“Alright. Then let’s talk.”
Tor’laen straightened up in the chair, staring her defiantly in the eyes. The Crown Daughter would have to work harder than that to unsettle him.
She nodded, then asked a question. The words appeared at his wrist.
You named yourself as Tor’laen, and your [rank] as [Outrunner Captain], correct?
“I did.”
The Zakkili started to slowly circle him, as if looking for weaknesses. Tor’laen resisted the urge to turn his head and keep her in view, remaining perfectly still, his arm raised to keep his screen visible. He only tracked the Crown Daughter with his one good eye when she passed in front of him.
[Outrunner Captain]…what is the meaning?
She passed in front of him again, meeting his gaze briefly.
“It is the closest thing the Ydani have to a Royal Hand. I carry the voice and authority of my rulers outside of our home system. I command-commanded a fleet that operates at the borders of our territory.”
Nalyra gave a soft hmmm noise, from behind him.
Those [shuttles]…
There was a pause.
What did you do? How did your ships [breach]?
Tor’laen clenched his jaw. This was a turning point. He was supposed to cooperate, supposed to be the model prisoner and tell them what they wanted to know. Those were his orders. The tactical part of his brain rebelled regardless, loathe to freely give up such a massive advantage.
“You mean the Punch Drives.” He forced the words out.
Well, she probably would have ripped the information from his mind anyways.
[Punch Drives]… Nalyra said the word slowly, passing in front of him once more. Explain.
“I couldn’t give you a scientific explanation. You’d need an engineer for that.” He took a deep breath. “As far as I know, the reactors on our shuttles generate some kind of quantum tunneling effect. And then they just stop being here, and are suddenly there.” He gestured with his hands, mimicking a shuttle vanishing and reappearing.
The Crown Daughter stopped in front of him, her eyes fixed on the screen of his device for a long moment. At the edge of his vision, he noticed the uniformed Zakkili’s brow furrow, the first expression she had made since she came in.
She didn’t linger on the answer long enough for Tor’laen to read her. She was not the sort of player who gave away a free piece. He watched as she started to circle once more.
Why did you [surrender]?
There was something in her voice. Curiosity, anger, disbelief…or perhaps a mixture of the three.
“As I said to your Queen — I only seek to negotiate on behalf of my people.” He replied. “We truly do not wish for war.”
A huff of disbelief came from behind him.
If you are [lying], I could [tSbNR] into your [mind] once more. Extract the [truth].
There was that broken word again. Curious, Tor’laen tapped a finger on it, trying to force a translation.
The device paused for a moment, as if confused, then printed a few words:
[look/seek/forbidden?]
He stared at the rough translation, then glanced up to find the Crown Daughter staring at him, a predatory grin on her face. She knew. Nalyra had realized the limits of his translator and was purposely throwing out words his device couldn’t parse. Well played.
“I am not lying. Look into my mind if you must.”
She smirked at him, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if she was going to call his bluff.
Instead she merely strolled away, beckoning to the other two Zakkili in the room. They moved to her and the three women started a low conversation. Tor’laen’s eye went to his translator once more.
The device tried valiantly, but could only pick out bits of the conversation.
Too dangerous-
-keep [imprisoned]-
-is [unarmed]-
-I must doubt-
-can [control]-
His translator seemed to give up, refusing to parse anymore of the whispered conference. Finally, the Crown Daughter spoke up, silencing the other two. Almost begrudgingly, his device’s screen filled with Ydani characters once more.
Enough. I will not deliver the [Queen Matriarch]’s [prize] damaged. I will personally take responsibility and [Ys3ARc] the consequences of [betrayal] into his [mind].
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This time, Tor’laen was ready. He tapped the broken word, forcing another translation.
The device paused for a moment and then spit out another set of words:
[think/convince/discretion?]
He fought the urge to roll his eye. Very useful.
He looked up to find the Crown Daughter standing in front of him once more. There was no grin on her face now.
She spoke, slowly and carefully, clearly intending his translator to pick up every word.
I will not deliver you to the [Queen Matriarch] hungry and tired. You will be [given] a [berth] on this ship. You will be fed.
She paused, watching as he read her translated words on his device.
In return, I must [Ys3ARc] you. I will not accept any acts of [betrayal] on my ship. You are too [dangerous] to allow without…[cX43Uif].
The translator was struggling again. Tor’laen tapped on the latest broken word.
[control/serve/captive?]
He immediately narrowed his eye, looking up at the Crown Daughter.
“You want to control me? Enslave me?”
Nalyra looked at his words as they appeared in Zakkili on his device’s screen. She frowned, shaking her head.
It is not…[slave]. Not [control]. It is similar to…
She seemed to be struggling, probably trying to use the simplest words she could.
It is [rules]...given to your [mind]. Actions forbidden. Not [enslavement].
