by Candace Sams
“I’m sorry, Marcos. You’re a victim here just like everyone else. It’s the enforcers, Forrell, and the slugs I hate. I didn’t mean to take my anger out on you.” She gently stroked one of his cheeks and smiled at him.
“I’ve never heard anyone say they hated the king or enforcers before,” he quietly responded.
“You’ll come to hate them, too, when you have to live like an animal. Just waiting for the next time Prometheus decides to hunt out some slaves for the mines.”
“I don’t understand. Please … tell me what’s going on here.”
She took a deep breath and refilled his cup with some more hot broth. “My father and some of the other miners discovered a vein of the richest gems you can ever imagine. When the first lot went up for sale, an outer-world merchant purchased the entire shipment for an exorbitant price. We thought that finding gems of such value would be the end of hard times. And it might have been had the slugs not seized the merchant’s ship in space, found the gems, and tortured him into telling where he got them.”
“What happened to the merchant?”
“It’s said that Prometheus killed him. I believe he’d do it to keep the gems’ source a secret. He and his minions arrived here and took over not long after that. He has Adaman Forrell’s complete cooperation. All the governor has to do is answer vid-calls from deep space and placate enforcers when they arrive to take on fuel or ask a few questions. He just tells them everything is all right. They believe him, don’t do an inspection, leave, and don’t return for months. I heard the citizens’s communication center was broken into and someone tried to get a message out, but we’ve always believed Forrell monitors everything and garbles transmissions even as they’re being sent. If they’re not sent by him, that is. It’s likely he’s had the real person responsible for sending messages killed. I don’t know.”
He breathed easier and actually posed a question without sounding like some kind of reptile was lodged in his gullet. “A-and you say the slugs use the c-citizens as slave labor? To mine the gems?”
She nodded. “Slugs are lazy. They won’t work for anything. That’s why they resort to stealing and pirating. And putting so many of us in the mines is why there are so few of us left. When anyone gets injured, there’s not any medical help. If the miners die, they’re tossed into that pit where you were dumped. New people are dragged out of their homes and sent to the mines to work, and most are never heard from again.”
“Why is there no medical help? Incubation units could heal your wounds.”
“Forrell wouldn’t order new units or repair the old ones when they broke down. You see … if you know you can be cured of the burns, you won’t be so frightened of the slugs and what they can do using the plasma. And as long as they can keep us all afraid of being burned, we won’t fight back.”
“Eventually, more people will be needed to mine,” Marcos reasoned. “What happens when no one is left but the sick, injured, or those who are too old or young to work?”
“They’ll kidnap people from nearby colonies on other worlds.” She shrugged. “Occasionally, ships arrive with supplies, or merchants like you show up. Some are allowed to leave so that suspicion is averted. But they all leave with the story that this planet isn’t worth visiting, and that the gems mined here are inferior. That rumor has spread, so we don’t get visitors except on rare occasions. Those merchants allowed to leave are only shown what Forrell wants them to see. But any outer-worlders who ask too many questions, or make Adaman or Prometheus uncomfortable, get thrown in the mines, or they’re even killed. If they have crews aboard their ships, those crews get killed or enslaved as well. I’m sure any record of their being here is eradicated. No matter what space charts and flight plans might say, no one questions the governor of an entire colony when he says he’s never allowed a ship to land. Nobody wants that diplomatic nightmare on their hands.”
He slowly shook his head in disgust.
“Most of the strangers coming to this planet are drifters. Like you. If they have any families or friends, no one seems to care enough to come looking for them.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Over two years now. At first, the colonists met in secret to talk about rebellion. Information was passed around about what was happening. That’s how we initially figured out what was going on between Forrell and the slugs. But after the last mass plasma attack on the population, no one talks to anyone anymore. No one does anything to bring the wrath of Prometheus down on their heads.”
“Help will come, Nova.”
“Even if it does, it’ll be too late. There are already too many dead. And nothing will bring my mother and father back. Nothing will bring back the man I would have married, my friends, or their families. I’ll hate the enforcers forever for not inspecting this planet more closely, and for believing Forrell’s lies. They’ve left us here to die.”
Marcos couldn’t explain the complexities of the political world to someone who was fighting for her life. He could have told her that enforcers couldn’t forcibly invade a world and inspect its holdings without starting an interplanetary incident. His presence on Delta Seven was technically against the policies agreed to by many worlds. He was spying for his government.
But that information might just get him killed. And while he knew this woman was risking her life to help him, he didn’t yet know just how far he could trust her. Especially if she found out what and who he was.
“I’m going to find a way off this planet,” Nova told him. “Or I’ll die trying.”
“Maybe we can help each other.”
She smiled. “I thought someone as brave as you would think the same thing. But I don’t know much about you, Marcos. Except, of course, that you’re certainly not one of Forrell’s henchmen.”
“In case I didn’t say so when my condition was worse, my full name is … it’s Marcos Orlandis. It’s like you said. Not many who come here have much of a life, or they’d be bidding for better gems in other places and selling them to larger planets. I’m not a wealthy man or I’d have never come to this place. That’s for sure!”
