big eyes, that are now, despite utter defeat, despite obvious
physical pain, very openly amused. The jaw-dropping arrogance of the little freak!
Rayman murmurs, lightly, "Im useful."
Anaconda is silent. But he hasnt closed the lid. Rayman adds, "You know what I can
do."
"Dont I!" snorts Anaconda. "So what makes you imagine I would trust you to do all
that for me?"
Rayman smiles at him collectedly. "Not possible to cheat on this deal."
"A deal, eh? I let you out and you work for me."
"No, no," Rayman says, "No. You let my friends out of these boxes, you free my
people, you go away from my planet and I work for you."
Smoothly, Anaconda turns a gasp into a laugh. "What! Even for a self-marketing
slave, dont you think you price yourself a little high?"
Rayman closes his eyes, his smile now gentle, almost dreamy. "Well, you know ... the
actual question is, what could something like me be worth to you?"
"Well, you conceited little"
"Conceited? Think. Just how hard did you have to work to put me here? How many
hundreds of men did you lose in the process? What did it cost you, in time, money,
personnel, sheer aggravation, to take my planet? To track me down? ... How about having
all that on your side next time?"
Anaconda is starting to look thoughtful. "Rayman... You know what would be the
consequence if you betrayed me by so much as a hair, a breath, a thought."
"Free my planet and my people and I wont ever think that thought."
"The torture wouldnt end with you. I know who your friends are. I know who"
"Yes, yes, yes. Listen to me: If you accept my price, you will own me. You have my
word. Ill serve you with all of my ability, all of it. Ive led a whole planet in war. I can deal
with that collection of louts you call a crew. You could conquer worlds in half the time, a
quarter of the time Whats the value of one little green planet compared to the gold youll
get? Take yourself and your stooges away from my world forever, free the population, and
Ill belong to you."
His enemy draws back a little, looking down at him with an odd, crafty, dawningly
triumphant look. "Rayman," he murmurs, softly, smiling just barely. "Rayman. This could be
very entertaining ... If I accepted your price ... Do you really understand what youre
offering? What price youd have to pay?"
Rayman closes his eyes. He is silent for a moment. Then he says, quietly, "Yes."
Anaconda straightens up, grinning now. "You know... I believe you actually wouldbe
simple enough to keep your word. I admit... its a very inviting thought. And, of course, if
you didnt... that could be interesting, too. ... But I really do think you actually, pathetically
would. Well, well."
Rayman lies silent, eyes closed. A terrible coldness is soughing through him, from the
center of him out, to his extremities, his head, hes reeling. Hes done it. He has done it.
God help him, hes done it.
***
Anaconda is directing his servants. "Get him out of that thing. It must be possible.
Take him to an empty officers cabin, find him some clothes, wash him, feed him, all that.
Send the call to the troops. Were shipping out."
Raymans eyes open at that. "My friends," he says hoarsely.
"Oh, sure. Were still on your planet. Easy to take care of."
"I want to see each one of them out of the box, alive and well, and see them freed. Or
I wont consider youve kept your side of the deal."
"Yes, yes, no problem. You, there, Ginsop, Malak see to it. Do what he said."
Rayman squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of his pain and
exhaustion. Just like that! As if it were nothing to him, that bastard, as if hed have let them
go anyway, the vile, loathsome bastard! And now Rayman is committed, hes committed
himself, its all over. He lies quietly spinning in vertigo, in weakness, while a group of human
slaves begin to bustle around him, preparing for the lengthy process of disengaging him
from the machine.
***
He is sitting, or rather reclining, on a hard bench near the exit from the ship. An old
bathrobe is wrapped around him (his own clothes are long gone). He is painfully thin,
wasted, debilitated, barely able to stand or walk. He can sit up only for short periods. But he
rouses himself fiercely to make sure the pirates are keeping their side of the deal. Those
huge dark eyes, feverishly bigger than ever, keep close watch as his friends are brought past
him, one by one, to exit the ship.
