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Stun guns. All ten of the guards had been ready to fire on me the moment the door opened. I flopped to the ground like a fish out of water, humiliated. Then they shot meagain.

Scudding wretches!I’d stab them in the scudding eyes once I was out of here. I’d…

I’d…

I’d simply lie there as they injected me with a new syringe of drugs. One guard deposited a few field rations on the bunk, then they left, locking the door securely behind them. Leaving me, face down, to slowly recover enough to move.

I fell unconscious before that could happen, my exhausted body surrendering to the need for sleep.

25

I woke to a feeling of peace.

That didn’t make any kind of rational sense. I knew immediately where I was: in prison. I was a light sleeper, and at some point during the “night” had climbed up onto the bunk.

And yet a soothing calm radiated over me. It came from…

You,I thought to the unknown slug.

She fluted in my head. The communications slug I’d promised to save. As I lay there, feeling sorry for myself, she sent more comfort. Like a bandage on my soul.

How do you have time to comfort someone else?I thought to her.With your own situation as it is?

I could mostly frame the feelings and images she sent into a verbal response.I’m locked in a cage. I have nothingbuttime. And outward is the only place to look.

I sent back a sense of regret. That I wasn’t here to save her; that I hadn’t come willingly. But she’d already figured that out, from my emotions. I was a captive like she was.

Sorry,I sent again.

Wait. I was communicating with the taynix. Did that mean mypowers were back? The drug had worn off? I quested outward, but felt nothing.

She replied. She was reaching out to me while doing her communications work for the space station. My drugs were still in effect; she was bearing the entire cytonic load of our discussion. She had a vague impression that my state would last around twelve hours.

You know the drugs?I sent her.

Yes. They were used on hyperslugs whenever they needed to be removed from their boxes. It was also the first step in a punishment process for a commslug—cutting them off from others.

Scud. If the drug was thefirststep of their punishments, where did it go after that?

I got back a sensation of darkness, pain, and silence.

Well, that was terrifying. If I ever needed to throw up again on command, I could simply remember the life these poor creatures were being forced to live.

Doomslug,I sent her.Can you find my friend? She’s here, somewhere.

The unknown slug, whom I named Comfort in my head, didn’t know Doomslug, but promised to see if she could find her. There were alotof slugs here, but Comfort seemed confident that—with a little time—she could do it.

Great. But all of this just reinforced that I needed a way out. Not only for me and my friends, but for these creatures.

I climbed off the bunk and ate the ration bars left for me, did a series of push-ups and other exercises, then cleaned up as best I could. With a sink and the little bar of soap I’d been left, at least I could wash my jumpsuit.

Once the jumpsuit was dry, I put it back on, then cleaned my undergarments. It gave me something to do while I waited for the next injection. Sure enough, at what I pegged for midday, they opened the door. Cleaned and dressed, I raised my hands to try to forestall what happened next.

“I’ll be good,” I promised. “I won’t—”

A barrage of fire came through the doorway, stunning me and dropping me, drooling, to the ground. Scud. It didn’t hurt—at least not more than any other fall—but this couldnotbe good for my body. I suffered the indignity of another injection, then just lay there. They didn’t even move me to the bunk, though they left another handful of ration bars. One joked about how bad the food was, and how I’d probably go crazy subsisting only on those bars.

Well, the joke was on him. I’d lived on rat meat and algae paste for most of my life. The ration bars were comparatively fantastic.