by Rose Estes
Septua guffawed loudly, but when Randi turned and shot him a dark, angry look, he swallowed his laughter in a series of feigned coughs. Allo wisely held his tongue.
The night passed in an uneasy sense of anticipation. There was none of the camaraderie that had bound them together through so many ordeals. Everyone in the cell was aware of Randi’s anger which seemed to radiate through the air. Septua was careful to avoid her glance and kept well out of her reach. Braldt sat down next to Allo and spoke in a low tone. “I do not understand why she is so angry. We are not mated, and even if I did forget to tell her about Keri, she herself has a mate and children of her own. It is not logical that she should feel anger against me.”
Allo looked amused and rubbed his hands over his face. “Ah, my good friend, you may be well versed in the art of battle, but you have much to learn about women. I do not care what their race or the origin of their home planet, I believe they are all the same, and emotion, not logic, rules their heads as well as their hearts. My own mate is as wonderful a woman as ever existed, but even she…”
Allo began the telling of a long, involved story. Braldt listened for a while, then his thoughts began to drift. He listened with one ear, nodding whenever Allo paused, but let his mind roam free, thinking of Batta Flor, Keri, and Beast, wishing that the dawn would come.
Saviq was enjoying herself immensely. No one had even given her a second glance as she made her way through the dim corridors following the terrified serving maid. The longer she escaped detection, the more courageous she became. Twice, she had actually walked quite close to a guard when she might have hugged the far wall. She even coughed to waken the second guard who was slumbering at his post. He blinked and frowned at her in a dazed manner, then cleared his throat, pretending to be awake.
Saviq wondered how it was that she had never realized how easy such a venture would be. She had always thought that she would be challenged and intimidated. This was simple as well as exhilarating! She stopped the drudge with a gesture and filled her pockets from a tray of rich pastries sitting in an alcove. The thick, sweet cream slid down her throat, imparting waves of luxurious pleasure.
The drudge was all but gibbering with fear. She cringed and ducked down, wringing her hands as Saviq caught up with her. She whined and pointed at a doorway at the junction of another corridor just ahead of them. Saviq nodded her understanding and turned to speak to the slave, but the woman was already scuttling away, anxious to be gone.
Saviq shrugged and hurried to the doorway, her task once more foremost in her mind, wondering why Lomi had moved her quarters, wondering if everything was all right.
The doorway was dark, the room within even darker, and the air was heavy with the sharp, bitter scent of medicines. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Saviq saw that a faint night-light glowed on the far side of the room. It did little to alleviate the darkness; merely accentuated the lack of light. She felt her way into the room cautiously, her clawed hand extended out before her, reaching for unseen obstacles. “Lomi?” she whispered softly, hoping for a reply, suddenly fearful.
She advanced further into the room, once bumping into a small table that capsized before she could catch it, dumping a metal object onto the floor where it clattered and banged, sounding twice as loud in the darkness as it would have in the light. But still, no one reacted or challenged her right to be there. A terrible feeling came over Saviq and a lump formed in her throat. Suddenly she did not want to find Lomi and was afraid to find out why Lomi had moved.
She started to move toward the door before the words of her promise brought her up short. She had given her word, and even if it were to one of them who did not know the meaning of honor, such things were still important to her. Stiffening her resolve, she turned and walked straight to the night-light and plucked it from the wall, holding it before her. Driving back the darkness, she began to make a systematic sweep of the room.
The room was larger than she had first thought and was filled with beds, most of which were empty. Those that were not had sleepers in them who would not be wakened by any sounds Saviq might make. Her heart grew heavy and her legs felt weak and tremulous. The next bed she came to nearly frightened her out of her scales. An old man lay in the bed, his head cradled on a fat pillow, and as she held the light over him, he turned his head and looked directly at her. She all but dropped the light. Then the old man raised his hand and asked for a drink of water in a quavery voice and she knew that he was not yet dead. She helped him drink, then lay him back down on his pillow. He closed his eyes with a sigh and once again looked as though his spirit had left his body.
Saviq moved on, her heart in her throat, afraid of what she would find. Two more of the beds contained ancient Scandis, either deep in sleep or coma, who did not waken when she held the light over their somnolent faces.
Lomi was in the last bed, a slender figure, barely raising the blankets that covered her. Her eyes were still the brightest of blues, the eyes of a young, vibrant girl rather than the eyes of a woman on the verge of death. She smiled at Saviq and held out her hand to grasp the scaled paw. “I knew you would come,” she whispered in a breathy voice.
“What is the matter with you?” Saviq asked in a blustery, accusatory tone. “It is not yet your time. We have many years left to live, and we have yet to bask in the sun as we have so often said we would do. Why are you in this place, old friend? Let me take you from here. It is a place for dying, not for living.”
Lomi smiled, a gentle, sweet smile that struck sorrow into Saviq’s breast. She squeezed Saviq’s hand, a slight pressure that could barely be felt. “You will have to bask alone, old friend, but think of me and of the time when we were young and strong and still believed in life and love.”