Though none are as hard-hit as Rayman, they are all dazed, ill, weak. He gives each
of them a sharp, evaluative glance as they approach. Then he looks away, does not meet
their eyes, does not respond to their gasps of amazement and bewilderment at seeing him,
at being released; he does not take their anxious hands. At most he whispers a barely
audible goodbye. But with that one glance he makes sure that they are well enough to go,
and he makes sure that they leave the ship; and his eyes intently follow each descent, step by
step down the gangway to the brilliantly green earth below.
***
And then there is Ly. As she is brought to the door, he is sitting up. His eyes gape for
an instant as she approaches. Then he turns away, swallowing. With a mad wrench she
breaks free from her escort, she runs to him, seizes his hands. He keeps his face averted.
"Rayman! Oh, my god, youre alive! Are you all right? What are you doing here?
Why are they letting us go?"
He murmurs hoarsely, "They didnt tell you?"
"They told me nothing, absolutely nothing, except that I was being sent back to the
planet, and I see the others are too, nobody knows why."
He turns to face her, holding onto her hands; looks at her for a brief moment. "Are
you okay, Ly?"
"Im all right, but Rayman, you look"
"I was just released from the box like you. Im doing better now. Ly, you have to
leave, right away."
"Why are they letting us go?"
He looks away. "I ... I arranged it."
She stares at him. "Youre coming too, arent you?"
" No."
"What!"But seeing the anguish on his face, she subsides. "But ..."
He is struggling with tears. She can feel the trembling of his hands.
"Rayman," she whispers, "Rayman, what did you do to free us?"
He is shivering, he looks like he is going to faint. He still wont meet her eyes.
"You couldnt have" she says, slowly, "Rayman you didnt agree to givethem
something?"
He lowers his eyes even more, swallows with difficulty.
"Oh, my god," she whispers. "Rayman you couldnt youd never"
Her hands are still in his, and he clenches them convulsively, painfully, as something
like a bullet goes through him. Then he pulls away, hunches over, she sees tears welling
from his shut eyes, and he hides his face.
Abruptly, dizzyingly, she is looking down into the abyss of his grief, it engulfs her too.
Tears rush to her own eyes. She tries to put her arms around him, but he twists away,
blocking her with his hands, and the pirates are there, dragging her away from him, and
although she calls to him, does not take her eyes off him, cries out and even screams to him
as she is forcibly marched out of the ship, he does not look up, does not meet her eyes, does
not watch her go.
But he knows, he knows that she is gone.
And that she is safe.
And her world is safe.
***
At last all the people of Raymans planet have been released, and the hundreds of
members of the ships crew have returned with all their equipment not to mention a
certain amount of last-minute loot. The ship takes off. Rayman watches through a porthole
as his planet so quickly, in a matter of minutes dwindles and vanishes into the blackness
of space, the twin suns of his world coalescing to a mere bright speck, which is soon
swallowed up in the masses of bright specks crowding into the porthole.
Then he is led shaky, stumbling, panting with weakness to the cabin he has been
given as a more convenient cell. He is shoved onto the bed, where he sprawls motionless,
and the door of the room closes. He lies there alone. Nothing matters now.
Nothing matters. Except that he has a lifetime to get through. He has to stay alive, he
has to follow through, he has to do what he promised; or his planet, every living innocent
thing on it, will pay once again for his failure. His peoples freedom, their safety, their
existence, hang on the very thin thread of his life.
He lies on the bed, glazed eyes staring at nothing; cant stir to close them; spent,
utterly, spent beyond exhaustion; spent beyond death. Yes, thats it. Beyond death.
Piranha
Chapter Two: Falling
Rayman was lying on the bed, eyes closed, seeing again the rows and rows, the rooms
and rooms full of coffins that he had been led through on his way to the cabin. Stumbling
along mechanically, dazed, weak, barely able to keep up with his guide, all his attention only
on keeping upright, on lifting and dropping foot after foot after foot ... even so, some corner
of his mind had been aware of those phalanxes of big grey-white boxes still holding
prisoners, how many hundreds or thousands of prisoners from how many planets, stretching
off in orderly rows into the distance. As he struggled forward, he had begun to feel those
boxes, the accumulated suffering they concealed, absorbed into the panting haze of his
glazed perceptions.