“But you have family. I heard you praying to your Creator when you were lying in the pit. I couldn’t hear all you said, but most of it had to do with hoping you could see them again.” She lowered her gaze for a moment. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I didn’t even know you were alive when I went to find you. I … I went to pray for you.”
Touched by her kind explanation, Marcos’s guilt dug deep into his heart. For now, the lie about who he really was had to remain. He couldn’t tell her everything about his family, or the truth about who he really was would become obvious. The number and names of all siblings must be withheld, with the exception of a very few family members whose names were so common as to be nondescript. His father and brother had monikers that were quite well used. But he could say enough about his ancestry and their zeal to see him back to assure her all wasn’t lost. “I have a family. I didn’t tell Forrell anything about them. And my brother will come looking for me, Nova. Count on it!”
“Is your brother a merchant, too? Were you in contact with him before you arrived? Will he know where you are?”
The anxious look on her face was almost heartbreaking. He knew she wanted to hear that someone might come and stop the madness. Though he hated to do so, he had to expand on the lie. There was no other choice. At least until such time as he could convince her that the Constellation League and his father hadn’t neglected Delta Seven on purpose.
“My brother knows exactly where I am. He’s in the same business as I.”
Nova leaned forward and carefully hugged him. “Then, there’s finally some hope. For both of us.”
As she fed and tended him, he cursed himself for not telling her exactly why he was on the planet. But Nova might tell others, and he couldn’t face the anger of a mob who felt the same as she. He’d never be able to explain the politics, or the fact that the enforcer fleet and
its crews were at half force since the Warlord conflict had ended.
Losses of manpower and equipment couldn’t be replaced overnight. It would take another year of building ships and training crews before things were back to normal.
Money wasn’t the issue; time to resupply the fleet with trained crews was. And if news of that got out to certain inhospitable planets, those wishing to take advantage of the situation would do so. His father was in no position to offer a galactic defense against rogues, pirates, and any evil opposition that might want to take over every defenseless planet. Petty dictators had already warred with the planets that made up the Constellation League. For many years, battle had been a way of life. Peace had only come to the enforcers and the League planets a few years ago. And Delta Seven had been one of the outer-worlds that hadn’t so much as sent one man or woman to train as an enforcer crewmember. It had preferred to stay neutral and had steadfastly remained so during the fights.
Now, the citizens of this small planet needed help. And while he could forget the past and yearn to aid this colony, there weren’t enough ships and crews to do the situation justice, and the others belonging to the League equally needed help. And they were and always had been staunch allies. When help was allotted, they’d demand first call, and rightly so.
Still, Nova, and probably the other citizens of Delta Seven, wouldn’t understand any of that. They were being brutally slaughtered, and a weapon was being used on them that had been universally banned. His father had suspected Delta Seven needed help and was doing what he could. And in such a way that no one would know.
Marcos felt sympathy for Nova and her world, but he also felt the need to defend what he knew to be the truth. To do so, he’d have to choose the time carefully. He knew Darius would come. All he had to do was survive until then.
His strength waned. He leaned back on his pallet of blankets. A small warm body cuddled next to him. He turned his head to see the white fuzzy creature Nova kept as a pet.
“Una likes you. She never left your side the whole time you were sleeping. Dogs sometimes know when someone needs help.”
Marcos gazed at the little bundle curiously. “Are you sure that’s a dog?”
Nova grinned. “She occasionally barks like one, so that’s what I call her. But there are a lot of unusual species in the galaxy that no one has ever seen or classified. Maybe this is what dogs look like where she came from.”
Somehow, he doubted the little animal was what Nova defined as something from the canine family. But the soft whirring noise Una made was comforting all the same. It made the pain of his open wounds diminish, at least for a time.
“Before you go to sleep, I have a question I need to ask.”
Marcos shifted his gaze away from the strange little animal and toward his hostess.
“Was it you who slammed the window?”
Remembering the little thief in the street outside the inn, Marcos actually smiled, even though it hurt to do so. “So … the little thief was you?”
She grinned back. “Thank you for alerting me. I guessed it must have been you. There were no other visitors staying at the inn but one lone gem merchant … you. At least not that I was aware of.”
He slowly shook his head. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. You saved my life, Nova. I won’t ever forget it, though I don’t know why you’d risk so much.”
She thought for a moment. “My mother was Wiccan. So am I. We believe there’s a reason for everything that happens. Maybe you were meant to save me … so that I could save you.”
“An odd set of circumstances, and an unusual reasoning for them,” he jokingly replied. “The Creator of all things truly does work in mysterious ways.”
She tucked the blankets around him, picked up a cloth to bathe his face, and smiled down at him. “You’re my responsibility. So rest now. Let your mind be at peace.”
Marcos let her soft words lull him into a deep sleep. Because of the gentle touch of her hands, her tranquil voice, and Una’s comfortable rumbling, no nightmares invaded his sleep. He felt safe. The pain faded.
