The captain carried Peter down the street with a steady and confident stride. No one in this port was going to care about some pretty boy in shackles being kidnapped by a powerful-looking man, especially one who was accompanied by men who looked like they were the type who could fight. They joked around with a calm, casual air. They had their prey intact and soon he'd be punished for his infraction before being put to work on the ship. Meanwhile, they were free to enjoy the shore-time knowing their pest was cornered now.
Peter didn't fight. He kept his eyes on the ground and tried to keep his grunts to a minimum. How was he going to escape this one? Should he? What was he doing really but surviving one day to the next? It's not like he had a plan. Stay clear of the Great A.I.
Tears rolled down his face and mixed with the water dripping off his hair. The sounds of the docks began to sing around them. More people greeting the Captain as they passed. Laughing at the sight of him being carted back to the ship. The man chuckled, gripping tighter as Peter shifting. A hand-rubbed his legs. His heart was beating fast and he gripped the back of the Captain's coat with his tied hands.
"Colin!" Sergio snapped. The dim echo of curses appeared.
Peter was put down and handed to the cook. He spotted as several of the ship children rushed back to the ship with Sergio yelling after them. Both Sergio and Captain dived after the stragglers.
"Easy boy," the cook murmured, pushing him forward as Peter pressed back against him. "I got you."
They were in the ship's area. A chain-wire fence now up to mark its zone as various hands dealt with their cargo. Some buyers were walking about, now idly watching as the brats were herded back towards the ship. The boys scattered further as the Quartermaster appeared at the mouth of the cargo bay holding one of the boys by the arm. Peter whined, not liking the look on the man's face as he locked on Peter.
"Forwards, brat," the cook ordered, ruffling his hair. Amusement was in his voice.
Peter watched as the Captain swept up two of the younger boys and held them by their waists as he walked back over to the ship. Sergio was tugging another one by his wrist while carrying another on his hip. The others were slowly gathering up as their names were called. None of them looked happy but they didn't look scared either.
"Missing one," the Quartermaster counted, slapping the older ones over the back of the head as they filed back into the ship.
"Boys!"
"We didn't let them slip out until the cage was up. None got out the gate, Captain," one of the hands playing guard called over with a relaxed tone despite the Captain's clear annoyance.
"They shouldn't have been off the ship!"
"They were playing snapping turtles," the hands shrugged as one, most of them unconcerned. Peter tried to take a step back as they got to the ramp. The cook kept him in place, eyes joining the other senior members of the crew as they looked over the area. Hunting for the final child not back in the safety of the ship. "We wouldn't let them out if it wasn't safe."
"We already had one brat to chase after today," the Captain scowled.
"Come here, kid," the Quartermaster ordered.
For a moment, Peter thought he was talking to the hiding child but the Cook pushed him up the ramp and over to the man. The Quartermaster took him by the elbow with a strong grip and moved him into the ship. He was guided past where the boys were herded together and now cleaning the cargo area, and up into an office. Paper and books spilt everywhere and a computer console glowed to the side. Another screen was on the wall with a nasty crack running down it. The room smelt of sandalwood and there was a statue placed on a shelf. A weapon rank sat to the side, a few guns on it alongside canes and whips of a more distinct nature. This was the Quartermaster's domain.
"Go help the others. I see you outside the ship again before you're tall enough to reach my chest and it'll be the belt for you. Got it?" the Quartermaster said to the child on his hip.
"Yes, sir," the child nodded, squirming to get down. They slipped out of the room the moment their feet hit the ground.
The Quartermaster shook his head before turning his eyes on Peter. "Sit!"
Peter sat.
The man muttered as he moved around the office pulling out an injector and some chips. Peter swallowed and tried not to look too much like he was angling for the door. There was more shouting from outside the door. A now-familiar rumbled of the Captain no doubt yelling at the brats for their game. He settled more back. Escaping now would be a very bad idea. Even if he was about to be chipped. If he ran now, chances were he'd be chipped publicly if not worse.
His adrenaline was running low now, his eyes drooping. He was tired. He leaned heavily against the metal wall and curled his knees up and between his hands, hiding his face. The Quartermaster, Jim if he remembered right, hummed, the sound filling the room along with the sound of him moving about. A hand ran over his head and ruffled at the base of his neck.
"Are you going to be good for me, runt?"
He was trapped. The man was lean rather than the broad muscles of the other older men of the ship but the heat from him was almost overwhelming. Peter didn't move. Muscles tense and eyes watering, he didn't move as Jim rubbed further down his spine. His thumb rubbed circles and the man pushed him to lean forward. Peter let his legs fall to the floor and squeezed his eyes tight as he was forced to bend over. Something was spread over the spot. Numbing creme, he guessed as the area turned tingly. It didn't completely remove the feeling of the needle as the chin was inserted into him. He hissed but didn't move. Even as the Quartermaster backed up, Peter stayed still, looking like he was seasick with his head between his knees.
"Honestly, those whelps need more chores if they are bored enough to be playing snapping turtles in a slaver port," the Captain grumbled as he walked into space. Peter flinched as a hand ran over his head. A body sat next to him, resting his arm on his back and tracing circles.
"They are young, games are good for them," Jim said, the smile in his voice warm.
"You will deal with the ringleaders?"
"When do I not?"
The arm on his back moved to his side and encouraged him to sit up. Peter obeyed, more out of numbness than anything else. The fear running through his blood was cold now. He was chipped. Not quite a slave but close to. The crew seemed to protect their own so it was likely protection against people stealing their boys but Peter knew once a person was chipped it made them easier to enslave. He was theirs now and any moment they were going to string him up and strip the skin from his back for failing to surrender when he had the chance. His chest tightened and he tried to pull the numbness back over his mind. Numbness was easier, one of the other once said. People were less likely to hurt someone when they were quiet and obeying rather than loud and fighting.
They were asking him something. He didn't answer. The words were drifting away from him.
There was a slap against the back of his head, snapping him back awake. "Stay awake runt," Captain warned. "We're not done tonight." The dark growl in his voice curled around Peter and stoked the fear building in him. Just because Peter hadn't seen anything too dark happening, did not mean that nothing was afoot.
"What's the plan with him, Captain?" Jim asked, leaning back on his own chair, the thing creaking with age.
"Clean him up, give him a turn kissing the gunner's daughter and then put him to work," Captain said, "Fair's fair. Wouldn't you agree, runt?"
Peter shifted backwards, swallowing as his mouth ran dry. 'Kissing the gunner's daughter' meant being tied to a cannon and flogged. He'd been warned a few times but they didn't use the whips on anyone not grown into their scruff and shoulders. The brats were dealt with mostly with hands or belts. One or two had been caned for doing really stupid things but not the whip.
"Come on, kid. You're going to be ours for a while. What's your name?"Jim beamed at him, his body language loose and open. He started playing with a dagger, swirling it around his fingers with an air of calm. A threat? Possibly but Peter found his eyes following the movements with curiosity. Was it worth hiding his name from them? Or giving a fake? He wasn't sure when he'd be able to slip them long enough to get to someone who'd disable a chip. "Unless you prefer the nicknames given to you, of course." He winked at Peter with a darker grin on his face.
"Peter," he murmured, eyes drift back to the ground. He didn't like that smile.
"Peter?" the Captain nodded with an approving edge to his tone. The man was pleased he was obeying. Now if Peter could keep that up and keep the man happy with him. "How old are you? Old enough to know your manners, certainly."
"16, sir," he said, hunching in on himself at the scolding as gentle as it had been. A gentle nudge was nicer than having it beaten into him.
Jim snorted, "You don't look past 12." Peter flushed with humiliation.