And as he lay now sprawled on the bed, still faint and sick even after having slept for
two days straight, a cruel vision of all those lost souls in torment, beings he had never seen,
began to close in on him. They wafted like ghosts out of their coffins, crowded around him,
clutched at him like diseased, deformed beggars, beat him into a ball, thrust him back
towards the coffin he had escaped. He tried to push them away, but they were only
shadows... Their unknown groping hands mingled and melded bewilderingly with hands
known, loved, gone... Now and again he roused himself to defense, striking out feebly at
merciless grasping hands, at eyeless, formless faces.
But then he moaned, covered his eyes, his ears, he curled up on the bed he who
alone of all had somehow talked his way out of a box and he gave himself up to them, to
their helpless rage, their pitiful agony, to that timeless, endless agony around him and
before him and within him, he lay gasping in that agony like a newborn infant in poisoned
air. Submerged, drowning, unable any longer to resist or even cry out, he lay twisted there
on the bed, covered his eyes, and wept.
***
The tears were exhausted after a time, but the oppression only deepened. He lay
motionless, crushed under the weight of thoughts that warred around and over him like the
trampling of actual independent creatures, in convulsions and tortured jerks and thrusts that
sometimes hit home to force a gasp out of him: his planet, his people, his friends, the box,
all the boxes, the future, his enemy, those still in the boxes, the future, his stupidity, the
known, the unknown, his intense vicious stupidity, Ly, friends, his village, his home, his
future ... his enemy ... his future ... his actions ... his
Once or twice someone came in to leave him food and water, which he didnt touch.
Once the human doctor came in and checked his breathing, his ability to sit, stand, respond
dully to a question, be exclaimed over (You call this an anatomy? What keeps you alive?),
half-killed him by shining a light into his eyes, and then oddly put a hand on his head for an
instant, as though the much smaller Rayman were a child, before again abandoning him to
yammering solitude. Rayman sat unmoving for a long time on the bed as the doctor had left
him. Even the minimal motion of lying down might open him to another barrage from those
ravenous, pitiless, unknowing victims. He sat, slumped, eyes mostly closed, head low,
swallowing from time to time...
Rayman was more practiced than most at endurance. But he had never had to
endure anything like this. The box had been nothing to it. He sat, very still, in silence; he
must not die; that was all he held on to, he was not allowed to die, he must not die.
At some point, he was led to see his enemy. Instantly practiced deceiver that he was,
he roused himself to the right motions, he talked, he smiled unpleasantly, he said the right
things, he promised he would get well. (He must not die.) He was taken back to his cell.
He lay motionless just the way he collapsed onto the bed, and was sucked back down into
the writhing maw of blackness.
Piranha
Chapter Three: Limbo
Rayman was being dredged up, a drowned, waterlogged corpse, from the depths of silent,
twisting chaos; surfacing to an awareness of something, something moving, touching his face
something lightly stroking his face.
Instinctively he took hold of it. A hand. A little hand. Sitting next to him, on the edge of the
bed, was a female, a young woman, human-like, but about his own size. An unruly shock of
tawny-dusty coloured hair, pale golden face, light gold-brown eyes searching at him. He
peered up at her dazedly.
Oh, youre awake, she said, gravely.
He pushed himself carefully into a sitting position he was very weak and looked at her.
She looked back at him, her mild eyes attentive, yet seeming somehow to miss him. For
some time they regarded each other in silence. She didnt seem to mind his not speaking.
She was only waiting, passively; as though she would have accepted for him to talk, to swear,
to yell, to hit her, with as much detachment as she now sat watching him gape at her like an
idiot. He blinked.
Who are you? he said, with a cough or two to locate his voice.
Oh, she said, I was sent to make you feel better. And she started to pull off her ragged
shirt over her head.
With a jolt, he grabbed her hands. Dont do that, he gasped. Then he smiled wryly, letting
her go. Uh, you dont need to do that, he told her, starting over again. Thats not
necessary.
