by Piers Platt
“Fuck. You!” The man managed. He struggled against Falken’s arm, then elbowed Falken in the ribs several times. They hurt, but Falken hung on. Finally, the man reached back and tried to grab at Falken’s face with one hand. Falken grimaced, leaning away to dodge the flailing arm.
Fine. Have it your way.
Falken rolled, turning the man onto his stomach and pinning his arms underneath him. He tightened the choke hold and held it, counting the seconds in his mind. He saw the man’s head redden, and his struggles to shake Falken off gradually grew more and more feeble.
… and you’re done.
The man went limp in Falken’s arms. He let go of his opponent and stood up, sighing. He felt light-headed – the room spun for a moment before his eyes, as the adrenaline wore off and the exertions of the fight caught up with his exhausted body. But he knelt after a second and turned the man over, checking his pulse with two fingers.
“Bird-man straight killed him!” a spectator yelled.
Falken felt the man’s heartbeat, strong and steady. No. Not this time. He’s just gonna have a hell of a headache when he comes to.
Falken straightened up and walked toward the edge of the disk, where two gang members were preparing to lower the plank back into place. Archos held out a hand, stopping them.
“Is he dead?” the warden asked Falken.
“No,” Falken said. “Just passed out.”
“So kill him,” Archos said.
Falken frowned. “You said to win the fight. You didn’t say you wanted him dead.”
“If you let him wake back up, he’ll keep fighting,” Archos said.
“I’m not gonna kill a defenseless man,” Falken said. “I beat him. It’s over.”
“It’s over when I say it is,” Archos said, with icy calm.
Falken found himself swaying on his feet. He struggled to concentrate through the haze of his hunger. “I won my third match,” he said, finally. “I’m one of the gang now. And you said it when we first got here: we rule this planet by protecting each other. He’s my brother now. I have to protect him.”
Archos studied Falken in silence. Falken could see the tension, the anger in his posture. But he mastered it, after a time, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “And so you pass the final test. Welcome to the team, Bird-man.”
The rest of the crew cheered. Archos turned to the man beside him, and pointed down into the pit, toward where Falken had knocked his smaller opponent over the edge. “Go down and get Tito,” he ordered. “See if he’s still able to walk.”
The minutes that followed passed by in a blur. Falken was marked – his third match scar, next to the first two. Then they took him to the mess hall, and he ate, gratefully: cold meat and vegetables left over from the previous night’s dinner. Archos sat across from him, and while the other inmates joked and laughed, he smiled amiably – but the warden watched Falken closely the entire time.
“You fought back on Earth?” Archos asked, when Falken had finished his meal.
Falken nodded. “I was on the pro circuit for about four years.”
“Did you win there, too?” Archos asked.
“Some,” Falken said, shrugging. “Before they banned mixed martial arts leagues.”
“And after that?”
“I taught lessons. I did event security sometimes. And I still fought. Went to jail for fighting underground.”
“They sent you to Oz for fighting?” an inmate asked.
“No,” Falken said, and left it at that.
“Well,” Archos said, “it seems you’ve found your niche here. Here you can fight whenever you want.”
Falken nodded. “Great.” He tried to make it sound convincing, but the word came out flat, unenthusiastic. “I don’t have to stay in the pit?”
“Not anymore, friend,” Archos said. “Why? Somewhere you need to be?”
Several of the inmates nearby laughed.
“I was hoping to call my lawyer,” Falken admitted. “See about getting an appeal started.”
They laughed again, and Archos joined them.
“Your lawyer?” he chuckled. “And how do you intend to call him?”
“At in-processing, they said the facility at the base of the space elevator had communications equipment,” Falken said, frowning.
“The facility at the base of the space elevator,” Archos repeated.
“Yeah,” Falken agreed.
Archos stood up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Come with me,” he told Falken. “I want to show you something.”
The two of them climbed four flights of stairs, winding their way up through the upper floors of the building. At last, Archos pushed on a door marked ROOF ACCESS in faded lettering, and they emerged out into the open air. It was a sunny day, but high, hazy clouds watered down the light somewhat. Past the edge of the roof, Falken could see the strange native trees below them stretching away into the distance. The roof was buckled in places, and curved inward toward the great hole that opened above the disk and rooms below.
“This way,” Archos said, skirting the edge of the hole.
