Obsidian Alliances

by Various

  She and her father were looking down at the miners like angels regarding damned souls from the safety of paradise. Labec was with them, dabbing sweat from his forehead with studied intensity. He kept casting glances in Soleta’s direction, which she considered amusing, although she displayed no sign of her amusement.

  The ramps were designed in such a way that there were passages for overseers and visitors, and passages that were for the use of workers. The two were separate so as to avoid any “ugliness,” as Labec put it. There were guards posted at all the entrances to the overseer ramps. Any worker who approached them was shot on sight.

  Soleta watched the workers trudging along the rampways. There seemed to be nothing going on behind their eyes. It was as if they had already died inwardly and were only going through the motions of existence. The fact didn’t touch her emotionally—nothing really did—but she found it intriguing from the point of view of a student of the mind.

  In the vast mining pit that yawned beneath them, she could see the slaves—or miners; “miners” was a far more polite word—clambering around on ropes affixed to the walls through a series of hooks. They would climb to a particular point and proceed to dig the dilithium out of the walls with various cutting tools. She even noticed that the miners walking around on the suspended catwalks nearby were carrying the ropes and grappling hooks over their shoulders or around their chests. She nodded in their direction and asked, “Why such primitive equipment? Would not gravity boots be far more efficient in enabling them to scale the walls?”

  “Efficient, yes, but also usable in escape attempts,” Labec replied. “We’ve found it’s inadvisable to provide our workers with too much mobility.”

  “Ah.”

  “As you can see,” Labec continued, speaking with authority, “the mine is a highly organized endeavor. Designed for maximum output in exchange for minimal expenditure.”

  “Most impressive,” said Rojan. He looked to Soleta, who nodded her agreement. “And how much dilithium does this particular mine turn out?”

  “We meet our quotas,” Labec said. Rojan didn’t need Soleta’s intuition to sense that Labec was being slightly defensive. But he didn’t feel the need to press it. Soleta had already told him exactly how the mine was doing; he was just curious to see whether or not Labec was willing to own up to it or not. If Labec wanted to be coy, well, that was fine.

  “Now if you’ll come this way,” Labec said, gesturing ahead of them, “I think you’ll find the cracking process to be particularly intriguing.”

  Soleta walked on ahead of him. She found that she was still looking down at the dizzying depths below them. She fancied that she could hear distant screams from the workers, or moans of pain. There was a heated glowing of flame far below from one of the processing engines. It truly is perdition, she thought, and wondered about a universe that would condemn people to such a fate simply because they were luckless enough to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  That was when the ramp collapsed directly beneath her feet.

  The ramp was built in sections, so the piece where Rojan and Labec were standing fortunately remained intact. But the support struts on the section where Soleta had stood gave out seconds after she stepped onto it. The ramp tore away, sending Soleta plummeting.

  Blind luck saved her. Her hands flailing, she barely managed to snag one of the lower support struts that was projecting from the wall. The piece of ramp that had given way beneath her tumbled down, down into the pit below. Cries of alarm sounded from beneath as slaves scrambled to get out of the way.

  Soleta’s legs pumped frantically as she dangled above the drop. The metal strut, now ending in a jagged edge, was about ten feet long and anchored to the wall. Rojan and Labec were twenty feet above her, looking down desperately, shouting words of encouragement and assuring her that they were going to get help down to her within seconds.

  Suddenly there was a groaning of metal, and an abrupt jolt. Soleta momentarily lost her grip and skidded further down the pipe. She almost fell completely off one end, but managed to clutch on. Then she saw the source of the groaning and realized that it was coming from the point where the strut was anchored to the wall. Apparently it wasn’t anchored as well as she would have hoped.

  Shoddy workmanship, she thought at first, and then she decided this simply couldn’t be an accident; this had happened through malice.

  And just as the far end of the strut began to tear completely away from the wall, everything happened very quickly. She heard a voice shout, “Hang on!,” echoing above the bellowing for help that was coming from Rojan and Labec, and she heard a distant clank of metal on metal, and the anchor point gave way entirely. With a final groan the strut tore away from the wall, Soleta was in free fall, and then she wasn’t. Something slammed into her from the side, moving remarkably fast. She was being carried in an arc toward the section of the ramp where her father and Labec were standing. Rojan, on his knees and gripping the railing, reached out and snagged her by the forearm.

  “I’ve got you!” he cried out unnecessarily.

  “So do I,” said another voice from right at her ear.

  Her head snapped around, and she found herself looking into a distinctly un-Romulan face.

  It was a slave, with long, shaggy black hair that hung wild around his face. He was older than Soleta, or at least she thought he was. She suspected that life in the mines tended to age people quickly. He had a scar that stretched diagonally across his face, and the most remarkable eyes she had ever seen: They were deep purple.

  He was holding on to a rope. She risked a glance upward and saw that it was attached to a grappling hook that was, in turn, hanging from one of the railings overhead. Her savior was gripping the rope with one hand while his other arm was around her waist. She was stunned at the strength in it. She could see the muscles playing along the surface of his arm.