She was looking bewildered. But the boss told me
He put a hand on her hand, shook his head. No, he said.
His gaze took hold of hers very directly. Her light eyes widened. He gave her a small
reassuring smile.
And abruptly the abyss sank its talons in him again, as though afraid he might climb out and
get away. His body went cold. Tremulously, he lay down on his side, covering his face.
Your boss, he whispered, shivering, has a limited imagination.
***
She could not keep her eyes off that strange being as he lay, asleep or unconscious again, on
the bed. He was much more ill than she had been told, frighteningly ill, and she could get in
serious trouble if he didnt make it. But that wasnt what held her. It was the thought of his
quiet voice, gentle, like nothing she had ever heard before ... no, like a very old, faintly
stirring memory. And his eyes. That penetrating look he had given her so brief, so weighed
down with some awful sadness, and yet for all that addressed so intensely and powerfully to
getting something through to her. As if she mattered.
He had touched her hand not grabbing it, not taking possession of it, just contactingit as
though it really belonged to her. As if she could own anything... He had looked at her with
those eyes, dark, dark midnight blue, looking directly into her as though there were
something there. As though he saw something. And something in her had stirred, strangely.
She kept seeing that look now every time she closed her eyes, it grabbed her unexpectedly
when she was just about to stand up or turn around. She couldnt tell if the look frightened
her or did something else. But she could not stop staring at him while he slept.
***
Returning to the bed from the cabins tiny galley with a bronze goblet filled with
wine-and-water, she found those eyes open and on her again. He didnt sit up.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she held out the cup. Drink some water, she said. He
ignored the cup and only fastened his eyes on her.
And for an instant she could not move. As though some startling force had taken hold of
her, as though she were seized and held still by an intensely powerful, yet gentle grip; she
felt a momentary warmth surround her, a sort of radiant energy.
Then he closed his eyes and it was gone. He was just an odd-looking little body crumpled
on the bed.
She hesitated. But he was still breathing. Hey, she said, touching his hand. You have to
drink something.
Those eyes opened again. She didnt feel that warm rush this time, or perhaps only the
faintest echo of it. He sent you, he said in a low voice. What did he tell you? I mean
about me.
Well... He said... he said you werent used to the place yet... I should make you feel more
at home. Help you relax.
Closing his eyes, he gave a small dry chuckle. How touchingly considerate.
It doesnt mean he wouldnt kill you, she said urgently. Sooner or later hes going to
think of you again, and then
Oh, I know, he said, in that soft, sweet, slightly husky, dismissive voice that took such
painful hold of her. Nothing must happen to this one, she couldnt bear it.
Please, she said suddenly, surprising herself, please, try to
He looked at her once more. Along with that weight of a sorrow so palpable she could feel
it crushing down on her own back and shoulders, there was a glint of amusement. Whats
that? he said. Will you get in trouble if I dont behave?
Involuntarily her hands moved towards him but jerked back. Maybe. I dont care. But
you...
She trailed off as her eyes caught a startling motion. His hands big, strong-looking,
independent, unattached to anything one of them stirred, moved towards her freely as
white bird, gently enveloped her two hands together. She gasped. The sleeves of his
oversized robe were there, all right, but they were hanging empty. His hands moved with no
relation to them at all. Caught by the strangeness of his eyes, she hadnt more than glanced
at the rest of him till now.
He sat up slowly, holding onto her hands, his eyes holding her gaze. Again she felt that
sense of actual warmth, like an energy beam, a focus on her so intense, so penetrating that it
stopped her moving, almost stopped her breathing. She was suspended in an aura, as though
some magical force had lifted her, as though she was floating, held in a glow that was
forceful, intensely penetrating and analytical ... and almost unbearably suffused with
kindness.
After a moment, he lowered his eyes. She managed to take in a breath. There was an odd,
crooked little smile on his face. He squeezed her hands a little and let her go. You know,
he said, You know, I really think youre just what you seem to be.
