Stars Beyond Reach

Ch 3- HUNTER and PREY

His black trench coat swirled behind him, slick with rain, as he moved toward her in the fading light. Chérif felt her chest tighten; her lungs cried out for air. How much longer could she hold her breath?

A branch cracked beneath his heavy boot and she took the opportunity to grab a gasp of air. The rain was starting to fall harder, but she knew he would be able to hear her above the patter of water droplets. It was like he had a filter for it. An invisible thread lengthened between them, forever keeping the two strung together. Her and him.

He was close enough she could see the orange glow of his eyes, like two burning coals. In desperation she slid her body further into the cold water of the reservoir. Soundless ripples spread away from her across the dark water. Holding what was left of her breath, she plunged her head beneath the inky surface. She could see nothing. All was black, which she found strangely comforting. This must be what an embryo felt like, safe in it's mother's womb. A buzzing began in her right ear; her air was almost gone.

Then two arms grabbed her, lifting her from her blackened serenity. She'd believed for a second she was safe.

But she should have know better--she was never safe.

***

Margut grunted as he pulled the female slave from the water. He didn't grunt from the effort, but from the frustration of having to track her at all. It was the third time she had attempted escape. Seldom few of the others ever tried to run away, much less more than once in a lifetime. She was a fighter. In a way, he admired the strength of the girl, her determination. He could see how the similarities between them--if one overlooked the fact that she was a slave and he, a slavehandler.

Superior Kristoff was becoming agitated that the girl would not conform. He was apparently unable to break her spirit and that distressed him. No punishment ever seemed to deter her drive to escape. Margut wondered if the next attempt would cost her her life.

Half-heartedly, the slave scratched at him and tried to scream, but she was exhausted. Margut knew she was not built for life on Modelius 1. The atmosphere, though similar to Earth's, was tough on the human species. He was tempted to tell her she shouldn't push herself so hard, but he knew she wouldn't listen.

After tethering her to a tree out of the rain, he began to build a fire. It was too far to return to the compound tonight. On top of that, he was cold from the beating water drops and knew she must be, too, since she was soaked to the bone. No matter if he would kill her later, Superior Kristoff would want the girl brought back alive.

Removing his coat, Margut stretched it over some branches so it could dry. He motioned for the slave to disrobe so that her soaking shift could dry as well, but she glowered at him and spat at his feet instead. When he was finished with the fire, he moved her ties to a branch closer to the heat, making them long enough this time so she could sit if she so desired.

He had only seen a handful of other humans in his time on Modelius 1, and none so appealing as the girl who stood in stony silence before him. He had always thought of them as weak. All skin and bone. Easily breakable sticks. And Margut had seen some break like sticks. But never by his hand. He was a corraler, a handler, and when they escaped, a tracker. None from his quadrant had ever been lost or unaccounted for, and he took pride in that. The only slave to ever give him a run for his money was this one--a girl the color of sand. The rich, deep sand of the coasts that looked inviting, but bit into your flesh with vengeance.

Yes, she was like that.

Margut leaned his bulk into the middle of the fire pit. Flames licked up and down his arms and across his chest, making him sigh in relief. He could feel the suffocating dampness of the rain being snuffed out by the white-hot fire. Cupping embers in his large hands, he stacked them on his shoulders, making fire tongues creep up his neck and encircle his ears.

The slave began to shiver, her knees knocking together gently. Finally giving in, she sat in the dirt, head down.

Reaching out from the fire, Margut draped his mostly-dry trench coat over her trembling shoulders. Her head snapped up to glare at him, but she didn't throw it off. Margut knew what her problem was: she wouldn't rather die. Most of the slaves gave up hope and would choose no life at all over having to continue to try for freedom day in and day out. Then, they were easy to corral. They simply stopped caring whether they lived or died. They stopped making choices and trying to govern themselves, and became mindless lemmings that followed Margut's every order wordlessly.

But the girl under his coat still had life left in her. Even after the three long years she'd been there, she still remembered what she had been before, and she wanted it again.

She wanted it bad.

***

Chérif struggled against her ties. Margut had tied the knots looser this time and she was hoping they'd be easier to coax into untying so she could again make her escape. But the time spent running and hiding had rendered her exhausted. Finally, she gave up squirming beneath her captor's trench coat and allowed herself to relax a little in its warmth.

He was studying her from within the fire pit. She hated when he did that--both the watching and the fire bathing. He was a large creature and endlessly strong. She knew she should find him and his tracking abilities enough of a threat to stop attempting to escape, but she just couldn't bring herself to stop trying. She wasn't one to give up. She especially didn't want Superior Kristoff to ever think he'd won.

The thought of tonight's lost effort made her eyes sting with tears. Chérif always thought she was so close to pulling it off, but then she would see Margut's lumbering form appear over the hill, or hear the tread of his boots against the ground in hot pursuit, and all would be lost. Blinking rapidly, she bit her cheek; she wouldn't let the Moordo see her cry. But oh how she didn't want to return to the compound and Superior Kristoff!

She raised her head to the fire. "Let me go," she demanded quietly.

Margut remained silent, but she knew he'd heard her. It was always her demand. And he never relented.

Shifting her weight beneath his jacket, something bumped against her ribs. Carefully, moving ever-so-slowly, Chérif felt along the inside of the pockets. She struck gold: Margut had left his small blade inside the inner left pocket. She waited until he closed his eyes for a brief moment of fire enjoyment and then quickly slipped the knife down the front of her shift. The only sounds then were of sticks crackling and rain pelting leaves above their heads. Chérif's energy returned as she calculated what to do with her new found treasure.

From inside the fire, Margut spoke. "You will lose your hair again."

She knew he was telling her what punishment Superior Kristoff would merit for this escape attempt. But she didn't care. Let him shave her bald if he wanted! If her hair was the price of freedom, he could have it all.

Really, she knew Margut was being optimistic. Surely her punishment would be far worse this time. Perhaps she would lose a finger or a toe. Or maybe she would be burned again. The brand above her left hip throbbed with the memory of hot laser to bare flesh. She would bear the sign of the 41st compound until she died. But she was determined not to die there.

Thinking of the blade pressed against her body, she almost smiled. She would need her strength; and so, she slept.