“Do we not still believe in life and love?” Saviq asked, the tears crowding to her eyes.
“Neither life nor love have been very kind to us. Why is it that women are always left to mourn? I have always felt it was a mistake to leave the world in the keeping of men; they are too—too irresponsible for such an important task. Women should run the worlds. Women do not declare wars or spend their days and nights planning death and ruin. Life is too precious to us.”
“Do not fret about such things,” replied Saviq, patting Lomi’s hand. “Perhaps things will be more just in our next life. And if they are not, well, we will not wait around for the men to come to their senses. You and I will have to tell them how things should be.”
Lomi’s eyes twinkled, and she smiled at the scaly old reptile crone who was her most loyal friend. “Before we can address the problems of the next world, dear Saviq, we must deal with the troubles of this one. I have been thinking as I lay here, just how we can put an end to all these senseless deaths, all this killing, once and for all. This is how I think it should be done.”
The two heads, one scaled and scarred, the other pale and drawn, drew close together over the dim, glowing light and together, they laid their plans.
22
Dawn came more slowly than ever before. Braldt had tried to sleep, wrapping himself in the thin blanket he had earned through his trials in the ring, but sleep would not come.
He stared into the darkness, thinking about all that had happened to him since he had come to this world, and began to wonder if something were not coming unraveled, for it did not seem as though things were going according to a plan.
There were many signs of wrongness, if one knew how to read them. They had first been told they would have a question answered for every contest they won, but after their first few victories, those rewards had ceased with no explanations given. Instead, they were offered extra rations and meager tokens of luxury such as the threadbare blanket which now covered a portion of his body. They had also managed to gain the cell exclusively for their own use. Several of their cellmates had been lost to the ring, others had died, and the guards had removed the few who remained. That was an improvement in itself, for it was difficult to sleep if one was c
onstantly worried about waking up with a knife between one’s ribs. Or perhaps not waking up at all.
Then, too, there was the nervousness of die guards who seemed ill at ease and troubled, often gathering in small groups to murmur among themselves with many a furtive, sidelong glance, making certain they were not being overheard. Braldt recognized the signs of unrest all too well and had often wondered what was at the bottom of it. The guards were a collection of many races and worlds and seemed to have no inherent loyalties to the Scandis. Braldt wondered how they were paid and what incentives could be used to turn them against their masters.
He also wondered how it might be possible to unite the many hundreds of prisoners into a force that would rise up against the guards and the Scandis. There had to be a way, surely, for even the most dense among them would realize there was no percentage in fighting. There could only be one set of victors, and eventually all of them, even the best, would die.
Sleep was impossible. Braldt tossed off the annoying, too-short blanket, and noticed the odd, blue alien in the next cell standing next to the bars looking directly at him. At least he thought it was looking at him, even though he could see nothing that resembled eyes. The silver translation disc caught a stray bit of torchlight and flashed in the darkness, drawing his gaze.
“Now, you,” said Braldt as he pondered die impossibly thin, blue rectangle. “If I could figure out how to communicate with you, then I could probably talk to anyone. If only there were a way. I know we could fight back. I do not want to be here. I want to go home!”
No sooner had the words been said, then Braldt raised his hand to his head; something strange was happening. He grew dizzy, and for a moment thought he would fall. Things swirled inside his head and there was the sense of movement, of swirls of color. There was a voice—no, not a voice, but somehow there were words or rather the sensation of words.
“It is not hard to speak to me,” said the voice that was not a voice. “Speak, say your words. I will answer.”
Braldt took a step back and looked around him, wondering if someone else had spoken or at least heard what he had heard. But everyone else was asleep with the single exception of the blue rectangle which rippled along its lower edge and moved closer to the bars as though to remove any lingering doubts as to who had spoken.
“You!” said Braldt. “Well, well, so you can speak. But if you can talk, why did you not reply to the guards?”
“One does not dignify their presence with conversation. The only thing one can do is deny their very existence. What good can come of speaking with such intemperate barbarians? I regret my hasty actions and have prayed for the wisdom and the strength to resist any future provocations.”
The words echoed and bounced inside Braldt’s head and he closed his eyes to steady himself, it was such a strange sensation. “What are you saying?” he asked, moving to the bars. “Don’t you realize that you are the only one who has ever been able to defeat a guard? They were actually afraid of you! Do you think you could do that with the hard ones. I—I mean, the robots?”
“The metal men? Yes, of course it could be done. But why should I do such a thing? Taking the one life will cost me many yantreks of repentence; I do not wish to add on others.”
“I do not understand yantreks of repentence,” Braldt said apologetically. “But tell me this, the metal rods that the ’bots carry, they shoot lightning. Swords and spears did not hurt you; will the lightning rods injure you?”
“Nothing they do can hurt me,” said the voice.
“Will you help us?”
The blue being was silent.
