Page 6 of The Commander

There was hesitation in every line of Brenda’s body. She kept her eyes trained on Andy, as hopeful as an animal waiting for its master to give it orders. “Why are you doing this to me? What happened to you?”

“Honey, this isn’t what I want. You believe me, right? The mayor has a plan. We have to get the taxes in. This is how we do it here. Convince Red. I’ll come back tomorrow when you all are hungrier. I’ll bring you something. Would you like that? We’ll talk again.” With one last look at the group, Andy turned and left. His thugs gave Cara and Brenda one last leer before following him.

Cara was happy to see them go. “We don’t need them.”

“I can’t believe he’s really just leaving me here. I told him he was the father of my baby.” Her body sagged.

Brenda—all sharp angles and lean lines—was as skinny as Andy. The hardships of the past few days had clearly taken a toll. Beside her, though only slightly taller, Cara felt thick and solid, like she should be immune to the gnawing hunger. Her breasts and ass still bounced more than she wanted them to. A sharp, unwelcome stab of guilt pierced her.

Brenda was visibly wasting away, and Cara…wasn’t.

“He’s no good.” Cara put her hand on Brenda’s shoulder. It couldn’t be healthy to be pregnant and so thin at the same time.

Brenda shook her off, her mouth hardening. “Here, I want to give you something. I found it in his house. He was hiding it under the bed.”

“Why were you looking under his bed?”

“I was hungry. Since he shares that house with those other guys, I thought I’d find boxes of rations there or something—you know, to keep other people out of it.”

That made sense to Cara. Brenda went on, speaking as she walked over to the tree where she had sat the day before. “He had all kinds of stuff under there he wasn’t supposed to have. But this has got to be worth something. Maybe you can find a market?”

“A market? There’s no pop-up market around this place. What would they sell?” Cara asked.

Brenda reached up into a vee in the branches and pulled out something wrapped in a dirty T-shirt. Folding the cloth away, she revealed a swath of silver that glinted in the morning light—a huge silvery blade. It looked ancient and new at the same time, with an edge as long as Cara’s forearm and a hilt set with jewels.

“Geez. Where did that come from?” Cara asked.

“I told you,” Brenda answered.

That wasn’t what Cara had meant. That didn’t look like anything Andy had found lying around in an old ruin, untended. It was well crafted and very sharp. Cara didn’t want to touch it. Although money had no value anymore, it was the type of thing that people would covet.

“I don’t want it,” Cara said.

Brenda wrapped it up again and went to where Cara’s backpack lay next to the coals of the fire. She shoved it inside.Her mouth had firmed, as if she’d found her backbone again, but her eyes were tearing up. “Take it. Trade it. Sell it. Throw the fucking thing into the river. It was hidden, so he will go looking for it, and we can’t have it, can we? What do you think his boss will do?”

Cara didn’t want to argue. She had already wasted enough daylight. She wanted to set her traps as far away from this area as possible, then circle back through the old ruins to see if she could find something edible there.

CHAPTER 3 - BASTIAN

Night had fallen while Commander Bastian interrogated a rebel and his accomplice. There was nothing left of the long, yellow edged shadows of dusk when he stepped out the doors of Corrections and descended the concrete steps to the asphalt. Other than the sentries, he saw no one outside the building, which was how he preferred his evenings to go.

Two humans had been caught last week outside the closest town moving illegal contraband. Using one meat sack to encourage honesty in the other, Bastian asked his questions. A series of unsatisfactory answers darkened his mood. Where had they gotten the contraband? Who were they working with? Where were the rest of the rebels?

Screaming empty inanities, the tiresome example created a pathetic mess as he died. He hadn’t had any information to give, it seemed. Bastian didn’t mind fresh human blood. But dried blood turned sticky. He needed a change of clothing.

High pitched screams stopped his progress. Sounds of distress bounced off the old buildings and metal warehouse walls of the command base in high pitched, discordant notes, hitting his ear membranes with screeching blasts. What a terrible noise.

Had the night duty caught a female out after curfew? With one prisoner dead, it was nice of the duty to find aconvenient replacement. Even a female one. He’d never spoken to that gender.

Coming in from the northeast, the grunts held their captive between them. She writhed and twisted, fighting to escape her inevitable doom. Bright red hair blazed around a pale, terrified face as she struggled against their grip.

What a reckless creature. Why risk capture after curfew if she valued her life?

The local rural imbeciles were nothing but trouble. Livestock listened to directions with more aptitude. His people owned this planet and everything on it. The sentient population had ample notice of the law: obey or die.

Complete human extermination would have simplified everything. The Sarrian didn’t need humans. Eradication was preferable to the time and effort it took Bastian to train stupidity. Unfortunately, the lesser-elevated-over-educated minds running Control had disagreed. They didn’t want to waste “resources.”

Resources, they called them. What rot. This earth was full of filthy males like those he’d left behind in Corrections. They were skittering bugs, running for cover whenever Bastian got close enough to stomp on them.

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