[b]Dogpatch, Somewhere on Brahma[/b]

In the corner of the bar sat a lonely cyborg. He was huddled beneath the low blue glow of an ancient neon sign. It cast his slate-tinted body in a cold light, leaving only the liquid-silver of his flesh-metal face in shadow. It was a surreal thing to see, Laz thought. Cyborgs like this one - full cyborgs, with nothing human left of them but the organic brain they were born with, were rare, and they were always prouder than this one. Very few people ever went through with the procedure that replaced mortal flesh with steel and technology. Very few could afford it, and those that could didn't always want it. It was a painful thing, to extract a living brain. And even when it was safely in the comfort of its new mechanical host, it was not immortal. Entombed in cold steel, its humanity was excised and the brain began a century-long journey of slow death. Seeing this one now, Laz heard the voice of his history professor say, in the clinical way that he had spoke. [i]"The Transhumanists suffered from severe psychological problems after their surgeries. We humans love our bodies. Even the ways we hate our bodies are forms of love. Our brains were made for flesh, and when you replace that flesh with mechanics you lose a major part of your humanity."[/i]

Laz couldn't help but stare. If the Cyborg could see him, it did not react. It [i]must[/i] have saw him though. The liquid-silver of its face, the flesh-metal... those were nanobots, each one capable of every human sense. It could, effectively, see through the entirety of its face. It could smell the same way, and hear and taste and touch. Flesh-metal meant an expensive design. It had been invented in the later years of the twenty first century, used to give faces to the ailing leadership of the Putinate as they chose the cybernetic option. The following centuries hadn't made it any easier to reproduce, and the collapse of humanity's interstellar network had made it near impossible. Each nanobot was an intelligence of its own, capable of transcribing large amounts of information to send to the brain while linking with the rest of the facial network in order to coordinate all of the information they took in. It also moved moved as a network, working together to 'Make Faces'. Every human facial expression was at the command of the cyborg, and they looked almost human. Human rendered in liquid silver. 

The pirates had walked them to Dogpatch. It had only taken a couple of days, but Brahma had turned every kilometer into a feat. They had walked along the thick trunk-vines that crisscrossed overgrowth of phosphorescent fungi and draping plants, feeling the breath of the wet, warm Brahman wind against their skin. It carried with it the pungent scent of citrus, rot, and musty smell of stagnant water all blended together in the humidity. Deep in Brahma's jungles, it felt like being inside a living creature. It was overpowering. He knew that below them, in the loose marshy soil, the Tih-Tukrut and their biological relatives hunted for food. Above the canopy of fernroots and fungal trees, the Mayura patrolled. The middle layers of the Brahman overgrowth was not entirely safe either. Their entire road was organic, made from branches that had been teased together by native Tkrai who made their home there. It weakened in some spots, and hosted nesting creatures in others. He heard the pirates mutter about fungi-like sludge moss whose spores were hallucinogenic to the Tkrai. It caused humans to lose consciousness. Their nights had been dark, Brahmapura's twilight glow absent in the sky as the moon faced away from its mother-planet. The sounds of the night had kept him awake. These were new sounds, not like the ones he knew in the safe zone. Here, on the other side of the planet and outside of the safe-zone. Here, it was thumping and screams. He could hear hunger in every howl. Only his enemies kept him safe.

He hated his captors, and he hated how he relied on them. There was no escaping, not in the wild here. They had stolen him and the others. They had killed. They talked of other prisoners, and left Laz and his companions to wonder which of their lost shipmates were still alive and which were dead. But they were his protectors. They treated their prisoners like comrades, boasting about the drinks they had drank and the food they had tried. They laughed bawdily after telling sex stories and bantered about celebrities. It was as if they were simply on a hike in the safe zone. There were brief moments where Laz allowed himself to believe it. It masked the frightening uncertainty of everything, but he couldn't hide from the animal rage that shocked through his core when he thought of the battle in space, and of Eury. He had to fight the rage. He knew in the back of his mind that he relied on them now. He hated himself for that, the necessity behind this helpless cowardice that brought him to see his wardens as his protectors. In some ways, he had more hate ready for himself than he had for them. 

Arriving in Dogpatch, the prisoners found it to be a desperate outpost rather than any sort of true colony. It was built into a small crater-turned-sinkhole, one-third the size of larger sink-towns like Kang-Chai and so shallow that only of of Kang-Chai's levels could have fit inside. The top of the hole was lit up by a knitwork of green high-powered laser beams, under which a net of metal wire hung from a web of catwalks. Below that was the town. Its slipshod buildings were built from scrap metal and hastily poured cement. Half of the metal came from salvaged space vessels. The cliff walls were pocked by holes, each a window or entrance into the cave system that surrounded it. In the center of it all was a small puddle of a pond, its water stagnant and brown. The entrance had been through a cave. From there, they had made their way to this bar. 

The red-bearded man climbed onto a table, his weight causing the rusted iron to creak. They had learned more about the pirate leader during their journey. Talos Carpenter's career had started on the deck of cargo ships. From there, he had turned smuggler. From there, pirate. Laz had never heard of him before now. Piracy was no secret to those who lived in the safe zone. He had heard of Ruwai, who's recent capture and death had incensed people across the IU. And there was Cylla, the madwoman who commanded a fleet of ships but managed to slip the authorities at every turn. He wondered if he would meet her too. 

"New friends." the red-bearded man boomed from on-top a table, his voice distracting from the lonely cyborg. "We cannot let you leave here free men." 

Laz felt like spitting at the green-cloaked pirate captain. He held himself composed behind a steely face. If he was going to survive this, he would have to play by their rules.

"We would like you to join us. You won't bring the heat on us that way, you see." the pirate Carpenter tugged at his beard thoughtfully, "But we have a custom in this part of our new world. Our patron has accepted captives as soldiers. He has a way. And he accepts brave men as tributes from him. That is where we are going."

It was silent at first. Laz could feel the collecting tension. A lack of answers had left him and his fellow prisoners in limbo, unsure how to act and what to do. Their futures had not been told to them. Not until now, and now that they knew their fate, the seed of rebellion was nourished in each of them. 

"Where did she go?" one of the prisoners shouted out. Laz thought of Eury. What had they done? 

"Where did my mother go, you gangrenous cunt." the man completed.

He expected a slap. Maybe a reprimand. The pirates, however, did not react. They did not seem to care. 

"I don't know all of this." Carpenter answered in a chilly voice. "You might find out when we get to our destination." Before anybody could speak up, Carpenter hopped off his table with a startling thud. Laz flinched. He realize he wasn't sure what was going to happen next. The pirates hadn't acted predictably at all. They were friendly as far as violent criminals went, but every word they said was laced with a subtle poison. [i]Betray us and we will let you die.[/i] 

"We will stay here tonight." Carpenter explained. "For now, you can stay in here and have all the grog you want." he pounded a fist on the table. Laz felt the binds around his ankles. They felt heavy. The promise of grog - the computer-produced replicator version of alcohol - did not interest him. Laz wanted to sleep, and to wake up somewhere else. 

"Tomorrow." Carpenter said . "We head for Kartago."