by Joanna Wylde
“Couldn’t you knock first?” he moaned.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. How is he doing this cycle?”
“He’s fine,” Bragan muttered. “I’m going back to sleep. I’ve still got several minutes before I need to be up and I’m going to use them.”
She nodded, and stepped over the sleeping man to check on the slave. His name was Jess, she reminded herself. Bragan had told her the cycle before. Calling him by name was infinitely better than “the slave”. He was lying in the same position she had left him, looking so weak and pale that it scared her. How could he still be alive? He hadn’t had any food or water for days, yet when she checked his pulse; it was still strong. She gave a sigh of relief for that—she had at least one more day to live. She shook her head, clearing away the morbid thoughts, then stood and left the storeroom.
There was no time to waste. She had to get the carts to the main kitchen. They would wake the slaves in less than an hour, and the food had to be ready for them. Pushing the first of the three large carts, she made her way back through the main room and down the corridor. The guards let her back through the re-enforced doors, and she walked briskly toward the communal kitchen area.
Unlike her father’s apartment or the slave complex, the kitchen was a sea of activity. All around her, women and young girls were chatting and laughing together as they cleaned up from the last meal of the day. The kitchen was usually like this, at least as long as the kitchen supervisor, a stern and humorless woman named Magda, wasn’t around. She usually left just as the evening meal was being served. For many of the women—Bethany included—hours spent in the kitchen following that meal were the most pleasant on the station.
She didn’t have many female friends here. She had left so many years ago to be married that few of the girls she grew up with were still around. Most had moved to various other mining stations to be with their husbands. As a widow without children, she didn’t fit in the rest of them. Some of them scorned her, but others looked on her with kindness. She might not have friends, but certainly she wasn’t among enemies in the kitchen. At least not in the evening, when the younger women worked.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Moriah. She was wearing a high-necked tunic which completely covered the bruises Bethany knew were on her neck. Moriah shot her a quick smile, and Bethany gave a sigh of relief. If someone had caught her sneaking out of the apartment she wouldn’t be smiling.
Pushing the cart over toward the big kettles at one end of the kitchen, she steadied it as two of the women poured nutritional gruel into the large tubs. As soon as they were full, she headed back with the cart. It was heavy now, but she didn’t allow herself to think about it how hard it was to push. She still had two more trips to make before she ate her own breakfast, and then it would be time to wash everything again.
* * * * *
She was back. Jess forced himself to lay utterly motionless, in the same position he had been when she left him earlier. It was hard to ignore the smell of the hot food she had wheeled into the main room.
Her name was Bethany. Her presence had filled his senses from the moment he’d awakened three days earlier. Everything about her seemed beautiful to him—amazing. Bragan seemed to have no appreciation for the beauty of her name when he’d mentioned it, yet Jess repeated it to himself over and over like a mantra. Bethany. He loved her clean smell, loved listening to the soft songs she would hum as she cleaned and worked. He also loved the occasional touches she gave him, checking his forehead or wiping his face as he feigned sleep.
Bragan said she was an outcast among her own people. He seemed to feel she could be trusted, and the story of how she’d saved his life was certainly amazing to Jess. Still, he wanted her to believe he was unconscious for another day. The longer he was incapacitated, the more likely he was to learn valuable information. Bragan had often tried to spy on the guards at night, but he was too tired to stay up much. Fatigue could kill a man in the mines. Jess’ injury had given him the perfect excuse to rest all day and plot all night.
He waited quietly she wheeled the heavy carts of food in to the men. He could hear their activity. Fifteen minutes to eat. Then they were pouring out of the barracks and suiting up for their work in the mine. Another day, just like all the others before it.
Bragan stopped in, followed by the woman. Jess lay still as he took his pulse, then spoke to the woman.
“He seems to be stronger,” Bragan said cautiously. Jess held back a snort of amusement. He was better all right. Last night he and Bragan had talked for an hour, planning his slow process of “recovery” and the escape they hoped would follow. In all honesty, he was still weak. But there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t have gone back to the mine in a day or so.
Instead, they were going to keep him out for almost the entire two weeks. It was a delicate balance. If he were too sick the Pilgrims would give up on him. But he couldn’t go back to work until the last minute. He needed every moment of precious freedom to plan and plot the escape. If things went well, he would be free in less than two weeks. Free or dead.
Jess was relatively certain that if he could come up with a decent escape plan, the men would follow him. Logan was covering his end; already they had ten volunteers who wanted their implants removed. If everything went off just right, that might be enough. They were willing to risk death to get out. But up to this point, no one had been able to find an avenue of escape that had even a chance of success.
He was determined to do it, or die trying.
The men had left for the mine now. She was moving around in the room, and he could hear the rattling of the carts. He was so damn hungry—Bragan had promised to leave him some food in his locker. He had to wait until the men were all in the mines and she was gone to get it, though. The carts rattled again, and he could hear her washing the trays. It seemed like forever… he imagined the tiny bits of porridge left on them, being washed into the station’s recycler. They would be used again, perhaps for dinner that night. But he needed food now…
Finally, she finished. She loaded the carts up and then rapped on the outer door. The guards on the other side opened it, letting her out. He heard the door slam shut, and slowly raised himself from the pallet.
