At the stone wall, the mine face, the shafts spread side to side so that more than two people could work chipping away at the same time. Once in a while the overhead of the mine face collapsed because a widening section of the mine face on a higher level was extended over an excavated space, and the shoring wasn’t strong enough to hold the overhead in place. Usually, when an overhead collapsed, some people were injured. Sometimes someone was killed.
Too many of the People had died since the Naked Ones came.
The overseers stood outside the mine as the People trudged into it; they didn’t enter the mine until all the workers were in. Then they blocked all of the branching shafts with their huge bodies, and their weapons that shot many times without reloading. Their weapons shot needles that smashed flat when they hit the mine face. Unlike the solid bullets fired by the rifles the People’s hunters and soldiers used, which would have ricocheted and maybe wounded or even killed the person who had fired it.
The overseers were smart in their choice of weapons. The overseers inside the mines used small weapons that could be held in one hand to be used, unlike the guards who carried needle-shooting rifles. Someday the People would learn how to make rifles that fired needles. Then maybe the People would encage the Naked Ones and force them to work in the mines that yielded gold or iron ore.
But that was too fine a dream for Mock Turtle to dream while she and the rest of the Moon Flower Clan were under the control of the Naked Ones, so she cut off that line of thought.
The light in the mines was harsh and didn’t go everywhere like the light in the burrows. Instead of light worms, the overseers carried boxes that cast a harsh bluish light that hurt your eyes if you looked directly at it, and cast hard shadows. The shadows were a cause of injuries to claws, fingers, and hands. If a light moved when someone was beginning to swing a stone at the rock face, or about to jab into a crack with a claw, and cast a hard shadow onto someone’s hand, it could cause that person to miss her aim and smash a finger or break a claw.
That was what had happened to Mock Turtle two handfuls of days ago when she broke a claw that still hurt.
In the mine, the females and males worked side by side. It was the only time mates got to see each other, the only time mothers could see their sons, fathers their daughters, sisters their brothers. During the short time they had before the overseers came in after them, wives and husbands, parents and children, sisters and brothers, sought each other out. When they could arrange it, families would work together on the same mine face until the end of the long workday. Then they would be let out, dragging their weary selves, coughing from a day spent breathing in dust and sand from the stone they’d chipped into in search of meaningless baubles.
Outside once more, the guards and overseers shouted and pushed and shoved and struck them in different directions, females this way, males that, heading for their different enclosures.
Oh, if only Mock Turtle could have some private time with her husband! She so missed his touch, the feel of his strong body against hers. But, in addition to the small needle guns, the overseers carried bludgeons, which they used to beat apart wives and husbands who got too close to each other and didn’t part immediately when shouted at.
Wives and husbands had been very seriously injured by those beatings, and some had died.
Outside, parted once more in their different enclosures, the People were lined up in ranks and files for another tail count. To that tail count was added the number of people, badly injured or dead, whom the overseers dragged out of the mine. If the tally equaled the number of the morning count, the People were given a brief time to groom one another, to clean the dirt and sand out of their fur.
Mock Turtle didn’t know what would happen if the counts didn’t match. But she was certain she wouldn’t like it.
The grooming helped their diet a little bit. A very little. The People always had mites or lice or other small parasites hidden in their fur. Nimble fingers and claws could catch them, and the groomer would pop the mite or lice or whatever into her mouth. It was never very much, but at least it was fresh food.
After the brief grooming time, the People were once more trooped past the food table, where too little bad food was slopped into the undersized bowls, and the People were given too little time to eat it with their fingers and claws before they were yelled at and pushed and prodded and struck until they put the bowls into the bins behind the food table. Then they were herded back into the cages for the night. People seldom spent two consecutive nights in the same cage; everybody was in too much of a rush to get away from the guards and overseers, who beat anyone too slow to enter a cage. Except for a few who were kept out to lock the cages. Then they were caged themselves. Once all of them were in their cages, the guards and overseers made sure every cage was properly locked for the night.
After that, all anyone could do was scoop out a shallow hollow to curl up in and fall into an exhausted, fitful sleep.
