“This is Undertaker’s place?”
Marca nodded. “I know it’s filthy, but please come in.”
“I prefer the mess.” Undertaker pouted.
About ten blocks away from Rimzeil Mansion, Undertaker’s apartment was in one of the buildings that outwardly resembled a tree.
Jinto and Lafiel followed Marca and Undertaker up into the house, with Minh, Bill, and Daswani trailing behind them.
“You know,” Bill pointed out, “it would be really easy for us to pounce right now.”
“Oh, you’re right,” acknowledged Jinto — he hadn’t considered that.
“You’ve got to think about these things,” Bill pressed, “while you’re playing bodyguard.”
Jinto shrugged; he knew he wasn’t anybody’s bodyguard — if anything, Lafiel was protecting him. He didn’t feel like explaining that to Bill, however.
Meanwhile, Lafiel entered Undertaker’s apartment like she owned the place. She plopped in the most comfortable-looking chair.
“Oh no you don’t! That’s my chair,” Undertaker whined.
Glaring at Undertaker, Lafiel kept quiet. “Listen up, Abh. You’re the hostage, here! You’re lucky you’re not tied up on the floor right now.”
Lafiel watched the man with the interested curiosity of a scientist observing an exotic animal.
“I know what you’re thinking,” ranted Undertaker. “You’re here by your own free will, you have guns, blah blah blah! You’re still a hostage, and that’s how I’ll treat you. Your gun and your marksmanship — your amazing, amazing marksmanship skills — don’t frighten us.” He thought about it. “You can sit there … for now.”
Undertaker sulked his way over to a couch and sat down. Jinto surveyed the room.
Although Marca called it “squalid” on multiple occasions, that was far from true. It looked pretty big, possibly because there wasn’t much furniture (no tables — just a few chairs and a couch). There was a painting on the wall, an abstract design that resembled a flaming eruption.
“Undertaker, did you do this?” Jinto asked about the painting.
“Pretty good, huh?” Undertaker smiled for a split second, then soured again. “What is wrong with you two? Acting like you’re here for a birthday party or something. You’re hostages. Hostages!”
“Please sit down, Jinto. I know it’s fun to get Undertaker riled up, but he’s starting to get on my nerves,” said Marca.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” explained Jinto. “I really like
the artwork, that’s all.”
“Hostages should be too worried about their own lives to think about paintings!” Undertaker hollered.
Jinto took a seat next to Laf iel.
“So,” Jinto addressed Marca, “what do we do now?”
“In the morning, we’ll smuggle you out of the city in the back of a freight truck.”
“I’m a truck driver,” Bill added. “I take meat from the cultivation plant over to a town called Di Segon every day, so I know about all the inspections. The occupation army guys all know me by now, so it won’t be a problem.”
“You transport meat? Is the car… refrigerated?” asked Jinto.
“Well, yes. But I’m not going to take any meat tomorrow, so I’ll turn it off.”
“Good. I’m not a huge fan of being packed in ice for long periods of time.”
The more he thought about it, the more Jinto decided escaping the city in a semi-truck seemed like a great idea. Lafiel would never make it through a normal inspection; even though she’d dyed her hair, she did have an extra sensory organ (called a Frosh) in the middle of her forehead.
But Jinto also had second thoughts. “We can’t agree to the plan. I’m sorry, but we just can’t trust you.”
“Why not?” asked Marca.
“You guys tried to kidnap us. We’re ‘hostages’ remember?”
“He finally gets it!” Undertaker barked. His victory was short-lived however, as Marca silenced him with an icy look.
“We’d never sell you out to the occupation army,” continued Marca indignantly.
“I can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t,” Jinto countered.
“Those guys are even worse than the Abh,” noted Bill. “At least the Abh leave us alone.”
“They shaved my head!” cried Minh. “Just because I dyed it blue! They said I was ‘emulating the Abh’ when really, I had to do it to complete this trifecta of hair color amazingness!” He ran his fingers along his moustache, which was half yellow and half red.
“And oddly enough, my business is drying up, despite the large number of casualties in this conflict,” lamented Undertaker.
“All together,” Marca summarized, “we have no reason to like the occupation army. Besides, the Abh won’t lose the war in space. It would be fruitless to cooperate with the occupiers.”
“So in spite of everything, you’re counting on the Frybar?”
“Just its military might,” corrected Marca.
“The more you explain yourselves, the more confused I get.” Jinto scratched his head. “If the Frybar is really that powerful, do you honestly think you’ll be able to secede?”
“We have to try,” said Minh. “Right now, the Empire pretty much ignores Nahen, but who’s to say how long that’ll be the case? Suppose they suddenly decide to infringe on us — how would we be able to resist? They could just shower us with antimatter bombs all day and watch us burn!”
Weird, thought Jinto. If they don’t want the Abh to start dropping bombs, the worst thing they could do is launch a resistance! “Um, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you’re like children who run away from home because you’re afraid of your parents. But as soon as your parents find you, the punishment’s going to be worse than anything you ever imagined.”
“If you don’t like our plan, you’ll have to stay here until we can think of something else,” said Marca. “It’s going to be very difficult to leave the city due to all the inspections.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Undertaker leapt from his seat. “They’re not seriously going to stay in my house, are they?”
“What’s the problem? You’ve got a spare room.”
“But they’re mean to me! Especially that one,” he added, indicating Lafiel.
“We don’t have a choice,” Marca said, switching to the Clasbul language. “You’re the only one of us who lives alone. If I take them with me, what am I going to tell my husband and daughter?”
“Tell them it’s your long-lost nephew or something,” proposed Undertaker.
“I can’t lie to my husband.”
“Baloney! You still haven’t told him you’re a radical!”
“Undertaker’s a scaredy-cat,” Minh teased. “Scared of what the occupation army will do to him if he gets caught.”
“Shut up — am not!” Undertaker retorted.
“Would you guys be riding with us in the storage area of the truck?” Jinto intervened, out of the blue.
Blinking once or twice, Bill processed the non sequitur and replied, “Of course. I can’t get five people in the cab; it’s a two-seater.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Jinto grinned. “That’ll be fine, then. As long as we can keep an eye on you guys…”
“You’re still not quite grasping the ‘hostage’ concept,” grumbled Undertaker.
“When do we leave?” Lafiel spoke for the first time since entering the room.
After checking her watch, Marca said they would depart in just over three hours.
“Good. That’s plenty of time for a nap.” And for the first time since the “kidnapping” had occurred, Lafiel smiled.