Page 37 of Life-Debt

The revival process went better than expected. The black market operators had opted to use minimal sedatives for the procedure. When he realized he was surrounded by Veloc ready to eat him alive, he confessed his every sin. As I possessed common sense, I’d begun recording the activity in the revival room, beginning the moment I started the revival.

He went into my book as yet another survivor. The Veloc carted him off to stand trial. His confessions might save his life, although he would never spend another moment free. Veloc law made it clear: death or enslavement were the prices paid for kidnapping a defenseless hatchling.

She hadn’t had her teeth yet when she’d been stolen from her nest, and she’d lacked the strength to use her sharp claws.

I opted to stay around for the trial, as I found it difficult to refuse the clan’s requests to meet every member of their family. Had I known the clans took kin seriously, and that half the fucking planet had some form of relationship or life-debt to members of Miracle Star’s clan, I would have run away.

As the newest member of said clan, with the threat of a thousand wailing Veloc to pay if I refused the honor, I learned the entire species had a serious problem with hair and feathers. I went from a homo sapiens to a humanoid peacock. As I lacked feathers of my own, Miracle Star’s parents plucked some of theirs and had them woven into my hair. A fortune of shiftgem crystals joined the feathers, tinkling whenever I moved my head. As the Veloc understood I needed to wash my hair, they put most of the gems into a headpiece I could take off at my whim. After the first day, I accepted the reality of life until I escaped Veloci Minor: unless in the home they’d assigned me or on my ship, I would be wearing the jewels.

Or on a hunt. Apparently, the Veloc understood wearing a bazillion pounds of crystals while running around a jungle failed to result in anything other than my humiliation.

At least they didn’t make me actually run through the jungle. They provided a rather predatory mount, which reminded me of a giant lizard with nasty claws, a nastier temperament, and a healthy fear of the Veloc. As such, it tolerated the saddle and me riding it, and it mostly behaved.

A month after reviving the bastard, he got a trial—a remarkably fair one with four different psionic practitioners and a psychic. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized there were lines separating psionicists and psychics, instead thinking they were just different terms for the same thing.

It had something to do with how they manipulated the mind and physical state of those around them, but beyond that, I failed to understand the differences. Maybe one day I would wrap my head around it. For the sake of my sanity, I hoped not.

The last thing I needed in my life was a crystal clear view of the universe’s many evils.

At first, the man had tried to talk his way out of the kidnapping, but all five of those with mental powers called him out on it. When the truth became murkier, the psychic tended to identify the lies the easiest while the psionicists were able to eventually locate the truth itself.

At first, he claimed he had found her on her own and rescued her.

It was well enough Miracle of a Lost Crimson Star couldn’t reach the bastard. She hissed and swiped her capped claws at him in protest of his claim. In a way, I wished the trial lacked translators.

The hatchling learned a lot of the evils of the universe. The illusion of safety her parents had attempted to create continued to shatter. I had faith in Miracle Star, however.

The next time someone crossed her, I suspected she’d be leaving a lot of blood in her wake. When she’d been taken, her teeth hadn’t grown in sufficiently to defend herself, and her claws hadn’t been large enough to do much damage. Time had worked its magic, and she’d grown into her status as a predator.

That, plus her parents worked to teach her how best to kill any who tried to take her from their nest again.

The trial took three days, after which he received the choice of being the target of a hunt or enslavement in service to the Veloc he had crossed. The choice had come at the price of outing his accomplices, who would all stand trial and face death or enslavement as well when caught.

He chose the hunt, which put me in the uncomfortable position of being his transport, as everyone believed I would treat the bastard fairly if he did reach my ship. I’d accepted the verdict and offered my cooperation with a sigh and a condition: one of the other Veloc clans would guard my ship while I participated in the hunt.

Winning even more adoration from the Veloc hadn’t been part of my plan, but I accepted it with yet another sigh.

The bastard deserved a fate worse than death, but at least if I caught him, he’d receive a merciful end. The trial ensured the Veloc no longer understood the concept of mercy.

They desired his screams as much as his blood.

* * *

I could, when the mood struck me, be an irredeemable asshole. As part of my scheme to join the hunt but offer my ship should he escape, I escorted the bastard to my vessel and showed him what point he needed to reach if he wanted to leave Veloci Minor alive. I used a piece of tape on the open gangway to mark his goal.

Then, borrowing from Carthello and making use of one of the presents he’d given me, I slipped a tracker into his clothes and used my link to activate it.

The ten minute head start wouldn’t save him, not from me—or the jerk of a mount I’d be using.

In a game of predators, only the cunning and wise emerged the victor. I meant to prove I could be both, and I’d only cheat a little in the process. Armed with a rather nasty rifle, one I’d used several times eliminating pirates from the derelicts they’d created, I joined the Veloc, who’d decided to treat the hunt as a family affair.

Miracle of a Lost Crimson Star wore her first gem, a bright red one the match of my tail, as a memento of her first clan hunt.

As the weakest link of the lot, the Veloc thought it would be amusing to give me a two minute head start. I admired their confidence. Of course, a Veloc could run at least twice as fast as a human, and if he took the most direct route, he had a thirty minute jog to reach my ship. The bastard of a mount, assuming he did as I told him, would catch up in less than five minutes, as it could outrun even a Veloc.

I’d either get kicked out of the clan for being a bastard or worshipped for my prowess, cunning, and willingness to cheat when it came to preventing a torturous death.

The fool should have chosen enslavement. He would have been given to another clan, treated well enough, and died of old age or some illness rather than suffering through hours of agony and terror. And when enslaved, had he cleaned up his act, he might not have even remembered he belonged to the Veloc, who took their honor seriously.