A sleep from which not everyone hoped to wake.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Commodore Borland came planetside to meet with Brigadier Sturgeon and his staff. The two recon teams had been thoroughly debriefed—neither had brought back a captive Fuzzy since neither had come across an isolated one. The FIST’s staff had studied the recon reports, and the F2 section had written a preliminary analysis. Sturgeon sent Borland a copy of that preliminary analysis to study before his arrival at Thirty-fourth FIST’s new base. Borland, being navy rather than Marine, opted to come planetside by the more leisurely three-orbit descent used by everybody except for the Marines, and read the report on his way down. He brought his anthropology officers with him to interview the recon Marines and examine the images they’d collected in the burrows they’d entered.
“Gentlemen,” Sturgeon said when his staff, subordinate unit commanders, and their most important people, including the company commanders of the infantry battalion, were assembled in the briefing room, “our mission has just taken a radical change in direction and objective. We’ve known since we first landed that we aren’t going to be fighting Skinks. What we are going to do instead is shut down Sharp Edge’s operations, free the Fuzzies, and find out who is behind the operations here so that the Attorney General can commence legal proceedings. I think you will all agree that the situation here is a clear case of involuntary servitude—possibly legally defined slavery. Unless I’m seriously mistaken”—he looked at Borland—“the Confederation laws covering slavery don’t make any exception for aliens.”
Borland nodded confirmation; he’d had his legal officer check that out as soon as he’d heard what was happening planetside.
“Commodore Borland and I are leaving for the Sharp Edge headquarters to inform Mr. Cukayla of what we are doing, and that he is to stand his people down. During our absence, you will draw up operational plans for securing all of the Sharp Edge mines and freeing the indigenous personnel.
“Colonel Ramadan.”
As Sturgeon stepped toward the exit, with Borland following, Colonel Ramadan, the FIST executive officer, shouted, “Attention!” and the assembled officers jumped to their feet and stood at attention until the Brigadier and Commodore were gone.
“Seats,” Ramadan said. “Here’s what we’re going to do …”
During the suborbital flight to Base Camp, Commodore Borland contacted Captain Zsuz Maugli, his executive officer, left in command on the Grandar Bay, and instructed him to send all of the starship’s biological sciences people and the legal officer planetside. There was otherwise nothing to mark the passage from the Marine base and the Sharp Edge facility. The security section of the FIST’s headquarters company accompanied them.
Johnny Paska, Louis Cukayla’s second in command, stood on the portico of the Base Camp administration building watching as the Marine and navy commanders exited the suborbital and most of the security section took up positions around it.
One fire team accompanied the flag officers when they approached the admin
building. The Marines didn’t do anything threatening, but they clearly outclassed the two Sharp Edge operatives who flanked Paska. Sturgeon and Borland mounted the stairs and stepped within Paska’s personal space. The Sharp Edge number two didn’t back up.
“We’re here to see Mr. Cukayla,” Sturgeon said.
“He’s not here,” Paska said curtly, with a quick eye flick at the three Marines behind Sturgeon.
“When will he be back?”
Paska shrugged.
“Then where can I find him?”
Paska shook his head. “He’s out checking the mines. Could be anywhere.”
“He goes off and doesn’t tell you where he is? What if you need him?”
Paska shrugged again. “He checks in once in a while. Besides, the boss trusts me to deal with any problem that comes up in his absence.”
Sturgeon considered what Paska said, then said, “If that’s the way Sharp Edge functions, I’ve got a major problem for you. We’re shutting down your mining operations. When you hear from Mr. Cukayla, tell him to come see me in my headquarters.”
“You can’t do that!” Paska said, shocked. His men started and glared at Sturgeon but made no other move.
“We can, and we are,” Borland said, speaking for the first time. “I will have my legal officer supply you with the appropriate sections of Confederation statutes if you need to see them.”
“Contact whoever’s in charge at every one of your mines and tell them to stand down their operations, and stand by for my Marines to arrive,” Sturgeon said.
