Takahashi, Mikako

[Bakamono]

Takahashi was unconscious when they found her.
“Looks dead” the large one said.
“Looks...Sow-ja” said the small one with the funny accent. He picked at the uniform, drawing attention to the Kusari lettering and obvious ancestry of the woman. “Sah-ree”
“Might be dangerous”
“maybeez, maybeez she be reesh! Maybeez we gat reesh!”
“might be someone lookin'”
“see see - maybz wan' t'fine her baad: credtz baad” he whispered his last words, whatever they were.
“O.k, o.k: we tow her with us, not kill her dead.” the larger one concluded.
“Eightz , tyre - now we go quick! 'fore they fine fine” the smaller exclaimed as he crossed to a terminal. His friend carried out his request and tied Mikakos hands together, bound her ankles, then lumbered off.

*****

As the precious gasses once more suffused Mikakos lungs, her metabolic rate had begun to increase. With a sudden gasp she tried to sit and abruptly fell backward again after meeting the limit of her restraints.
“Eetz!” the smaller one turned from his console at the gasp and leapt from his chair. “DOWZ! DOWZ! She bin waykn!”
“Don' gat fighty sowja, we gatz Gunz! Sit tights.”
“Nani-yo!? What?! Wh-”
“Sed Shuts! Shuts! Me tawk – you sit tights!”
“O wonderful!" Takahashi thought sarcastically “I have been rescued by the stellar equivalent of psychotic sheep.”

The first hours of her capture had been comparably pleasant: whilst the crew were busy with navigation and sensor forgery & scrambling, they had been too busy to harass their captive. Once the vessel was in the clear however, things quickly worsened.

The small one who could hardly speak sat gloatingly at the head end of the table, he rhythmically tapped a metal pipe into the palm of one hand. “So, nay vee kuseri nay vee, what you do out here? What your plan? Sez! You 'portant nay vee or small time? Where your pretty ride nay vee? Sez!”

She reasoned that this skinny, twitching maniac would only be motivated by profit. She attempted to speak without the usual aid of a translator “atashi no...” her captor quickly struck out with the pipe, which cracked painfully against her left shin. She gritted her teeth and bit down a yowl.
“NO SAHREE! Spik stannard bish stannard!”

Mikako tried again, recalling what she could of liberty – her speech came slowly and staccato “I am not soldier, I work for kishiro – big money – you let me go – big money for you, -big- reward.” without the use of her hands she gestured with her eyes and a fake smile.
The weasely man bit his lip in consideration, obviously tempted by the prospect of profit. From an unseen corridor she heard the larger one – dozer – plod toward them. "Treek? We gotta dock in ten.”
“Look sahree see – sez not miltree – sez tranner – whas doze tink?”
“You said soldier 'member?” he sniffed and walked away “come'n help Treek – we c'n decide on her later.”

Crazed looks crossed the scrawny mans face, from incredulous to enraged in an almost convulsive cascade. The bar struck hard against Mikakos face. Pain blossomed and burned, shooting its roots out across her entire skull – this time she was not able to contain her pain and howled in frustration. Through the bleary mess she heard Treek speak once more “Lie! You lie sahree! Treek maak truey” as he scrambled off after his comrade.

After hours trying to wriggle free Takahashis bruising had discoloured her skin to a mottling of purple blue and yellow. She felt like she'd boxed ten rounds with a gorilla, the slightest movement seemed to renew the pain afresh.
With few options, Mikako winced as she made a detailed survey of her prison in isolation.

They had placed her on top of an oblong crate typical of component freight.
Lying on the floor were carelessly discarded cutting tools: a gas powered torch trailing pipes messily. At the east wall - stacked to form rudimentary tables and chairs - were boxes and crates labelled in different languages. Her sword stood propped amidst the refuse of packaged food and disposable media.
Old pictures and notices had been pasted over the walls in some kind of bizarre, profane collage. Torn and scratched pieces hung peeling from the walls – their messages barely discernible.

Mikako tried her restraints, plasteel cabling was strong but not unbreakable. Her artificial arm strained and pushed against the cold bindings, as the metal began to give - the opposing force sent the wire cutting into and crushing her opposite arm. She bit down a scream and ceased her efforts abruptly. Unfortunately for her – the tensile strength of the wire was too much, a more forceful attempt would damage her severely.

Her captors were brutal, obviously removed from civilisation for some time. There was a slim chance they would consider keeping her alive for profit, but Mikako suspected that there was a higher chance of her death as a result of their unpredictable nature.

After what sounded like docking and departure procedures 'Treek' returned. “So-ja – what you do in Tau soja?” the wicked man maintained eye contact.
“Not looking for you Treek, normal patrol – no trouble for you.”
Treeks face almost vibrated as he seemed to struggle with something internally before lashing out quickly with the bar. “NO! Why lie soja!? You all dressy, we find you far – too far for sahree – too far for any soja.”

Still reeling from the impact Mikako replied woozily "...engagement...lost men – Wan, Jiro – dead” she could hear Treek clanging around amongst piles of junk, he returned moments later with a sparking device – Mikako barely had time to voice her objection before the first electric shock had her back arching in agony. Spasms of pain followed the horse like kick, trampled in a stampede of heavy fire. Treek was shouting something, but she could not hear him over the sound of her own screams. Losing cohesion, her words became hoarse denials until she lost track entirely.

For days the routine became the same, Mikako would try to tell Treek a portion of the truth, he would become enraged and hurt her. At first he seemed satisfied with battery, but after a while the taser became more frequent, and then came the knives. The synth-skin took the edge off: but even that was insufficient in the face of Treeks torturous onslaught. Days stretched into weeks, time lost its meaning in the abyss of despair.

When it seemed she could no longer remember any other existence , Mikako became dimly aware of her fathers ghostly form, his face a translucent picture of misery. “Do you remember when you were young Mikako – and you would watch the Orcas harry whales?”
“Hai father, and I would ask why they were so cruel – and you would tell me of their necessary hunger.”
“Hai Mikako, the orcas cannot afford mercy. And do you remember what happened to the last one we saw together?”
“Hai father, she swam on tirelessly – until the orca could no longer follow: she survived.”