As much as being called a “prize” had made him grit his teeth, Tor’laen couldn’t deny her intentions. He probably wouldn’t be very persuasive if he was brought before the Queen half-starved and exhausted. She would do her duty, and he would gain a stronger position on the board. Same end result, different motives.
Still, another thought occurred to him.
“Alright, then. But if you can control my mind, why not just do that?” He couldn’t help but be suspicious.
The Crown Daughter’s eyebrows contracted dangerously, her eyes flashing.
Do not [insult] me, Ydani. The [Queen Matriarch] has personally charged me with a [duty] to bring you to her. Not a [puppet]. Until you stand before her, your [will] remains your own.
“...I understand.”
He didn’t back down, matching her gaze. If she expected to cow him with anger or indignation, she would be disappointed. The steel inside him had been tempered long ago.
After a moment, she nodded, her expression becoming cool once again. She lifted a hand near his face, then paused, glancing at him, her unspoken question obvious.
“Yeah. Do it.”
Nalyra pressed her fingers against his forehead, her touch hot against his skin. The Crown Daughter’s mind encompassed his own.
Before, it had been like she was sifting through his mind, searching it. Now, it was like she was cupping it in her hands. Holding his entire being.
Her mind pressed down on him, whispering into his core. Even if he didn’t speak the language, the meaning was being distilled directly into his thoughts.
Do not attack any member of the crew.
Do not sabotage or damage the Citadel in any way.
Do not attempt to escape or flee.
Do not harm any Zakkili without urgent cause.
Do not contact your people unless instructed to.
Tor’laen could feel his will bending to Nalyra’s. Her restrictions wrapping around his mind.
It was terrifying. It was awe-inspiring.
Then, Nalyra lingered in his head a little longer than he expected.
His mind felt unbalanced, unsteady, rejecting the restrictions pressed upon it. His thoughts wavered, threatening to spill into the void. The Crown Daughter gathered the fragments of him back into his head. Her mental touch was steady, disciplined. She would not allow him to fall apart. Not under her hand. She would deliver her prize.
Her mind pushed Tor’laen’s thoughts back together, then withdrew.
He swayed in his seat, reeling from the ordeal. His body rebelled. His eye refused to focus. His lungs heaved.
Tor’laen was vaguely aware of Zakkili being spoken, somewhere in the room. The screen of his translator swam before his vision.
Nalyra grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. Her physical touch was like her mental one – firm, stable. She held him there until he was able to focus on her purple eyes.
She spoke a quiet sentence in her language. Tor’laen struggled to raise his arm high enough to see the screen of his device.
You did not break. In time, you will [recover].
Nalyra released him, letting him slump back in his seat.
Without looking back, she left the room, followed by her subordinates.
Tor’laen lay on the too-short cot, his legs dangling off of the end. He stared at the bare ceiling of his room. Or, more likely, his cell. He had been brought here by a pair of armed Zakkili soldiers, and ushered calmly inside. Nicer treatment than he had expected.
Same with his room. It might be a prison, but it certainly didn’t feel like one. The furniture was all a bit too small for him, but there was a desk, a chair, a nightstand, a closet…even a separate restroom. It was closer to the dormitory he lived in back at the Academy than a cell, and significantly more comfortable than the Captain’s quarters back on his former ship.
Just what did that say about what his people had become?
Tor’laen shook his head, banishing the gloomy thought. Understandably, he wasn’t quite feeling like himself at the moment.
Whatever the Crown Daughter had done to him, it had worked. He couldn’t even think about breaking out of his cell without an intense wave of nausea rolling over him, leaving his knees weak, his hands trembling. Even lying still, he could feel the edges of her commands inside him, lurking, waiting for him to press against them. She didn’t need to put him in restraints. His own mind had become the most effective binding imaginable.
It was a good thing that his plan didn’t call for sabotage or assassination.
No, the only hope for the future of his people was through the Zakkili. His people’s greatest fear. His people’s saviors.
Ah. Careless. He couldn’t let that thought float about. Not on a ship full of half-sized mind readers. No, he needed to keep his pieces close to his homeworld, the same as in a game of Dominion, as to not give away his intent too early.
Tor’laen let his gaze drift to the viewport built into the wall of his new accommodations. The stars twinkled in the vast reaches of the great emptiness. Somewhere out there was his ship, his fleet. The remains of the life he had just given up.
He had known what this assignment would cost him. Every Outrunner Captain had been given the same instructions, briefed on the same contingencies. Each of them was willing to follow those orders, down to the last man or woman.
Tor’laen in particular had been prepared for this. He was the most senior of the four Captains, and he had been through countless battles, made endless sacrifices for the Ydani. He had been—no, he was proud of carrying the hope for the future of his people.
But lying there, alone, in an enemy ship with a part of his own mind keeping him prisoner, he couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight of that burden.
He lay there a long while, before a restless sleep finally claimed him. He drifted through unsettling dreams of gunfire, blaring alarms, and luminous purple eyes, staring at him through the darkness.