Sturgeon and Borland turned to leave. The fire team followed.
Paska stood, quietly watching them depart and ignoring the questions the two operatives flanking him threw at him, until the suborbital had lifted off. Then he went inside and radioed Cukayla.
“When is the Dayzee Mae due?” Cukayla asked when Paska explained the situation to him.
“Tomorrow morning, local.”
“Tell the captain of that scow I want my troops to make a combat assault landing as soon as she’s in orbit.”
“A combat assault landing? Are you sure? I doubt that any of them have ever made one of them.”
“I’m sure. And if they haven’t, it’s past time they learned. In the meantime, get reinforcements to every mine. Ain’t no jarhead and swabbie shutting down my operation.”
Thirty-fourth FIST’s staff had preliminary plans for shutting down the mining operations by the time Brigadier Sturgeon and Commodore Borland returned to the base.
“Sir, we believe that our people should wear garrison utilities when they release the Fuzzies from the mines,” Colonel Ramadan said in presenting the preliminary operational plan to Brigadier Sturgeon. Commodore Borland sat in on the briefing.
“Explain.”
“So the Fuzzies can see us remove the guards and overseers and take them away under guard. That way they’ll know we’re releasing them when we open the cages.”
Sturgeon nodded. “Continue.”
“There are more than fifty known mines, and the Grandar Bay is looking for more. We can assemble the Sharp Edge people at their Base Camp and assign one blaster platoon to watch them. One squad from the infantry battalion should be enough to secure each of the mines. If we allow two days each to remove the existing garrisons and release the Fuzzies, we can have all fifty known mines cleared in less than a week, allowing for travel time between mines.” There were many more details, but Sturgeon only had one additional question.
“How are the Fuzzies who aren’t being held near their home burrows going to return to them?”
“We will have to find a way to communicate with them, sir.”
“I can put my linguistics people to work on that as soon as we have a Fuzzy to work with,” Borland offered.
Sturgeon agreed with his staff that the infantry battalion should return, company by company, to the Grandar Bay to trade in their chameleons for garrison utilities. And, since they had only brought one set per Marine, Borland agreed to have his stores opened to supply each of them with another set.
The change of uniform would take at least a day and a half, more likely two days.
“Chief, I’ve got an inbound,” SRA2 Auperson said.
Surveillance and Radar was dark and quiet, lit only by the displays, the only sounds the pongs and dings of equipment calling the attention of the operators to blips on the displays, and the murmurs of crewmen talking to their counterparts in other divisions. Auperson’s attention had just been called to the appearance of a blip on the outward radar. As a basic security measure, navy starships routinely kept watch on the approaches to whatever planet they orbited. Approach watch was more important in the Opal-Ishtar system than in most colonized systems not in active conflict because the asteroidal debris orbiting its sun wasn’t well mapped.
“What is it?” Chief Nome asked.
“From its size, I’d say either a starship or a planet-buster.”
“Shape up, Auperson,” Nome snarled. “What do its characteristics say it is?” He rolled the hunk of hemp cable he gnawed in lieu of a cigar while on duty from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Sorry, Chief. Been a long shift. It reads like a starship, probable midsize civilian liner. No IFF up.”
“Shoot it to me.” Nome’s voice was gruff but he wasn’t angry, he was as tired as Auperson. The data on the inbound reached Nome’s console. He studied it, then got on the talker to the bridge.
“Bridge,” said Lieutenant Commander Gullkarl, taking a turn at Officer of the Deck.
“Bridge, Chief Nome, S and R. We have an unidentified starship on approach. No IFF, probable civilian passenger liner.” He sent the data on the inbound.
“Thanks, Chief. Bridge out.” Gullkarl switched his talker to the radio shack.
“Radio, sir,” Chief Petty Officer Obree answered.
“Radio, bridge. Gullkarl. We’ve got an unidentified inbound. Hail her.” He sent the data to the radio shack, and wondered whether he should inform Captain Maugli now or wait until he heard back from the radio shack. After all, the inbound was more than two days out.
