The Council-floor Part 3

Grak woke up once more, considerably more well rested than the previous time. He found himself in a prison cell of clearly Traddin design. The bed was plenty large enough for him, and the ceiling was positively reasonable. The bed was comfortable, and the walls were smooth and friendly. A painting of Traddel and its moons hung on the wall. This further helped to date the colony. This was after the Prison Reform and prior to people realizing that bubble windows are fucking stupid. They're expensive, they jut out from the structure, distort light, and they are way too easy to break from the inside. Grak considered the possibility of escaping, and realized it a nigh futile endeavor. Traddin prisons are after all notoriously difficult to escape from. Grak decided to relax, and sat down in the cavity of the window. Grak looked at his hand. His nails were too sharp for comfort, he hadn't dulled them for a few days after all. Oh well. He would have to remember to do so later. Grak put his arms back around his head, and without any effort the glass shattered. "Ow!" he shouted. "See this is exactly the problem with these blasted windows, they're too brea..." Grak trailed off and jumped out of the window.

Grak wasn't an athelete, but he had the wonderful advantage of being born on a planet with one and a half times the surface gravity of the Earth. Barnard's Third Planet has only 80% Earth gravity. He leaped past the fence with only a little bit too much effort, and set off running towards his shuttle. Grak knew that if these Beanmen were using Traddin prisons, and the understand Traddin language, they probably know how Traddin prison sentences work. Nice though the prison cells were, the reform did bring about an unfortunate amount of torture into the rulebooks. He stopped at a lake to drink some water. Absolutely delicious it was, and completely devoid of boiler sludge! He crested the hill and found his shuttle.

"You know I can't help but notice that something doesn't look quite right here," said Grak to himself, "Something's missing."

Grak knew full well that the shuttle was wrecked of course, he was referring to the fact that now all that remained of the shuttle was the cockpit.

A creaky voice made itself apparent through the bushes. "They tak metal becus queen."

Grak responded: "What?"

The creaky voice made itself even more apparent.

"Oh I see," Grak said through ringing ears. "What does the queen need with the metal?"

"bilt ship," said the voice.

"Ship... do you mean a space ship or a boat?" Asked Grak. The voice neared Grak. Unsurprisingly it was a Beanman. If Grak had to guess, the wrinkles and shakiness of this particular Beanman were due to old age, but he couldn't be sure.

"Do no know what is a bote. Ship upward."

"She must want to get to Traddin... tell me, what do you know of Traddin?"

"It is goodness that you spek name that it is. Traddin is wonder world, no? You from it."

"Frankly, Traddin is nothing more than a tourist trap these days. Well, at least my hometown," Grak said.

"Queen try to go to Traddin. Queen kill Traddin is the plan," said the Beanman.

"Oh well that is something of a problem," said Grak.

"Ys. We dont kill traddin is a plan."

"Who is 'we'?" Grak asked.

The Beanman made a clicking, screetching sound.

"What?" Grak requested elaboration.

The Beanman repeated himself with a greater volume.

"I don't understand that word. I only speak Traddinese. Or, what did the Queen call it, Kimmel Tongue?"

"We fight back from queen. Queen kill is the plan."

"Well that's terrific you see because queen kill is my plan too. I shall assist you."