LOYALTY TO TRAKKLOV

Horatio looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.

In fact, Horatio had been dragged through several hedges, forwards and backwards. For 180 minutes. At 90mph. Tied to the back of a BurnStar750 rocket jet.

And that was the least painful of Horatio’s Daily Punishments.

***·      

Horatio didn’t know exactly what he had done to deserve these disciplinary measures. He didn’t doubt that he had done something. He must have been caught somehow displeasing Trakklov, the all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-vengeful leader who had last year taken over Hershanus and its many moons.

But which of his minor actions of rebellion did Trakklov know about, and how did he find out about them?

It was quite possible that there was a leak inside C-4’s ring of wannabe uprisers known as Hershanians Against Trakklov’s Terror, or HATTers. But Trakklov couldn’t see them as a real threat, could he? And how would any HATTer recognise another, without their rafflings on?

This set of clothes, which Horatio saw as no more than a silly costume, covered the full body, including the face, and was reversible. On the inside was a costume made to look like the new Hershanian military uniform. Although not once had any HATTers needed to turn their costumes inside out, the interior was enough like the real thing that Horatio believed it genuinely would fool any but the most observant of Trakklov’s Rule Keepers.

The only identifying marks on each raffling was on a patch on the right knee where each HATTer had sewn his identifying code. His own was H2O: the chemical formula for his favourite drink, found only on his favourite planet, the one on which he had spent his gap year. The leader of the group used C-4. Offhand, Horatio could never remember anyone else’s code, and he doubted he would ever need to.

If Horatio were running the group, he’d have called himself A-1. But he understood the logic. The head honcho wouldn’t want to be identified as such to any potential enemies, plus it went against his favourite claim. “There are no leaders, we’re all equal here.” And C-4 was a big fan of explosions. In video games at least.

C-4 had big plans for the HATTers. He had often claimed that there were several rich donors who were interested in anonymously investing, and when enough money had come in, he would start an army called the CAPS; there would be divisions for fighting and spying, there’d be infiltration, rescue missions, and they would have a massive headquarters hidden in plain sight somewhere on one of the moons.

Horatio was dubious about the existence of these donors and didn’t think any of C-4’s grand plans would ever come to fruition. But he had enjoyed being in the company of likeminded people and it was an interesting diversion from his day job as a traffic warden.

Not that Horatio imagined he would be seeing any of the HATTers or going to any of their meetings for a long time. His Daily Punishments were taking up 16 hours of every day; the rest of his time was spent recovering, eating, sleeping, showering, and brooding.

Nonetheless, any other HATTers would still see him. The Rule Keepers wanted to set an example, so made sure that Horatio would endure his Daily Punishments whilst still wearing his raffling.

***       

The Rule Keeper known as Matt untied Horatio from the BurnStar750 and gave him a glass of milk. “Sorry it took so long to untie you today,” he said cheerfully. “We’ve been experimenting wiv some new types of knot. That one was Sally’s invention. She wants to call it a Sally’s Bend. I thought Trakklov would be against the idea, but ’e’s all for it; this idea of naming achievements after the people who come up wiv the ideas. Some kind of recognition inspires others to do their bit for the new regime, you know. I’ve got a great idea for a new type of weapon, but I just dunno how to…”

“Sorry to interrupt your ramblings,” said a Rule Keeper Matt hadn’t seen before. “But Caffman wants to see all the Punishees, after lunch.”

“What does he want ’e wiv them?” asked Matt.

The new Rule Keeper shrugged and walked away, presumably to avoid being trapped in a one-sided conversation with Matt, giving Horatio a sarcastic thumbs-up as she left.

***       

The person Trakklov trusted enough to be his number two was a Field Marshall, known only as Flem. Beneath Flem were five Generals, each with their own speciality. Of these five, Caffman was the most recent recruit, and his speciality was discipline.

In the room with Flem was Horatio and four other Punishees. Horatio was surprised there were so few, but then again, this scheme hadn’t been going a long time. None of them were wearing rafflings, so he guessed that these were all people who had actually done something to threaten Trakklov’s supremacy, rather than just hanging with a group full of small ideas and big talk.

“This room is 100% locked and 100% soundproof,” announced Caffman, “so what happens in here, stays in here. I have a lot of questions for you, but if any of you have any questions for me, now’s your chance.”

As he spoke, Caffman was brandishing what could only be described as a handheld cannon with knobs on. This looked a lot more dangerous and, even more scarily, less reliable than the standard guns issued to regular Rule Keepers like Matt and Sally, although of course both were a lot further down the food chain than Caffman. And were as unlikely to rise through the ranks as Horatio was to see his boyfriend again.

“Yes, I have a question,” said Horatio, to the surprise of everyone present, including himself. “How much longer will our Daily Punishments go on for?”

“When I am convinced of your loyalty to Trakklov,” came the reply, “then we can discuss your redemption. Your freedom. And your return to civilisation. Is anyone here currently loyal to Trakklov?”

An elderly lady to Horatio’s right nodded.

