#lyste

Yogar Lyste was sleeping in his cell, a rest of man far too exhausted to dream. Like a wild hare sleeping in its burrow, it took a sound to jerk him awake. In the dead on night, steps sounded in an echo in the hall. Lying now wide awake, no muscle moved, Lyste stared into the wall, listening. His whole body tensed, a hare getting ready to run from the hounds. But he had nowhere to run. The steps found their destination outside of his cell. Panic blocked his throat when the command was given for him to stand up and face the wall.  

The electric field closing his cell buzzed, a constant noise he learned to tune out during months spent here. Now it dissapeared completely. Binders clicked on his wrists, locking them behind his back. As he was pushed down the corridor, he hoped for darkness to hide his tears.  

He knew. He knew that by the morning a new inmate will be in his cell.   

Many nights before were interrupted by the steps, men taken from their sleep. Some of them screamed in horror. Some of them tried to run, blinded by the desperation before they were shot dead on the spot.

Yogar Lyste would rather die with the last ounce of dignity in front of the firing squad.  

But he cried silently as he walked, his throat too squeezed to scream even if he'd want to admit just how terrified he was. At least he wouldn't wake up the others, if anyone was still sleeping. He knew he was never sleeping on those nights, as if he was waiting for the return of men no one will ever see again.  

The guards led him outside onto the prison yard, where to his surprise awaited only a transport, the same kind that took prisoners to the working site every day.  

The collar of his uniform was damp with tears as he boarded the speeder. As it started moving, he thought it made sense to execute prisoners near the graveyard he was told were a few miles away. Yogar was a pramagtic man, after all, and that he remained in his last moments. That's what made him useful to the Empire. Until he became a traitor. That's what he was called. That's what got beaten into his head by the guards. He had no idea what he did to deserve this term, but eventually he got tired of denying it. He started to believe it. He was a traitor and for that he deserved only one thing.  

There was one guard in the transport sitting across from him, the other one steering the vehicle.  

"Do you know where the north is?" the guard spoke. Lyste didn't react, didn't even think about looking at him, believing the guard was speaking to his comm. "Listen," he continued after a moment. "There's no execution squad waiting for you." 

The sheer surprise made Lyste stop crying. What do you mean? He wanted to ask, but lacked the courage.  

"We're gonna make it to the yard. I'm gonna show you how to find north, that's where you need to walk. I got some clothes for you to change into. But that's all I can do. Then you're gonna be on your own. Do you understand? Nod if you understand."  

Still not looking at the guard, he moved his head up and down slowly. His were wide open, staring at the floor, but no tears flowed anymore.  

"Hey, how long to our destination?" the guards spoke again, this time obviously into the comm. "Two minutes," he said to Lyste.  

Yogar realised he was shaking. His whole being vibrated from the very core, not believing what was happening. He felt lightheaded, his heartbeat almost painfully fast like the one of the running hare, as if he was already escaping. Was he? Just a minute before he was terified, but as much ready to die as he would ever be. And now... he was gonna live? Was this happening? Was he still sleeping in his cell? Was it some cruel joke of the guards? Was the other guard in it? Did they say that to everyone, to give them a false sense of hope in the last moments?  

He never had much hope for anything. He didn't need it. He was ambitious and determined, always enough to get him by. To become a leutienant at twenty-four. Now he was twenty-six and for the first time in his life, hope was all he had. Not without suspicion, he would never again trust as easily as he once did. But it was there, undeniably.  

Even if it was false, that hope would die with him.  

The transport stopped and the guard stood up, once again leading Lyste outside. The driver stayed in his seat. They were in the middle of the forest, the night darkest Lyste has ever seen, promising to hide whatever was about to happen. It was chilly, but not colf enough to justify how much he was shaking. Led before the guard, Lyste almost walked into a tree in this darkness. After about twenty steps they made it to the graveyard, quite large square opening between the trees. To their right was a small builiding, a mortuary, Lyste figured.  

He was let go, binds clicking again. Not interrupting the silence, the guard motioned for Lyste to follow him, making his way to the building.  

On the steps leading to the door really laid a pile of clothes.  

"I need you take the uniform off," the guard informed him. "I have to take your chip out, otherwise we'll recatch you in less than an hour. Do you remember where we put it?"  

Lyste didn't say a word, mechanically taking his uniform off as he did everyday before during the body inspections. He had no shame standing naked before the man as he simply showed to his thigh. The guard touched the area, pushing onto the skin until he found an unnatural firm lump.  

"Shit. That's close to the artery. Try not to move," he took a flashlight and a vibroblade from his belt, crouching with one knee on the ground. "And look at the sky," he said, with a flashlight in his mouth.  Lyste was thankful fot the excuse not to look at the blase cutting his skin. "You can't see much from here, but there's at the edge should be an orange star. Well, technically it's a neighbouring planet. But that's where the north is. You need to make your way there. Don't use the road unless you've passed the first village. If you see a house with some sort of orange material, you know, like a blanket, quill or a towel hanging in the view, it's a safe house. People there will feed you and let you spend the nigth. First one should be about... ten clicks from here."  

Lyste hissed uncontrollably at the pain. He felt a firm hand as his thigh squeezing the fresh cut. A crack made his head turn again.  

The chip laid on the ground, destroyed by the handle of the vibroblade.  

"Congratulations, you're dead," the guard buried the rest of the chip and stood up. "Now repeat what I said, we don't have much time."  

Lyste had to clear his throat, still squeezed a little.  

"Orange star is the north, about ten clicks from here is a first safehouse. I will recognize it by something in the colour orange hanging in the view. I will not use the roads until I've passed the first village...and I'm officially dead," he added after a second, still not believing this was happening, but the hope in him started to slowly grow, taking more defined shape.  

"Yeah," the guard chuckled, picking the prison unifrom from the ground."Ain't that great? You get to pick a new name. Get dressed," he said, realising Lyste was just standing there, too used to taking orders. "And good luck."  

And just like that, he started making his way back to the transport.