The far side of the roof looked out over the ocean, which remained flat and waveless, just as Falken had seen it on his first morning on Oz. But next to the building, and stretching nearly a mile out into the shallow water, Falken saw a massive cylinder, hundreds of feet across. Its metal sides were rusted and worn, and it lay broken into segments and half-collapsed in places. The design of the cylinder looked vaguely familiar to Falken, but he couldn’t quite place it. Then, with a sinking feeling, he realized what he was staring at.
“Yes,” Archos said, smiling cruelly as the realization dawned on Falken. “You’re in the facility already. And that wreck out there is all that’s left of the space elevator.”
Chapter 10
“I was here when it fell, you know,” Archos said, gazing out at the wreckage. “You can’t imagine the noise. Like … the sky ripping itself apart.”
“What happened?” Falken asked.
“A riot,” Archos said. “Something caused the inmates to panic. They stormed the facility, and during the fighting, the elevator’s power containment system was destroyed. The disk you just fought on is actually an electromagnet, part of the machine that raised and lowered the elevator itself. It fell right through the roof.”
Falken glanced back at the hole in the roof. Then he turned back to Archos. “And they’ve never come back to repair it? They just dump us here and leave us?”
“They sent a ship, soon after the elevator fell. But it never touched down. It hovered for a while, observing. And then it returned to orbit. After that, the next batch of inmates arrived via parachute, just like you did.”
“It’s all a lie,” Falken said, shaking his head. “Appeals, parole … there’s no way to even get off the planet.” He frowned. “What about the communications gear? If we could call Earth …?”
“Destroyed, in the riot,” Archos said. “And even if it worked, the facility has no power, as you’ve seen each night when it gets dark.”
Falken looked back out at the fallen elevator shaft, half-submerged in the ocean. “How long ago did it happen?”
“Nearly fifty years,” Archos said.
Falken studied the older man. “Then you were just a boy when it fell.”
Archos nodded. “I was born here on Oz, Bird-man. Right here in this facility. My parents were corrections officers. And when the elevator came down, I was the only one who survived. Dozens of guards, hundreds of inmates, gone in a matter of minutes. And a single boy remained, left alone. The new warden of Oz.”
“You’re not a criminal, then.”
Archos laughed cruelly. “I’m not a convict,” he corrected Falken. “But I’ve killed many men over the years. One of the perks of being raised by felons – you learn quickly that fighting is the only way to survive.” He grimaced. “Which reminds me …”
Archos reached inside his uniform shirt, slipping something ov
er his hand. Then he moved, lightning-fast, and struck Falken on the shoulder, gripping him tight. Falken felt the jolting pain of a stun-glove blast, and collapsed on the roof, gasping. Archos kept the stun-glove pinned on Falken, letting the device’s hot energy course through Falken’s body. Then, at last, it stopped.
Falken felt himself dragged to the edge of the roof, and suddenly, he was looking down at the beach and the water, several stories below. He tried to move, but he was paralyzed, completely defenseless. The warden turned him over, face full of fury, and then bent over him, lifting Falken by his shirt.
“Do you think I’m crazy, Bird-man?” he asked, his eyes wild. “Well I am! Of course I am. You try surviving on an alien planet for months alone as a boy. And then, just when you think people are coming to help you, that they’ve sent you food and supplies via parachute … no. It’s more inmates. Dangerous, hard men who hunt you in the night. I had to be crazy. It was the only way to stay alive. And I’ve ruled this planet ever since by being the craziest, most ruthless son of a bitch here.” He licked his lips, breathing hard. “And now you come along, calling me out, defying me in front of my men … you’re playing with fire, Bird-man. You’re not the first one to challenge me, you know. But they’re all dead. I think I’ll kill you, too, on principle alone.”
Falken tried to shake his head, but his muscles were still twitching uncontrollably from the stun blast. Archos looked down at the sand below, smiling. “Just drop you over and be done with it, eh? That would be the easy way. And death is the only way off this godforsaken rock. I’d be doing you a favor, no?”
Falken managed to shift his head slightly.
“No?” Archos frowned, confusion and fear warring on his face. Then he smiled. “No. You fight too well to die like this, Bird-man.” The warden let go of Falken’s shirt and stood up. “You’ll live today. And you’ll fight for me. You’ll be the best of my warriors. Maybe someday you’ll even be the warden when I’m gone. But until then, you’ll be my strongest ally. Won’t you?”
Falken grunted hoarsely. Archos leaned back over, his nose nearly touching Falken’s.