  “Hold on,” he said, and thrust her upward so that her father could get a better grip on her. He did so and, moments later, Rojan had pulled Soleta to safety. He gasped in relief and embraced her, and she returned it.

  “Come,” said Labec briskly, “we must report this at once. Someone will be dealt with harshly over his lack of attention to safety.”

  “That is good to hear,” replied Rojan. “This type of sloppiness cannot be tolerated.”

  They started to walk away, Rojan having one arm draped around Soleta’s shoulder. But she pulled away and said, her eyebrow arched, “Father…don’t you think you’re forgetting something?”

  “What am I…?”

  There was a soft grunt and Soleta’s rescuer pulled himself, hand over hand, up the rope. He grasped the bottom section of the railing and started to haul himself up onto the rampway. Soleta started to move toward him, but he waved her off. She stepped back and watched with fascination as he pulled himself to safety.

  For the first time, Soleta had a sense of what it was like for others when she stared into their eyes with the intention to mind-meld, albeit without their knowledge. His gaze seemed to bore into the innermost recesses of her brain. She felt naked under his scrutiny and cleared her throat loudly. He wasn’t breathing hard; it didn’t seem as if he’d exerted himself in the slightest. If it had not been for the strength he’d displayed in rescuing her, she never would have thought he was especially strong. He was not broad in the shoulders, nor did his upper body—which she could see quite well through his tattered shirt—appear sculpted or particularly muscular. But she knew appearances, in his case, were not reflective of reality.

  “Did you…?” She glanced over at the hook, and then at the slave ramp some distance away. “Did you see me in trouble from over there…throw the hook and rope…and swing over here to catch me just as I was falling?”

  “Yes,” he said. His voice was strangely accented. She couldn’t place it. It sounded Romulan, but he could simply have picked that up from prolonged exposure to them.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.
>
  “Sector 11A.”

  “No, I mean…before this?”

  He stared at her fixedly, clearly not knowing why she was asking.

  She was about to speak again when Rojan stepped in, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Thank you,” he said, “for coming to my daughter’s aid.”

  “Why did you?” demanded Labec. When he saw Soleta’s surprised look, he shrugged. “I’m merely curious. The workers have no love for us. One dead Romulan is as good as another. This creature risked his life in order to save yours, and I would like to know why.”

  The man studied Labec, and there was something in the look he gave Labec that caused the Romulan—puffed up with his own importance—to deflate visibly.

  “I saved her life,” said the man, “because it needed saving. If I’d had time to think, like as not, I’d have let her drop. Does that answer your question?”

  Labec’s mouth moved but nothing emerged. The man nodded as if satisfied and started to bring his hook up into his hand. Soleta realized that he meant to throw it back to the other walkway and swing back to where he’d come from. It was obvious why: If he endeavored to depart the walkway he was on now via a normal exit, the guards would shoot him down.

  “Wait!” she said with more urgency than she’d expected. He paused and looked at her with quiet impatience. “What’s your name? At least tell me that.”

  “Muck.”

  Soleta made a face. “Muck? That’s a name?”

  He made no effort to reply; he just stared at her.

  “Come, Soleta,” Rojan said briskly. “We must—”

  She shook her father’s hand clear of her arm and then said to Muck, “Do you wish to stay here?”

  He clearly had no idea what she was talking about. “Wish?” he finally echoed. “My wishes mean nothing. I mean nothing. That’s been made clear to me over the years.”

  His voice was low and flat, but she couldn’t look away from his eyes. They burned with an inner fury. So much anger, so much hatred, bottled up. He was like a star on the edge of going nova.

  “He is a slave, Soleta,” Labec reminded her. “He is correct: His desires are of no relevance. His status cannot be changed.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But it can be relocated. Father,” and she turned to Rojan, “I desire to bring him back to Romulus. Make him a personal servant.”

  Rojan didn’t reply at first. He always wanted to maintain a united front with his daughter, at least when he was in public and certainly in front of a newly acquired business associate. He forced a smile and said to Labec, “A moment, please.” Labec, who looked as surprised by Soleta’s pronouncement as anyone, simply nodded. As for Muck, he just stood there with an expression of careful indifference. There would have been no way of determining what he was thinking simply by looking at him.

  Rojan pulled Soleta a short distance away and then said so softly that no one, even with those unnaturally sharp Romulan ears, could have overheard them, “Are you out of your mind? Did you strike your head as you were falling?”

  “No to both.”

  “He’s a slave!”

  “So? We have slaves serving us already at home. What’s one more?”

  “Did you ever consider that this is, perhaps, exactly what he wanted? That he saved you in order to gain your gratitude so that he could get out of here?”

  “I doubt that, but even if that is the case…so what? Who would not want to get out of here? And by the way, I suspect that Labec did a poor job of plotting to kill Prenan. I’ve no doubt that Prenan learned of the plan and this was a preemptive strike. Labec was supposed to be the one to fall to his death, not I.”

  “Yes, I’ve already figured that out,” said Rojan impatiently. “And you’re trying to distract me. What if he runs away?”

  “Then we’ll bring him back. How far could he get? He’s clearly not Romulan. It’s not as if he can blend in.”