“I don’t think you are loyal to Trakklov,” responded Caffman. “Or anything he stands for. Or maybe you just don’t understand yet. But I am a reasonable man, don’t you think?”

The lady nodded again.

“What is your name?”

“Josephine.”

“Oh yes. Josephine Mallardine of 15 Twin Suns Drive. I was reading about your husband in the newspaper this morning. But that’s right. You don’t have access to newspapers now, do you?”

Josephine shook her head.

“Well, it wasn’t much of a story. Just that Flem shot him last night when it was discovered he still had a flag hidden in his cupboard celebrating the old regime.”

Josephine gasped.

“Do you still claim to be loyal to Trakklov?”

“Yes.”

“Even though he had your husband killed.”

“He must have had his reasons.”

“Very good. I will consider lessening your Daily Punishments. It will still be 16 hours per day, but I will think about shaving your sentence by a week or two.”

“But what is the current length of our Daily Punishments,” asked Horatio. “Days, weeks, years?”

Caffman ignored the question, but was pleased to note Josephine looking imploringly at Horatio, silently begging him to shut up.

“And what about the rest of you? Does anyone else want to be redeemed? Have their sentences shortened? Who else claims loyalty to Trakklov and everything he stands for?”

Silence.

Caffman walked up to one of the other Punishees, a trembling man with a goatee.

“Do you claim loyalty to Trakklov and everything he stands for?”  

“Yes,” replied the man.

“That’s good to know,” replied Caffman. “And what about you? Do you claim loyalty to Trakklov and everything he stands for?”

A skinhead covered in tattoos, who was by far the youngest person present, also replied in the affirmative.

“Me too,” said a prim blonde lady whose her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail.

“I hadn’t asked you yet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But I’m asking you now. Do you claim loyalty to Trakklov and everything he stands for?”

“I do,” said the lady, as though she were getting married.

“Does that mean you will consider cutting, shaving, some time off all their sentences?” asked Josephine.

“I will think about thinking about it,” said Caffman. “But first, my friend here hasn’t said whether or not he claims loyalty to Trakklov and everything he stands for.”

Silence.

“I think he’s talking to you,” said Josephine to Horatio.

“No,” said Horatio. “I don’t claim loyalty to Trakklov or anything he stands for.”

“And why not,” asked Caffman.

“I think you know why, even though you daren’t say it yourself. He is a bully. He mistreats innocent Hershanians and encourages others to do the same. He had no right to take over our planet -let alone our moons- from…”

“ENOUGH,” yelled Caffman.

“I was simply answering your question,” replied Horatio, hoping he was projecting some form of calmness. He’d learned long ago in his day job that if you stayed professional, any aggressors would take their own rage down a notch. It wouldn’t change the outcome of anything, but the environment would be nicer. Maybe it had worked a bit too well on Chatty Matty though.

Horatio was convinced that the Daily Punishments would never end. Even on his first day as a Punishee, after being taken from his bed in the middle of the night by someone who could well have been Caffman, he hadn’t been told the length of his sentence any more than he had been told what his sentence was for.

If he could just get Caffman to admit that the length of the Daily Punishments was twice as long as any of them could feasibly survive, then the other Punishees would see that there was no point in claiming loyalty to Trakklov just to get it reduced by a few paltry weeks.

Maybe if he saw one of the others being released, redeemed, then he would think about at least claiming some sort of loyalty, but as there seemingly weren’t any additional rewards or disciplinary actions forthcoming based on his answers, there was no point being dishonest.

“I appreciate your honesty,” said Caffman finally. “Your name is Horatio, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure you know it is.” Alright, that wasn’t too calm or too sensible. A yes would have sufficed.

“I’d like you to stand over there please, Horatio,” said Caffman, flicking the cannon’s biggest knob. “Could the rest of you stand behind me, out of the way.”

Just as Horatio started wondering whether he ought to rethink his strategy, he heard a series of four blasts.

“You missed me,” Horatio taunted.

“I’m pretty sure you know I did that on purpose,” replied Caffman, kicking a tattooed corpse out of the way.

“What’s…”

“Do you fancy giving one of these disloyal traitors a kick?” asked Caffman.

“Do you want me to?”

“I’m just so pleased. The funding came through. And you passed my test. And stayed so brave. I’m recruiting you to head up the infiltration division of the CAPS; I think it’ll be easier than we thought. I got one of the top jobs with almost no background checks.”

“And you are taking off your clothes because…?”

Caffman showed Horatio the patch with “C-4” sewn on, on the inside of his right leg. H2O was finally beginning to understand.

“We don’t have this room for long,” said C-4, getting dressed again. “As far as everyone knows, you’re still a Punishee. And I just had to execute those four for claiming loyalty to Trakklov and everything he stands for.”

“Anything you need me to do?”

“I’ll get my orders to you via Matt. He’s one of us too. Quite the genius despite the nonsense always spewing out of his mouth. He’ll be heading up the weapons division. Though there is one thing you could do.”

“What’s that, boss?”

“Sort your hair out. It looks like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”