• • •
Adaman Forrell sat on the edge of his bed and grew cold with fright. He’d never trusted Prometheus Worthy. Limaxians were known to sell their own families into slavery if it meant their comfort and wealth would be increased by doing so. Even blood-sucking vampires feared them.
He stood and paced. The surveillance device he’d installed in Prometheus’s chambers had proven its worth. The big slug leader was secretly searching for the man thought to be the prince of Luster. It was clear the Limaxian didn’t want him finding the scorched merchant first. Seeing and hearing what he had, he knew he must act in his own defense; one that might eventually put him into a much better diplomatic position by doing so. He pressed a buzzer summoning his personal guards.
Two could play the game the putrid slug pursued. If it was true the prince of Luster survived, then Marcos Starlaw must be found by his constables first. The son of the king could become a powerful bargaining tool, a way to guarantee his own survival and possibly his position as governor.
When the guards arrived, Forrell opened the door and let the three of them into his room. When they stood before him, and he was sure he had their undivided attention, he began.
“I have a special assignment for you. There’s a man I want you to search for. He’ll be strong, young, and have green eyes. He’ll be suffering profuse plasma burns. Find him and bring him to me at once. Tell no Limaxians. If the slugs see you and question your actions, refer them to me.” He smiled craftily and continued giving orders. He saw the way his men responded; grinning like serpents when they thought they’d be given the chance to best slugs.
“Pretend you’re hunting for replacement miners,” Adaman suggested. “Arrest anyone caught harboring this person and lock him or her in a cell. In fact, it might be best if you searched at night. Since we’ve previously gone into homes after dark to look for workers, there should be no suspicion about your activities as long as slugs are nowhere near. Keep me informed of everything you do.”
The guards nodded and would have left, but Adaman stopped them.
“One more thing. During the daylight hours, go to the marketplace and watch all the merchants who might be selling medicinals in any form. That means herbs, poultices, bandaging, and whatever a burn victim might need to survive. If anyone matching the description of this green-eyed man shows up, or if anyone seems to be purchasing more medicinals than usual, follow them to their residence. Once again … make any arrests after dark, while all the Limaxians are drinking in the tavern. I can’t put too fine a point on it—no one is to be given any reason for your search other than you’re conscripting new miners.” Forrell added an incentive: “I’ll pay triple the wages to the man who can succeed in finding this burned, green-eyed stranger and whomever he calls friend.”
The guards smiled even more broadly.
One of them stepped forward. “Is this the same man I saw the slug leader burn in the marketplace? That poor brute can’t have survived, sir. Not after what Prometheus did.”
Forrell nodded in confirmation. “He’s a gem merchant who should have been thoroughly interrogated. That Limaxian idiot let his temper get the better of him, as usual, and never thought to do so.”
The lead guard held out his hand in a questioning gesture. “Why would he need to be interrogated, sir? I still say the man can’t be alive.”
“I’ll explain,” Forrell congenially offered, and sat down in a nearby chair. “If you were there and witnessed the incident, you realize this merchant’s assertive behavior wasn’t common. Prometheus told me this man openly challenged his authority and even killed one of his best brawlers.
“That’s true, sir. I was there and saw it all.”
“You make my point,” Forrell gushingly told him. “Given that kind of hostility, any prudent person would have suspected this visitor wasn’t who he pretended to be. This stranger should have bee
n brought in immediately and questioned.” He shot the guards a sly smile. “But I say all this because we might still have that chance. Despite your assertions to the contrary, my good fellow, I have reason to believe the merchant certainly did live. Prometheus told me there were several human constables and Limaxian brawlers who went missing. Uh … they were sent to make sure the merchant’s body was thrown into the pit. That body, as far as I know, hasn’t turned up. And our constables and the slug brawlers sent to find it never returned to their duties. They are still unaccounted for.”
Adaman slyly lowered his head. The lie concerning his ignorance of those missing brawlers and guards was meant to keep his own bribed men from knowing how expendable they really were. The unspoken but obvious suggestion was that the gem merchant the guards were to search for might have friends who’d helped him survive—that the merchant’s allies somehow got rid of comrades of the very men who now stood before him.
He played to the loyalty of his constables to him, to each other, even while hiding the truth. As always, he’d placate his men and let them believe everything he did was for the good of the colony. They’d fall in with his wishes only as long as he could maintain his innocent guise and provide them monetary incentives.
The men he now ordered to go look for the Starlaw prince—assuming that’s who the burned gem merchant really was—mustn’t think of their target as anything other than another dissenting malcontent whose compatriots might have hurt their fellow employees. The more calmly and quietly he gave orders, the more likely his guards would obey without question. Especially since he was offering this new set of men such a magnificent reward for finding their prey before the hated Limaxians did. That alone was enough to energize them. Besting the slugs was just icing on the cake to these clueless, underpaid civil servants standing before him.
The guards looked at each other in clueless disarray. Adaman just pasted on a much practiced, gentle-looking smile.
The most senior of the three guards spoke his thoughts. “But why would anyone help a stranger … especially to the point of taking out guards and brawlers? They’d be risking their lives by doing so.”
