The Renegade: Episode V: Allegiance

Chapter 40: Tolerance

"Wake up."

"Ugh," Wyb rubbed his eyes. He had just turned eight but was very observant for his age. He could already sense his mother was in a bad mood before the sun rose.

"Now Wyb!," she said shortly. "Get dressed. We need to go."

"Where are we going?" He asked, sliding out of bed and slipping on his shoes. He knew that tone in his mother's voice. It meant they were in trouble and needed to move quickly. He had lost track of how many times they had moved, especially in the last year.

"I don't have time to answer your questions," she snapped. "Move it."

Wyb finished dressing and followed his mother as closely as he could through the crowded market street. She was moving fast as though she was trying to lose him. He reached out to take her but she pulled away at his touch. Wyb didn't know what he had done to put her in such a foul mood. Perhaps he hadn't gotten ready fast enough this morning. He wondered where his father was. He didn't remember much of him, not even his last name, only that he had gone out one day and his mother took the opportunity to leave. Was he the reason they kept moving? Did he care that they were gone? He never dared to ask his mother these questions. Times were tough and each day he could see his mother grow more angry and desperate with their situation. It was best to just keep quiet and follow her lead.

"Here," his mother stopped in front of an unmarked storefront. She knelt down to meet his eye level. "Now when we go in here, keep quiet. Understood?"

Wyb nodded as she straightened his vest and dusted off his shoulders. It was the most affection she had given him in months. But he knew she was doing her best. It must be stressful whatever it was that kept her in a constant state of panic. He followed his mother into the store and saw two Zygerrians.

"You said he was eight," the female zygerrian said with disgust in her voice.

"He is," Wyb's mother replied.

"He's small," the other zygerrian said, poking Wyb's back with a staff. Wyb frowned and swatted the staff away. "And feisty."

"Let's go brother. This is a raw deal," the female zygerrian said, pulling her hood over her feline ears.

"Wait! Please," Wyb's mother plied. "I know he's smaller than most boys his age. But he's a hard worker. Very obedient."

"Is that right boy?!" the zygerrian's brother crouched down and grabbed Wyb's shoulder."Any defiance is unwelcomed and will not go unpunished."

"You are his mother?" the female zygerrian asked, slightly curious about the relationship between the two.

"I gave birth to him," she answered, not wanting to accept the title. The two slavers exchanged looks.

"And the father?" the female zygerrian continued to question. She wasn't going to take any chances with this deal.

"He's dead," Wyb's mother said. Wyb turned and looked up at her. This was the first time he had heard about his father in a year. If he was dead, then why were they always running?

"Fine," the female zygerrian snapped her fingers and her brother placed bindings on Wyb's tiny hands. She took out a small bag of credits and handed them over to Wyb's mother. "Why don't you put this toward getting sterilized?"

"Mom! No! Where are they taking me?! Mom! Please no! I promise I'll be good. Don't let them take me! Help!"

Wyb woke up gasping for air. It had been years since he dreamt of his mother. When he was younger, he dreamt frequently of the day she sold him to the slavers. Every time he had the nightmare, Lenore would be waiting at his bedside with a cup of blue milk for his nerves. At seventeen and in the final year of his Naval Academy studies, he was embarrassed to admit he wished Lenore was there.