She shook off a dizziness threatening to land her on the floor and picked up the goblet. She
moved it close to him as though to help him drink. Can youcan you drink a little? You
havent eaten in a long time. Arent you hungry?
He quivered suddenly. A hint of tears showed in the corners of his eyes. He turned to lie
down, facing away from her. Oh, god, he whispered, very low, Oh, my god... and in this
place.
What? she said.
He gave a choked little sound that was half a laugh. Kindness. Of all things.
She shook her head. What do you mean? She reached out a small rough hand to touch the
back of his head, that wiry, springy blond hair, that incomprehensible anguish.
But he turned back towards her again, and her hand stopped involuntarily.
He said, very quietly, Thank you for coming by. I was I was well, anyway. Thank you.
Closing his eyes which instantly let his deep fatigue show through he added, Tell your
boss that... Ill be able to get up... soon.
She swallowed. Are you saying you want me to go?
He looked at her sharply. Doesnt he want a report?
She put her hands, still holding the water goblet, together in her lap, looked down into the
liquid inside. Ifif you dont like me
His eyes were growing perplexed. Dont like you?
Then hellhell send someone else, maybe.
What do you mean?
He gave me to you.
Slowly, evidently with some difficulty, he sat up again. He only looked at her in silence, very
intently, for quite a long time, until she wanted desperately to hide. She couldnt understand
the look on his face, like sadness, or pain, but not exactly either. At last he put out a hand
and touched her shoulder. That son of a Are you even a grownup? How old are you?
What? A worried look came into her face.
How old are you? Dont you know how old you are? Your age? How many years youve
lived? ... Do you have any idea what Im talking about?
She stared at him in utter incomprehension. He abandoned the subject. With a tired smile,
he said, Well, so youd get in trouble, wouldnt you, if I didnt want you to stay.
She held out the goblet to him. Arent you thirsty?
He sighed. Leaning forward, he took her hand, removing the goblet and putting it on a
small bedside table. He held the hand, looking at it closely as if hed never seen one before,
pressing it softly, feeling its roughness, studying its broken nails and grime. Motionless, as
though under a spell, she submitted.
Have you... have you ever been in one of those one of those grey boxes? he whispered
to her.
She gasped. You mean the torture cells? Oh, no. No one ever
He put up a hand to quiet her. The people in them how long do they stay in there?
She looked at him blankly. Forever, of course.
His eyes squeezed shut, and he slumped back. His face was pale, drained. A sense of
oppression she had been starting to feel, as if the very air in the room were trembling with
pain and misery, grew heavier, thicker, the already dim light in the room seemed to darken.
His body twisted a little on the bed.
Oh, god, he whispered, Oh, god, if I could only be sure if what I did was right, or wrong...
If only I could know.
What you did? What did you do? she ventured, timidly.
And it was if an avalanche of burning black rain cascaded from nowhere, flooding the room
in an instant. Her breath halted, her body went stiff with shock, and a sensation of horror
and anguish swept her helplessly away to drown in a torrent that drained into a vast well in
whose bottomless depths glowed two blue-black eyes...
His hand was gripping her arm, his face was close to hers, the eyes were his eyes, peering at
her anxiously. She jerked away, almost falling off the bed, and covered her face. He
swallowed. Im so sorry, he whispered, That shouldnt have hit you. Gently, he took hold
of her arm again; she gave a frightened little gasp that made him jerk, too, as though
stabbed.
He didnt let go of her, however. He moved a little closer beside her; he took her head and
gently pulled it to his chest, so that she was lying stiffly against him. She didnt know how to
resist, though she kept her hands tightly over her face. Slowly, without a word, as she
listened numbly to the sounds of his breathing, he put a hand on her forehead, held it there;
then began to stroke her forehead very lightly, pushing back her hair, slowly, soothingly.
And coming from somewhere, there was that same strange sensation that she had felt the
first time she looked into his eyes a directness, a depth of concentration that was the most
uncompromisingly intimate contact she had ever known; and yet, at the same time, there
was a quality of detachment, of calm remoteness, that spoke to her and yet asked nothing,
that touched her but left her completely free; an emotional quality that was as different as
possible from anything she had ever experienced from any other being, male, female, or
robot.
