#8-------
Sunrise above Madagascar-------
A voice blared over the intercom. "This is your captain speaking. While you all bought tickets for Haven, we are informed the city does not permit direct landing from non-Tayloristani aircraft. So we will be landing at the coastal village of Haven-Prime, home of trade depot #145 if any of you have cargoes to dump, where you will find your tickets are good for a ride to Haven on a passenger zeppelin."
"If you look out the left windows, you may also notice the Tayloristani fighter which has been pacing us since we entered their 30km naval control zone. So, ah, our landing zone is not a matter of money. Thank you for flying Air Ceylon." The flight captain finished unnaturally calmly.
It hardly mattered. Izzil Gribbn was absorbed in his newspaper. As the massive jet, nearly 70 meters long, landed on the newly paved asphalt runway Izzil reflected on his previous visit to Haven-Prime. I really put one over on that woman. Tayloristan is weak to its own legal code, ha! For the price of a plane ticket, I get 80% of what my slaves are worth. Totally worth it. Let's see them handle forty slaves.
The aircraft landed, almost reaching the end of the runway. A team of workers rushed out carrying a ladder which they placed against the jet's side at its passenger door. Savages. Izzil thought as the passengers exited the aircraft one by one.
Izzil walked around to the back of the aircraft as he retrieved his remote from his carry-on bag. The cargo door opened. "Alright, get out you maggots!" Izzil shouted at the 23 women and 17 men huddled in the cargo bay. The slaves exited the plane, heads bowed, metal collars glowing with an ominous red light.
Izzil then began to waddle towards a large shanty town of tents and wagons set up beside the airstrip and the port. Around the shanty town were many steel and wooden frames of buildings being set up, as well as a half completed hanger and second runway. All over the port were giant steel masts for mooring airships and one half-kilometer concrete oval pit for setting one down. Crude dirt helicopter pads littered the area, with a constant stream of giant silver airships and smaller helicopters arriving and leaving. For the most part, the helicopters docked with floating zeppelins instead of attempting a jungle crossing on their own. The jungle itself fingered at the edges of the open area, patrolled by armed soldiers with work crews using axes and shovels to slowly push it back. Clearly, trade was making this sleepy fishing village into an overnight boom town.
Izzil put walked through the shanty town, humming a jaunty tune to himself, followed by a trail of human misery. A heavy 8x8 truck was hooked up to the leading wheel of the jet, and began to tug the craft in a circle to ready it for takeoff.
Upon reaching the other side, Izzil stood in line to see the Tayloristani trade depot clerks, a copy of the Tayloristani legal code complete with circled sections in his pocket.
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"Tayloristan is willing to offer $5,000 for your cargo of domestic cats, of which there are 250, madam." Clara Forenz recited We need a list of cargoes we won't buy. What on earth are we going to use cats for?
"Why thank you, Miss. My new boyfriend won't tolerate my babies any longer." The middle-aged woman explained unnecessarily.
"Yes, well, sign here to confirm your sale as final and sign here to make the sale." Clara recited. "The money is in this envelope, if you count it in front of me and it comes up short you get a 5% credit on your next sale."
"Oh, that won't be necessary. Thank you, dearie." The woman walked away with the money.
"Next!" Clara called out.
A dark suited businessman with a crimson tie stepped forward. "That would be me. How much would Tayloristan pay for a favor?" He asked in a silky tone.
"I'm afraid we classify intangibles as defective goods, Sir." Clara iterated. "Now, do you have some legitimate business?"
"I'm offended. But yes, I do have a cargo. 112 Kingsnakes. Good for pest control." The businessman offered.
"Why do I have to deal with all the small animal transactions?" Clara muttered. "I'll have someone inspect your cargo. Should the snakes be in good condition, Tayloristan is willing to offer $1,500 for all 112 of them."
"Fair enough. Argentina could pay me more, but that's twice the voyage." The businessman assented in his silky tone.
A few minutes later...
"Everything seems to be in order. Sign here to make your sale final, sign here to make the sale." Clara recited. "The money is in the envelope-"
"And if you short-change me, I get a 5% credit on my next sale." The businessman finished. "A pleasure doing business with Tayloristan."
"Next!" Clara Forenz shouted.
A strangely familiar fat man waddled forward, followed by many others. "Me!" He grinned, showing a gold tooth.
"Oh no. Not you again!" Clara exclaimed.
"Well, you see, this is a shorter voyage than Iceland. So I've got the appropriate segment of your legal code circled in red right here. How much for the forty of my cargo?" The fat man pulled out a document and a red crayon.
"Oh, I'll tell you how much in a moment." Clara smiled sweetly as she pressed the red button under her desk.
Four green-uniformed guards and a purple-uniformed squad leader bearing assault rifles marched towards Clara's desk.
"You get a lifetime sentence in prison." Clara answered finally.