  “Soleta…”

  “Father,” she said, her voice firm and unyielding. “I have done everything you’ve ever asked of me. I’ve asked for very little in return. Find a way to make this happen for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” She paused, trying to answer the question for herself as well as her father. Finally she shrugged and said, “I like his eyes.”

  “I can have them removed and put in a jar for you.”

  She did not look impressed.

  Rojan sighed heavily, then forced a jovial expression upon his face, turned to his new partner, and said, “My dear Labec…I was hoping you might be able to attend to a change in ownership of a slave…”

  Soleta looked to Muck to see his reaction, and all she saw from him was more smoldering hatred.

  This should be interesting, she thought.

  7

  M uck grabbed her from behind and began to squeeze.

  Soleta struggled furiously, staggering, trying to pry his arm off. She couldn’t believe that he was managing to keep her immobilized. Her strength was far superior to his; there was no way that he should have been able to do this. And yet he was, his own strength amplified by what she had come to think of as his boundless capacity for hatred.

  One arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, and the other was in a choke hold around her throat. It was getting hard for her to breathe. He hadn’t choked off all her air, but it was clear that he could have. It was as if he was toying with her.

  He brought his mouth close to her ear, as if she couldn’t have heard him without the intimacy, and snarled, “I’m going to kill you, and you can’t stop me.”

  She brought her heel fiercely down on his foot once, twice. He didn’t appear to notice. Her strength was starting to give out and then, in a desperate burst of determination that might well have been the last efforts she had to give, she leaned as far forward as she could. Her strength was such that she was actually able to haul Muck off the ground a few inches. It was just enough for her purposes, and she backpedaled as quickly as she could. For a heartbeat she thought she was going to fall over, which would have destroyed whatever hope of leverage she had. But she managed to remain upright, and in seconds she was slamming Muck against the far wall. The impact caused him to grunt, which brought her some brief satisfaction. She threw him back against the wall again, two, three times, as hard as she could. The impact was bone-jarring. He grunted each time, and then, just for a moment, she felt his hands slip.

  It was all she needed. Bracing herself with one foot against the wall, she gripped his arms and snapped her body forward almost in half at the waist. He flew over her head and hit the floor.

  In an instant he had rolled forward and was on his feet, facing her. She came in fast with a rapid series of leg sweeps and hand stabs. He deftly blocked each one, then caught one of her forward thrusts by the wrist and snapped it around. Instantly Soleta was twisted around on her foot with her back to him, held once more in that iron grip.

  “What in all the hells is going on?”

  When her father had walked in on Soleta and Labec that time, he had made a great and controlled show of indignation. But a show was all it was, carefully planned and rehearsed between father and daughter. Since Rojan was in fact not all that brilliant an actor, anyone who wasn’t flustered should have been able to see right through his performance. Fortunately, no one ever did.

  There was no performance this time. Rojan was genuinely outraged.

  Muck seemed to consider keeping Soleta immobilized, but then he released her and stepped back. He did not smile. Instead he lowered his head slightly, his long hair thick with sweat and dangling in front of his eyes. Soleta backed away from him. She was breathing hard and, likewise sweating, wiped the droplets from her face. She noticed that, unlike hers, Muck’s breathing wasn’t labored at all. In fact, she suspected his heart rate hadn’t even increased.

  “It’s just a workout, Father.” She pointed to the loose-fitting clothes they were wearing. “Just sparring.”

  “Sparring! I
thought he was going to tear your head off! Where does sparring end and murder begin?”

  “When someone dies. Which,” she added hurriedly, “wasn’t going to happen.”

  Muck, as was typical for him, said nothing. Rojan glared at him for a moment, then indicated that Soleta should join him in the hallway outside the recreation room. All of the other exercise equipment in the room had been pushed back and to the side in order to provide maximum room for grappling. With a shrug, Soleta headed toward Rojan. “Stay here, Muck,” she ordered. It was merely a formality. It wasn’t as if Muck was going anywhere. Nevertheless he bowed slightly at the waist in acknowledgment.

  The moment they were outside, Rojan rounded on her. “You must be out of your mind. There’s no other explanation for it. Out of your mind.”

  “I know what I’m doing, Father.”

  “Do you?” He pointed toward the room they’d just left. “He’s supposed to be your slave! That was the agreement. Your servant! That means he…he brings you things! Waits on you! Does what you tell him to!”

  “And he does,” said Soleta.

  “He just tried to kill you!”

  “I told him to.” She sounded so reasonable about it that Rojan felt as if he were losing his mind. “But it’s not as if he was really going to be able to do it. And if he were to come close, I’d just order him to stop.”

  “How exactly would you accomplish that,” he demanded, “if he had crushed your windpipe?”

  Soleta started to respond, but then closed her mouth. She didn’t have a ready answer to that one.

  Rojan composed himself and forced a smile, trying to sound reasonable. “Soleta…I know you appreciate challenges. That’s what you told me when you brought Muck here a month ago. That he represented a challenge. But you have yet to tell me what that challenge is, aside from seeing how close you can come to having that fool slave be the death of you.”