Her hands came little by little away from her face, but otherwise she held still, her eyes
closed, breathing in gasps. As her sense of fear and oppression waned, something else was
growing. It wasnt fear she felt now. It was something she couldnt begin to express. It was
like being just born. It was like a mother cat licking life into a new kitten, it was like being
created, a soul being breathed into a clay model, something suffusing her that she could not
name, could not grasp; but which melted her gradually into a new being, a new shape, new
uncomprehended tears.
***
When she was no longer crying, when she was calm, he pressed his hands gently over her
eyes for a moment somehow conveying a world of kindness with the gesture and laid her
down on the bed. She remained there, silent, a few tears still leaking from her shut eyes,
breathing slowly, unable to move, unable even to locate where she physically was. But there
was no distress in her.
And Rayman sat there beside her for a while, moving his hands, putting them together,
looking at them absently; glancing at the small, slender alien form beside him; looking
around the room; taking the occasional deep breath.
For once, not drowning in black horror every time he turned his head. He took another
breath. He could breathe. He moved his body a little. He could move. The abyss held back
its claws.
Slowly, he lay down a little apart from her. He closed his eyes. The thick black wave of
anguish didnt surge to overwhelm him. He inhaled, shakily.
It was still there, the anguish, the horror. But it stayed down in its dark glutinous pool, only
lapping at his feet.
There was something living, breathing beside him. Something alive and innocent. Tears
burned in his eyes for just a moment. He took a long breath. Something innocent.
***
Drifting in a half-hypnotic doze, she could not understand what had gone on between them,
what might still be going on; but out of all her bewilderment, one certainty coalesced:
Nothing must happen to this one. He was not like any other, in any way. She must not let
anything happen.
If he didnt want her to take her clothes off, if he didnt want to do all those things men did,
that didnt matter. It was because he was different, he would want different things. She
would have to find out what he did want, and make sure he got it, so he would let her stay.
She sidled a little closer to him. He seemed to be sleeping. His body was very warm. She let
her back inch up to touch his rounded back, just barely, and took a deep breath, unnerved by
her own daring.
Silently as though careful not to wake the rest of him one of his hands came over to press
her lightly on the shoulder, then returned to its place.
Nothing in her life had ever touched her with such calm. Again she felt a clench of
determination: She must never lose this one.
Exhausted with emotions she could not name, she sank the rest of the way into sleep.
Rayman, too after contemplating with shut eyes the startling detours of his fate in the last
few days finally yielded to the first sleep that, since coming out of the box, was able to give
him any rest.
Piranha
Chapter Four: Elly
When she woke some hours later, knowing that it was about morning, ship time, he
was still lying beside her. She sat up and looked at him. His eyes were open. As they
turned to her, she saw tears. He blinked, tried to smile at her, then turned away, wiping his
eyes.
You know, he croaked his breath caught, he tried again. I I dont know your
name.
Its Elly, she said. And the boss told me you were called Rayman.
Yeah, he said chokedly, Ive been called that.
Are you still why are you so why are you so sad?
He was smiling ruefully now. Im all right. Its just its just hard to keep away the
little sword-thoughts they ambush... Im okay.
She was getting up, checking the water goblet on the table (it hadnt been touched),
taking it back to the galley for fresh water. She returned with the water, with a small
wooden board with bread and cheese and a knife. Watching her, he had to smile, privately
her motions, the posture of her body, the tossing of her tousled, unevenly hacked-off hair
everything about her was so serious, so fiercely determined ... except for the subdued anxiety
in her eyes. At the bedside, she hesitated.
Youll eat now wont you?
He sat up. Yes, he said. And smiled again at the visible sigh of relief that ran
through her body.
He wouldnt eat much, but he drank a little water, ate a few mouthfuls of bread.
Later, he said, pushing the rest away. She didnt insist, but took the board back to the
galley, leaving the water. He sat quietly, leaning against the headboard of the bed, eyes half
shut.
