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The escort kept a small ship. It would have been small with just the escort inside, but with two walls closed in tight around them. There was a small capsule where the escort could sleep, though he seemed to sleep in his chair at the helm more than anything. There was a small head, a shower inside the head that seemed rarely used at best. And there was the little bench that Toby occupied.
It was hard to tell how far out they were. Toby had fallen asleep twice since the escort had pulled him from the triage, and even then, he wasn’t sure how long he had slept. They were under most of the time, up on the surface at night, and the escort didn’t seem too concerned about keeping Toby up to date as to where they were.
Toby’s stomach heaved, a combination of lack of food and fear. He clung tight to the little bench as best he could in handcuffs; the escort put them on Toby as soon as they were on board his boat. He tried to will his stomach to a calmer place, fully aware that the escort would neither enjoy a fresh helping of vomit, nor would be the one cleaning it up.
The escort got up from the helm and, grabbing Toby by his muzzle, felt his nose. Instead of just asking, the human would check the boy’s thirst by how dry his nose was. Anything less than cold and wet, he was thirsty. The escort filled a tin cup with water and forced it at Toby. Toby drank, welcoming the cool, if stale water, finishing it too quickly. He whimpered, and the escort stared him back into submission. The human returned to the helm, and Toby pushed himself into the corner of the bench. He stared at the ceiling until it blurred.
The escort pulled him out of sleep, grabbing the handcuffs and lifting Toby off the bench. Toby yelped, more out of surprise than anything, and the escort hit him across the back of his head. Toby started to yelp, but pulled his muzzle shut, squeezing his eyes tight to stop tears from welling up.
They had stopped, and the escort had opened his hatch, fresh air pouring into the little boat. Outside, the sun was setting, and Toby figured at the very least where east and west lay. They were in a harbor, land encircling them on three sides. The harbor opened to the west, and the ocean stretched, uninterrupted, as far as Toby could see. The land itself looked untamed, undisturbed, its jungle reaching all the way to a wide beach.
Directly next to them sat a giant boat. It was a former hospital ship, a great red diamond still painted on the side of its hull. It shone in the receding light, imposing, looming over the escort’s boat. A few of its light winked on against the impending twilight. And in big, proud letters on its hull, read “Goodship Firebrand.” Toby stumbled against the forward force of the escort. A gangplank had been extended down to them, and the escort prodded Toby up. They were expected.
Inside the ship, they were met by a man who described himself as “Councilor Pete.” He took paper from the escort, and showed them down the narrow hallway to a room marked “Check-In.” Councilor Pete looked over Toby’s papers, signed a few sheets, and returned them to the escort. He nodded, the escort thanked him, and left Toby alone with Pete.
Councilor Pete looked the boy over. He was tall, slender, panda, looked the part of a camp councilor: khaki shorts and a loose button down shirt, and had the general air of a man that demanded fun at all times. He folded his hands in front of him, looking down at Toby, and said, “Strip.”
Toby looked up at him, his ears dropping back. His mouth dropped open.
“Do it, or I will,” Pete said. He didn’t raise his voice, but he didn’t have to. Toby, shaking, pulled his clothes off, turning away from Pete as he did. When he finished, Pete pushed him forward, down the hall, to a narrow door. He opened it and Toby stepped in, doing his best to cover himself. Pete closed the door with a loud metallic bang. The room itself wasn’t so big, no more so than a shower stall. In fact…
Toby looked up at the shower head on the ceiling. There was a drain on the floor, some stagnant water pooling around the metal grating. There was no way to adjust the flow of water that Toby could see, just another door on the other side of the stall. Toby eyed the other door, knitting his hands together.
The walls around him groaned, and water trickled from the shower head. Toby, ears flat against his head, stepped out of the way of the trickle. There was another groan, louder, and the drizzle turned into a deluge. Scalding water reached every corner of the little room. Toby cried out, twisting in the water. He covered his ears, trying his best to keep the water out.
The water stopped. Toby fell against the wall, shaking with pain. Before he could sink down the wall, the door on the other side of the stall opened. Another “councilor” was there to pull him out, and two of them prodded Toby for contraband. He could only stand, shaking in the middle of the room, steam rising from his fur. Satisfied, the councilors pushed a bundle of clothes into Toby’s arms and left him in a corner to change.
Further into the Firebrand, through more narrow hallways, was where the campers were kept. Judging by the low light, they were already in their rooms, silence surrounding Toby and the councilors. They opened the door to his own room, pushed him in, and sealed the door behind him.
The room itself was only slightly bigger than the shower stall. There was a toilet and a sink against the far wall, both made of cold stainless steel, and a small bench for sitting. There was no room to lay down. Toby slid down against the wall, holding his head in his hands and unable to fight anymore, cried. He stopped only when he was too tired, falling into a heap on to the cold, dirty floor. He stared at the ceiling until it disappeared into a blur.
[g]
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