“Unidentified starship approaching uncolonized world Ishtar, this is the CNSS Grandar Bay,” Radioman Third Class Lisa Craven said into the ship-to-ship. “Identify yourself and state your purpose here.” She settled back to wait the couple of minutes for the radio waves to reach the inbound and come back.
Time passed: five minutes, then ten with no response from the inbound. Craven turned to look at Chief Obree. “Chief?”
“I can tell the time as well as you can, Craven. I guess you didn’t notice the traffic going back and forth between the inbound and Ishtar.”
“Traffic, Chief?”
Obree nodded. “My guess is, whoever’s driving that inbound wants instructions from someone planetside. And I can guess who.” He picked up his talker and signaled the bridge.
“Bridge.” Lieutenant Commander Gullkarl answered the call.
“Radio, Chief Obree. Sir, that inbound hasn’t replied to our request for identification. But they’re sending traffic planetside. Fairly tight beam. I haven’t been able to tap into it yet.”
“If it’s a tight beam, can you tell where planetside it’s going?”
“Pretty close, sir. The only known place in the vicinity is that merc base.”
“The one they call Base Camp?”
“That’s the one.”
“Any outgoing traffic?”
“Yes, sir. On an even tighter beam. I was lucky to detect it at all.”
“Thanks, Chief. Bridge out.” Gullkarl thought for a moment and decided that it was time to inform Captain Maugli.
Captain Zsuz Maugli stepped onto the bridge and took the captain’s seat, which Lieutenant Commander Gullkarl had vacated as soon as Maugli said he was on his way. “Tell radio to patch me through to hail the inbound,” he ordered, looking at the display that showed the inbound starship. A row of numbers down the side of the display gave
data about the unidentified vessel: current location, vector, velocity; the starship’s length, width, and mass; projected time to orbit. He toggled to a different view, one that showed Ishtar and the Grandar Bay’s orbit. A dotted line showed the likely orbit of the inbound, where it would intercept that orbit, and its position relative to the Grandar Bay at the time she achieved orbit. Unfortunately, the unidentified starship would reach orbit at closest approach to Base Camp when the Grandar Bay was on the other side of Ishtar.
“Get that to the Commodore,” Maugli ordered.
When Gullkarl told him the patch was ready, Maugli picked up the ship-to-ship and said in a firm voice, “Unidentified starship approaching Ishtar, this is Captain Zsuz Maugli, Confederation Navy, on board the Confederation Navy Starship Grandar Bay, in orbit around Ishtar. State your name and your purpose.”
After a few minutes transit time between the inbound and the Grandar Bay, static crackled on the ship-to-ship and a voice came through.
“CNSS Grandar Bay, this is the SS Dayzee Mae, civilian hauler bringing supplies to the folks on Ishtar.”
Maugli signed to Gullkarl to look up the Dayzee Mae.
“Dayzee Mae, who is your master, and who is your owner?”
This time, the wait for a reply was longer than could be accounted for by just the light-lag distance. Then a new voice came on.
“Captain Maugli of the Grandar Bay, this is Captain Herb Trundle, master of the Dayzee Mae. On what authority are you questioning my right to be here, and going where I’m going? There’s no restrictions around Ishtar that I’m aware of. By my reading of the law, that means I have every right to make my delivery without interference from the navy.”
Maugli chose to ignore the challenge. “What kind of supplies are you carrying, and to whom are you to deliver them?” While waiting for the response from Trundle, Maugli read the data on the Dayzee Mae that Gullkarl had found. According to Jane’s Commercial Starfleets of the Confederation, she was owned by Star Tramps, LLC. She was a transport ship, not a freight hauler, and so was used to ferry colonists or immigrants to new worlds. In her most recently recorded configuration, the Dayzee Mae had berthing for fifteen hundred people and their personal and household belongings. Considering how much stuff people took with them when they moved to new worlds, Maugli figured the Dayzee Mae could carry something on the order of double that number of combat-loaded troops if they didn’t have to bring much in the way of ammunition and other supplies.
David Sherman & Dan Cragg - [Starfist 14] Page 18
