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HOSTAGE

A Terran Empire story

by Ann Wilson

Copyright (C) 1992 by Ann Wilson

Nemra, 2555 CE

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?"

His guard moved a knight before replying. "Check. What was what?"

Dave scowled at him, waiting for the sound to come again. "That," he said when it did. "It sounded like a scream."

The guard listened for a moment, then frowned as the sound came yet again. "Bad news, if it's what I think." Dave shivered at his expression as he went on. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm checking, kid. This could be serious."

"I won't," Dave promised, impressed into obedience despite himself. He'd tried escaping a couple of times since he'd been foolish enough to try replenishing his supplies at what had seemed to be a commercial camp, but he'd been recaptured quickly; now he endured his captivity stolidly.

"Good enough. I'll be back as soon as I can." Theo left the tent they shared, with Dave following him as far as the entrance. It was dark, so he saw only fire-glow from the central area—but from here, he could hear a slapping noise like something hitting flesh before another scream broke through the party sounds. It made him wish again that he was back in his own tent, maybe five kilometers away. His parents had let him go camping alone to celebrate his fourteenth birthday, and that had been a lot more fun than this…

Moments later Theo returned, looking grim. "It's time for you to get out of here, kid. Lord Robert's gone beyond trying to kick out his big sister; this ain't just a family fight any more, it's treason against the Empire." He paused. "I'd get out myself, but maybe I can help the Ranger by sticking around. Think you can slug me convincingly with that lamp, then get the hell back home? There're