Opening the door slowly, he peeked out to make sure the room was empty. It was.
He crept over to Bragan’s locker. Nothing. He pawed through the contents, and then he found it. Damn, but the man was resourceful.
There was an empty blast casing, the type the Pilgrims used to form the plastic explosives used in the mining. They were careful never to allow the slaves access to the explosives, of course. All the blasting was done during the slaves’ sleep cycle.
But the forms they used sometimes got lost. There was a bounty for returning them, an extra ration of food at night. But many of the slaves kept them, using them for other things.
Bragan had filled this one with porridge.
It was cold and gelatinous. It wouldn’t flow out freely, so he dug his finger in, digging at it and stuffing it into his mouth. Nothing had ever tasted better in the history of time. Nothing.
All too soon it was gone. Bragan had warned him he needed to be cautious about over-eating, and his stomach was full. Hunger satiated, he was suddenly aware of the low, painful throbbing in the back of his neck. There was nothing they could do about the pain. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to ignore it. Quickly, he cleaned out the empty tube and put it back in Bragan’s locker. They would need it again that night.
He crept back to the storage room, uncertain of how much longer he had before she returned. He needed to find a way to time the guards’ movements during the work cycle. The bastards had to have a weakness, and Jess was going to find it.
* * * * *
Bethany ate her own small bowl of porridge in the kitchen. The kitchen crew was cleaning up the last of the main evening meal, as well as preparing special food for the blasters returning from the m
ine. They worked in two shifts, blasting by day and guarding the slaves by night. Of course, the elders, such as her father, weren’t directly involved in the mining efforts. That would hardly be appropriate for their dignity. There were also groups who traveled between settlements, and a very small number who traveled to Discovery Station, where the ore was processed.
Eventually, even that small bit of contact would be curtailed.
The cost of the ore-refining equipment was very high, but for a decade the elders had been saving and planning for the day when they could start their own refining operation. Then they would be able to send shipments directly to the central temple on Karos, where the Celestial Pilgrim himself had lived. All part of some glorious plan she had never been worthy of sharing, she thought darkly. How many women like herself had spent their entire lives working in service of that plan? Did any of them every really understand what they were working for?
Her train of thought was broken when someone sat down beside her. It was Moriah. The girl smiled at her nervously.
“Thank you for your help earlier,” Moriah said quietly. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting with you.”
She looked unsure of herself, almost as if she were afraid Bethany might stand up then and there to accuse her of immoral behavior. Bethany smiled, wanting to ease the younger woman’s fear.
“It’s nice to have company,” she said softly. “I grew up here, but I left when I was fourteen. I don’t feel like I really know the people here anymore.”
“Yes, I remember hearing that your husband had passed,” Moriah replied. “Was it terribly hard for you? I felt like my life was over when they told me Ger—my husband—had died in the mines. I was seven months pregnant…”
“I’m so sorry,” Bethany said. She could see the girl was still troubled. It was hard to understand why a woman would be sad over losing a husband. Then again, not all husbands were like Avram had been… “I take it you had a love match?”
“Yes,” she replied softly. “I was betrothed to his older brother, but he died before we could marry. I practically grew up with Ger. I fostered with his family after the betrothal. I hate to admit it, but part of me was happy when I heard his brother was dead. I don’t think I could have stood living so close to Ger as his sister-in-law…I guess I should just be glad for the time we had.”
“Was he a blaster?” Bethany asked. Setting explosives in the mine was one of the most dangerous jobs on the station. Unlike other dangerous jobs, it couldn’t be given to slaves. As an elder, her own father had managed to avoid working the mines for many years.
“Yes, a blaster,” Moriah said, her voice trailing off. “I never thought things would turn out like this,” she added in a bitter voice.
Bethany nodded. There was nothing else to say. Her father had hurt this woman and would probably hurt her again. There was nothing either of them could do to prevent that from happening.
They sat without speaking for several minutes. Finally, her food finished, Bethany set down her spoon and looked intently at Moriah.
“I realize I can’t help you much,” she said quietly. “But I just wanted to let you know that you aren’t totally alone, here.”
“I realize that,” Moriah said smiling at her shyly. “It’s good to have a friend.”
Bethany nodded. They shared a situation, and now they shared a secret. It was good to have a friend.
* * * * *
Jess lay quietly. He’d been resting, and listening, all day. One time she’d nearly caught him. She’d been cleaning out in the main room, and had abruptly walked into the storage room to get something. Fortunately, he had just returned to his pallet after getting a drink of water. If she caught him up and moving the game would be over.
It was easy enough to track movements through the area during the day. There were very few visitors. The blasters wouldn’t come through until the slaves had returned from the mines; to Jess’ surprise, there didn’t seem to be any regular guard patrols. Just two men who stood outside the slave quarters, and those stationed at the head of the mineshaft.