You look tired, she said. Why dont you sleep some more?
He grimaced. Not now, he said. Started dreaming again. He sighed, looked
around. I do feel stronger, he said. I think I can get up.
Ill help you to the bathroom.
He looked up at her, a little quizzical grin on his face. Okay, he said. All right,
Elly. Smiling wryly, he took the dirty, ragged, voluminous pink bathrobe he was draped in
and tied it more securely around himself. He inverted the sleeves so that they fell inside the
robe instead of dangling outside.
Then he let her support his trunk as he gingerly found his feet, and she steered him
carefully across the floor to the small bathroom next to the galley. He paused as she half-pushed him through the door.
Uh, Elly, you know
Should I come in and help you?
He made a sound somewhere between a cough and a sneeze. Erno, thats okay.
Just
Dont feel bad about it, I know youre sick
He chuckled. Never mind. He went into the bathroom.
She was waiting in the exact same spot, face to face, only his big nose between them
when he opened the door again. Startled, he jerked back, almost fell.
Here, she said, Ill help you back to the bed. His eyebrows went up but he
submitted as she half-carried him across the room.
When he was lying down again, his eyelids already sinking, she stood nervously
beside the bed, eyeing him.
Whats wrong? he mumbled, finally.
She rocked on her feet. Then she said, Youre youre awfully light. You shouldnt
be that light. I can practically pick you up. And Is your body supposed to be that way?
What way?
I mean She gestured at his limbs, or lack thereof.
He grinned. You think I mislaid them? Or maybe they were stolen sometime while
I was asleep?
She lowered her eyes, blushed. He said, much more gently, still smiling at her, Elly.
I shouldnt tease you. Just ignore me... I must be starting to feel better.
She was afraid she might have made him angry, but he only chuckled quietly and
turned onto his side. After a while his slowed breathing showed he had gone back to sleep.
She sat still, afraid that even her getting off the bed might wake him up. While he slept, her
eyes combed over him, carefully, nervously itemizing each element: The big rounded nose
and huge closed eyes, the separated humps of his torso and feet under the blanket, the
powerful hands, one under and one on top of the blanket, and the wiry, springy, bright
yellow hair, most of it sticking up in two lively tufts, moving a little with his breathing. Even
in sleep, his odd, curiously appealing face showed tension, a play of thought, shifting
emotion. A vitality and intelligence more attractive than beauty.
Compared to this peculiar being, all the pirates that she had ever known, robot or
human, even Anaconda himself, scarcely seemed to be alive. That was the most forceful
thing about him, even ill, even asleep: he was so passionately alive. Though it was subdued
now, vitality radiated from him, glowed around him, an almost visible aura.
And when, after half an hour, his body jerked suddenly, twisted and gasped, his eyes
snapped open, and he sat up in the bed, moaned, and covered his eyes with his hands she
almost fell into those eyes, those hands, and had to cover her mouth to keep from echoing
his moan. A chasm of anguish, as though she were being dragged rapidly down into an
ocean by a huge weight then, quite suddenly, she didnt feel it. But the misery was still
burning in his eyes. It seemed to burn right through the lids when he closed them.
He pulled himself together, literally, all his extremities coming in close to his body.
He pressed his hands to his chest and abdomen, lying on his back, looking up helplessly at
the ceiling as if some hope might suddenly appear from there. See, Elly, he murmured
hoarsely, I dont know I dont know how Im going to be able to
Oh, god, to have lost everything my home... my planet (oh, my beautiful planet!)...
everyone I know... all my friends... Ill never see any of them again. Its hard, hard. But the
worst He twisted on the bed, covering his eyes again. Its did I do the right thing? Did
I do the right thing? No matter how many times I go over it, I cant should I have done it?
But what else could I have done? Should I have done nothing? How could I have left them
all in those boxes? How could that have been right?
His eyes opened, fixed on her, and she started back involuntarily. The suffering in
them was terrible.