Braldt stared at it in frustration, trying to think of what he could do or say that would prompt the being to help them. “Do you like being here?” he asked. “Do you not miss your home?”
“The great Yantra did not place us here so that we might enjoy ourselves, but to learn wisdom and attain enlightenment,” replied the blue rectangle, its edges rippling gently. “Everything happens for a reason. If we are here, Yantra must expect that we will learn some valuable lesson that will advance us toward the ultimate wisdom.”
“Us?” queried Braldt. “Do you mean that this Yantra expects all of us to learn the ultimate wisdom from our imprisonment?”
“I do not doubt that Yantra knows of your existence, but I cannot say what his expectations are of you and your companions. I was speaking only for myself and my brothers.”
“There are more of you?” Braldt asked sharply. “Where?”
“I do not know where they are, I merely know that they exist. We were separated soon after our arrival.”
“Probably wanted to see what they could do with one of you,” mused Braldt. “No good for morale to have a bunch of blue things around who make fools out of the guards; might give the rest of us ideas. How do you know that the others are still alive?”
“Why, we speak!” replied the alien, with something close to surprise in its voice. “Much as you and I are speaking now. Distance does not affect our ability to communicate. Do you not share this ability with your own people?”
“Sadly, no,” said Braldt. “Now tell me, is it not possible that this is not part of the great Yantra’s plan for your enlightenment? Is it not possible that he would like for you to take some action yourself to get out of this place? After all, what good will it do if you sit here ’til you rot? What will that teach you?”
“Patience,” replied the blue creature.
“I’d say you’ve already mastered that one,” said Braldt, thinking of the way the being sat day after day in its cell, refusing to react to anything the guards did to force it to fight. “Listen, aren’t you getting even a little bit homesick? Wouldn’t you like to see your world again? You can die here, locked away in this cell, but wouldn’t it be nice to go home and pursue the great Yantra’s teachings?”
“It would be nice to sit in the talek again and discuss the finite ramifications of Yantra’s 1,227 musings,” admitted the blue alien. “And it would also be pleasant to see Mutar once again, to—to compare musings, of course,” he added, his skin turning an even darker shade of blue, perhaps the alien equivalent of a blush.
“Of course,” agreed Braldt. “Even an unenlightened one such as I, recognizes the value of comparing musings.” He started to speak again, but held off as it seemed that the alien was deep in thought.
At last it spoke. “I would have to confer with my brothers. I cannot say what they would do and I am certain there are many among them who would not wish to regress with such impetuous behavior. But if there are those who agree to join you, what would you have us do?”
“I’m afraid that all of this is merely wishful thinking,” Braldt said with a sigh. “We would need to find your companions and think of some way to free them before we could even begin to plan.”
The blue being sighed as well. “I may never reach a state of enlightenment, I fear. Already, I am filled with excitement at the thought of action, at the thought of being reunited with Mutar once again. Perhaps I should remain here to teach myself patience.”
“No!” cried Braldt, seizing the bars and pressing up against them. “Freedom first, then patience! Yantra helps those who help themselves!”
“That is true!” exclaimed the blue rectangle, his perimeter fairly quivering with excitement. “And you know what he says about self-determination!”
“I will be glad to discuss it later; have you teach me all 1,522 of his musings, but after we are free!”
“One thousand two hundred twenty-seven,” murmured the creature.
“Right,” said Braldt. “Now, how many of you are there and how many can we count on for help, if we can figure out a way to find them and get them out?”
“There are many of us,” said the blue being. “Not so many as Yantra’s musings, but nearly. Perhaps three-fourths of those would be willing to assist us, for they are young like myself and not older and wise enough to resist such temptations.”
“Three-fourth
s of Yantra’s musings!” exclaimed Braldt. “Are you certain? That’s more than all the guards and Scandis put together!”
“Oh, yes, I am quite certain. The barbarians came upon us when we were on a Yantran retreat. They took us quite by surprise, and while we were trying to decide what Yantra wished for us to learn from the experience, they removed us from the Yanek and brought us here. And as to freeing ourselves, why that is no problem at all.”
And as Braldt stared in astonishment, the blue alien simply walked through the bars—which passed through its body—and emerged unharmed on the other side.
“How did you do that!” cried Braldt, touching the bars and finding that they were still as solid as ever.
“It is nothing, merely a matter of concentration and rearranging one’s molecules,” the blue being said modestly.
“Can all of you do this?” asked Braldt.
“Oh, yes. It is quite basic,” replied the being.
“Listen, do what you have to do. Talk to the others and convince them to help us in order to help themselves. It is nearly dawn and we must go to the ring and fight. But we fight friends and allies who can be counted on to help. If you can persuade your friends to aid us as well, we can begin to put together a plan. We will talk again tonight.”
The blue rectangle nodded, bending its entire body in a bow, then reversed itself and flowed backward through the bars. Once in its own cell, it curled into its customary cylinder and was silent, although Braldt thought he heard it murmur “Mutar” once, in a dreamy tone.