Of course, the slaves were usually far too tired to do anything that might upset their captors in the first place…
A plan was starting to take shape in his mind, but he still had quite a few details to work out. He had realized not long after he’d first arrived that it would be relatively easy to overpower the guards watching the mine if their slave implants were out of commission. While armed, they were vastly outnumbered. Their communication equipment was poorly maintained. Failures had become commonplace, and no one gave it any thought if they fell out of touch with each other. If he and the other slaves could jump the guards one by one, no one would notice their absence for an hour or more.
But once they got rid of the guards, they faced a whole new set of challenges. There were only two ways out of the mine. One was with the ore, which ran on a large conveyor up and out to the transport ship, where it was loaded and taken to the processing plant. Unfortunately for the slaves, the conveyor ran through the same area that housed much of the equipment used to produce a protective force shield over the settlement. It kept them from being destroyed by other asteroids. But the base equipment also produced a disruptive electro-magnetic field that would kill any human who came too close to it. The entire system had to be powered down before it could be serviced. There was no way they’d be able to get out that way. Of course, if they could disable it somehow… So far, he hadn’t been able to come up with a way to do that.
But their other option, the main doorway, was a great deal more promising. It was locked from the outside, and guarded by two men. The tunnel was narrow, designed so those two men could defend it easily against a large group of escaping slaves.
Assuming those men were paying attention to their duties.
But every time Bethany went to the doorway and knocked to be let out of the slave quarters, he noticed that they took several minutes to respond. What were they doing? He suspected they abandoned their post regularly. After all, it had to be incredibly boring to simply stand guard at the end of a narrow tunnel day in and day out. That boredom could make all the difference for the slaves as they tried to escape.
Yes, there were possibilities all right. It wasn’t time to give up and die just yet…
* * * * *
Fifth cycle after the mine collapse
“Can I have some water?” Jess whispered as she came into the storage area at the beginning of the next work cycle.
She gasped, and dropped the bucket she carried.
He was awake.
She realized Bragan was sitting up next to him, smiling.
“Look who woke up during the night,” Bragan said, waving an arm toward Jess. “I’m out of water, though. He needs more and I have to get ready for work. Can you help him?”
“Of course,” she said, eyes lighting up.
The sudden relief was incredible. She felt light, almost giddy, so excited that she could hardly think. He was awake, and he was going to live.
She was going to live, too. Until that moment, she hadn’t quite realized just how much she wanted to.
“Water,” he whispered again. She laughed, and pulled herself together.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll be right back with water for you.”
She turned and hurried out to the main room. He would have to drink water out of the sink. Foul stuff, compared to the filtered drinking water they drank in the main compound. She’d always assumed the slaves got filtered water, too, but if that was the case, she didn’t know where it came from. All she’d been able to find was water straight from the recycler, the kind she only used to clean at home…
None of that mattered. He was alive.
But he wouldn’t be for long if she didn’t get some fluids into him. He must be terribly dehydrated. Not to mention hungry. With that thought, she realized she was already running late with breakfast for the slaves. And if she were late, they would be late to start their work for
the day. Perhaps more likely, they might end up having to work without food. That was no good.
Moving quickly, she brought him the water. He leaned up feebly on one arm, but wasn’t able to take the cup himself.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to help you with this in a few minutes,” she said. “Otherwise no one will get their food. I’ll be back soon.”
With that, she darted back out of the room and headed toward the entrance.
She had to get going with those carts.
* * * * *
He had made a tactical error, Jess thought. He’d wanted her to help him drink the water. It would maintain the fiction that he was still desperately ill. More importantly, she would be forced to touch him.
He wanted her to touch him very much…
He had listened to her, watched her movements as much as possible, all day yesterday. Her smell hung in the air around him. Her skin was pale, very white. It looked creamy and clean. He wanted to know if it tasted as good as he thought it might.
He liked her voice, too. It was soft, and she liked to sing little songs as she cleaned. They sounded sad to him, and he wondered what her life was like. Was her husband good to her? A wave of resentment washed over him. He didn’t want to think about her husband..If she had one, it was likely he’d be killed during their escape attempt. For a brief moment he hoped he might be the one to kill him. Hardly the way to win her affections, he thought wryly.
He could hear her coming back. First there was the screech of the outer door opening, and then there was the rattling noise the food cart made as she pushed it. A moment of silence, and the door screeched again. She would make the same trip three times, bring enough food for a hundred men. And the guards wouldn’t lift a finger to help her—they never helped the women.
Finally she came for the third time. This time, there were others with her. They joked and laughed among themselves. Noises in the outer room grew louder, and Jess realized the night shift—the blasters—must be passing through, finished with their work. Blasting had ended quite a while back, though. Why had it taken them so long to come up from the mine? He had no idea if this was the normal schedule; the slaves were never allowed out until after the blasters were gone, and the entire complex was locked tight.