And how am I going to pull this off, he said, with intense, forced calm, if I cant
believe its right? How can I possibly have any strength to act if I doubt myself? God knows
its going to take everything Ive got I have to be able to give it everything. Do you see
what Im saying? Ive never had to to act against my own conscience before! I I dont
think I can. Ly oh, Ly ... even she didnt He turned away, pressed himself against the
bed. His body was quaking.
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, quietly, Rayman, if you want to cry,
you should go ahead and do it. Youre alone. No one will see you here.
He stopped quivering. For a few moments he lay motionless. Then he turned
himself over slowly and met her eyes. He had such a perplexing, bemused expression that
she couldnt imagine what he must be thinking. She must have said something horribly
wrong
He sat up. That wry smile of his. He leaned forward and took her little chin in his
hand, cupping her thin face with his palm. There was that sense of warmth she had felt
before, that powerful sense of his attention focused fully on her. Such a strange look in his
eyes, not at all happy, and yet with a new colour, a brightness, an intensity of interest, as
though he were in fact looking at her for the first time. Even a sort of distant tenderness. A
tiny shiver ran through her.
So Im alone, am I, Elly? He took his hand away from her face, though not his
eyes. But Im not, am I. He looked at her sadly. No. No, theres this unaccountable
child here I keep trying to drag down into my own happy little hell. He wiped a hand
across his face.
Taking her hand in both of his, he said quietly, Elly. Tell me about you. Tell me
your story.
I dont have any stories. Unless you want the ones the pirates tell?
He smiled gently. I mean, tell me how you ended up here.
You know that. He sent me.
I mean Elly, here, on this ship, among these brutes, in this situation How did you
get here? How long have you been here? How have you survived here?
She blinked at him blankly, so completely at a loss that he wondered if she actually
did have any memory. Then her eyebrows raised with surprise.
Oh. You mean... The time before. You really want to know about that? She
wrinkled her nose with distaste.
Yes, he said, that. Tell me.
Elly said, The time before... I dont know. I dont really remember. I mostly only
know what my mother used to say. She said before we were here on this ship, we lived in
something she called a village. I had a father and some brothers, she said. She said my
village when I was small, it was raided by them. The pirates. They took my mother away
with them, and she hid me in her clothes and brought me with her. They killed my father
and my brothers.
Hethe boss he liked my mother and he kept her for himself. Nobody paid any
attention to me, except her. I do remember those times. She wouldnt let me in his cabin. I
ran around and hid and slept in corridors and rooms nearby. She would come and find me
when she could. She got me bits of food, sneaked me part of what she had to eat. She
wouldnt tell me anything that was happening and she hardly talked to me, only told me to
be silent, be silent, only hugged me to her so hard I couldnt eat until she went away.
And I hung around where the men were eating and drinking and I grabbed
whatever they left, whenever I had a chance, and now and then somebody noticed me and
threw some scraps at me for a joke. I hardly ever got to see my mother but sometimes I
heard her crying or screaming from his cabin.
Rayman was watching her closely, but said nothing. She went on impassively.
After a while she died, and I had a lot of trouble getting anything to eat. I was
always hungry thats mostly what I remember, always being so hungry. I was scared
sometimes, but mostly just hungry. The robots never paid much attention to me, but when I
got bigger, some of the men started to notice me, and they fed me more often. They would
pinch me, laugh at me, sometimes push me around, but mostly they didnt hurt me on
purpose.
Then they started to get interested in me for sex, and that was the first time I was
able to ask for food. After the first few times, I found out that they would give me
something first if I asked for it, or sometimes not until after. Then after a while they would
let me take a little food when they ate, even if I didnt do anything for it.
I was lucky he never seemed to like me, so he left me alone. But he knew I was
there, because once he ordered me brought to him. He took off my clothes, looked me
over. Then he threw my clothes back at me and said I would do after I was washed, and
someone took me in to a man, some big man who was visiting the ship. A few times after
that he ordered me sent in to one man or another, visitors that he wanted something from.
You were spying for him?
Spying? Whats that? I wasnt anything important, just a gift, you know. Those
were usually the worst men oh, the worst. Worse than the pirates. She closed her eyes
and winced.
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