"What? But your legal code says-" The fat man began but was interrupted when he was seized by the soldiers.
The purple-uniformed soldier looked Izzil directly in the eyes. "Slavery is illegal in Tayloristan. Your slaves ceased to be slaves and became hostages once you crossed the border. That makes you a terrorist and an enemy of the state." She stated coldly. "Take this waste of flesh out of my sight!" she then barked at the soldiers.
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Zoe stumbled through the jungle to greet the rising sun. It was technically at her back, but she was grateful for the daylight regardless. She leaned against one of the trees and noticed a pool of water at its base. Zoe knelt down and prepared to drink, only for something heavy to hit her from behind and knock her headfirst into the pool. Zoe gasped involuntarily under the...This isn't water. Too sticky. surface of the liquid, air bubbles trailing to the surface.
At the bottom of the pool were weeds. Zoe frantically pushed herself off the bottom of the pool somehow deep enough for her entire 5'10 self to submerge in with her left hand, only for one of the "weeds" to latch on to her hand and begin to burn it, or so it felt like. She struggled, but the weed wouldn't let go and actually began to retract, pulling the rest of her down. As her belly touched other weeds at the bottom, the weeds instantly adhering to the pelt she was wearing, Zoe managed to bite the "weed" holding her hand. It instantly recoiled. She took the opportunity to swim for the surface, but the plant life wouldn't let go of her.
Zoe frantically swam, but nothing came of it. As her vision began to blur, she felt something break around her. An eternity later, Zoe broke the surface of the liquid, then almost immediately ducked back under as what appeared to be an animate branch swung at her head.
Acting on instinct, Zoe seized the branch as it rose, then jumped using the edge of the pool for footing. She fell into a thornbush just out of reach of the branch. It pawed uselessly at the ground less than five centimeters from the toes of her right foot for a few minutes before returning to its former position.
A minute later, Zoe stood, blood running from numerous punctures all over her body. Why do I hurt all over? Wouldn't that treejumper pelt...Oh. Well, I suppose it's an acceptable price for survival. Where's my staff? Over there by the pool? The tree can keep it. I hereby dub that thing the Tayloristani Deceptive Pitcher Tree.
A bright red flower caught Zoe's eye, unusual for not being green. Is that a rose? It's from the bush I landed in. "That's weird. Roses don't grow in this jungle." Zoe muttered. "Wait. Roses don't grow in this jungle. Roses don't grow in this jungle!" Zoe laughed for the first time in ten days and danced in a little circle, then fell to the ground as her stomach reminded her she hadn't dared to eat anything in that time. Ohh..I need to find out where that rosebush came from. And fast.
Zoe got up and began to stumble through the jungle away from the rising sun. By some miracle, I still have this sling for my arm. She stumbled on for a short while before locating a tree, one without a pool at its base, which she then climbed before securing herself to a branch 7 meters from the ground. Exhausted, she fell straight asleep.
A scratching sound on the tree trunk awakened her. Zoe sat bolt upright and turned around. A black, hairy, four-legged animal with the needle beak of a woodpecker and four 5" claws on the end of each of its legs was approaching her. Treejumper. Zoe thought as she backed away.
The treejumper advanced on her, emitting a trilling sound. Zoe knew from observing these animals that it would kill her to get her off of its tree so it could consume the tree's sap without hindrance. But I can't just fall seven meters! She thought in panic as she backed up before the treejumper's flailing razor-sharp claws. The branch began to bend beneath Zoe as she reached the end of it. Suddenly, she heard a clacking sound.
The treejumper whirled to face the sound, just in time for a scorpion stinger to protrude from its back. The treejumper began to emit a high-pitched warbling scream as it was raised in the air by the Jungle scorpion which had been following Zoe. The treejumper began raking at the threat with all its claws, only for them to harmlessly skitter off the insect, trailing sparks. The scorpion raised its claws underneath the flailing treejumper and rubbed them together.
Sparks landed on the treejumpers black fur, then burst into flame almost immediately and spread all over the treejumper. The poor animal screamed louder, if that was possible, as the scorpion methodically used its claws to snap off flaming body parts and consume them. Zoe watched in horrified fascination, unable to inch further away without falling, the cool knotted branch pressed tight against her skin.
Less than a minute after it began, the scorpion had consumed the entire treejumper. The insect approached Zoe, who inched away as best she could without falling. The scorpion stopped with its claws over her left hand. It rubbed them together. Unnaturally hot sparks landed on her hand, leaving tiny burn marks to go with the multitude of scratches and punctures. The insect then rapidly rubbed its claws together for nearly five minutes, sending a storm of sparks cascading on her hand. The pain was unbelievable. Zoe's eyes watered as she held on to the branch regardless.
After what seemed like an eon, the scorpion ceased, its tail lowering from attack position. It turned around and skittered away, carrying itself in a fashion Zoe would classify as disappointed if an insect could have feelings.
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