“Yes. And the minute you step out of line … I’ll kill you without a second thought.” He smiled brightly, almost peacefully, and then strode away, leaving Falken lying on the edge of the roof.
* * *
By the time he could walk again, Falken’s mind was made up. He descended, gingerly, down from the roof, and emerged onto the balcony overlooking the disk. The great room was empty, abandoned, but he heard a murmur of voices drifting up from the pit.
Should I try to get them out, too?
He leaned over the railing, looking at the men below.
Some of them could die if I don’t. But … it’s too dangerous. The guard has a stun-glove, and given how weak most of them are, they wouldn’t get far.
Falken felt a pang of guilt, and then pushed it aside.
They wouldn’t try to save you.
He stopped briefly in the room they had given him to sleep in, and retrieved his sparring gloves, sticking them in the pocket of his coveralls. Then he turned and retraced his steps through the facility, back to the vehicle bay where the truck had parked on the first day. He found an inmate on his back under the hood of a truck, replacing an engine part. The man saw him and nodded.
“Lunch ready yet?” he asked.
Falken hesitated, and then nodded. “Uh, yeah. They just put it out.”
“Great,” the man grunted. He slid out from under the truck, and wiped greasy hands on his stained coveralls. “Are you coming?”
“Not just yet,” Falken told him.
The man shrugged and disappeared down the staircase. When Falken could no longer hear his footfalls, he jogged toward the ramp at the far end of the bay. Sunlight spilled in the top of the ramp, but it was blocked by a thick metal grate that seemed to roll down from the ceiling. Falken spent a minute searching, and finally located a heavy chain. He tugged on the chain, and slowly, the grate wound upwards. Falken unrolled it a few more feet, then hurried up the ramp, and ducked through the opening at the bottom of the grate.
A rutted dirt path led away from the facility – Falken tried to take his bearing.
The ocean’s behind me. So the landing site is … over that way, roughly. He frowned, uncertain. Which means the colony must be in that direction. I think.
Falken took a quick look back at the walls behind him, and seeing no one, started off down the road at a jog. He had been determined to put a sizable distance between himself and the facility right away, but Falken soon felt the effects of a week of starvation and lack of sleep. In just a few minutes, his pace slowed to a walk. The road curved in the wrong direction soon afterward, and Falken veered off through the woods, heading on the same course he had set back at the facility, or as near as he could tell. His legs were cramping, and his hunger had returned.
Should have eaten again before I left. And brought some water.
He pushed on, willing himself forward, and glancing over his shoulder occasionally.
They never said I couldn’t leave the facility. But something tells me Archos will be pissed.
In the afternoon, Falken stopped for a short break. He took a seat at the base of a tree, sliding down to the ground and leaning his back against the smooth, white bark. He caught his breath and stretched out his legs, wincing at a nasty blister that was forming on one of his heels. His eyelids felt heavy – Falken let his chin rest on his chest for a moment. He jerked awake some time later.
Shit! No time to sleep.
He looked around wildly, but the woods were as silent as ever. Falken pulled himself to his feet and set off again. A few minutes later, he caught sight of something dark in the distance – a few more steps and he realized he was looking at the ocean through the trees ahead – he had reached the shore.
Fuck me. Did I just walk in a giant circle?
He turned around, searching for a sign, a hint of where to go.
No. That can’t be.
Falken’s stomach growled at him. On impulse, he walked to the nearest tree and reached up to break one of the smaller branches off. He tried one of the green needles first, plucking it off the branch and then chewing on it cautiously. It was bitter and tough. He spat it out. The branch itself was no better – fibrous and impossible to chew. But as Falken looked closer, he saw a small cluster of brown orbs at one point along the branch – the size of marbles, they broke off easily at his touch, and felt soft between his fingers. He held one to his nose. It smelled earthy.
Some kind of fruit?
He put it in his mouth and chewed. Their taste was similar to their smell – Falken couldn’t put his finger on what they reminded him of, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He swallowed the first one, and then ate the rest of the ones on the branch, just a small handful.
Better leave it at that for now, though.
He turned back to face the ocean, and then again to look back through the woods. Finally, shaking his head, he decided to walk along the shore. He had been walking for several minutes when the trees to his left seemed to shimmer. He stopped, frowning, and stared at them.
The hell was that?
They shimmered again – like thin reeds in a stiff breeze, but Falken felt no wind on his skin. He stepped over to a tree that appeared to be vibrating, its trunk pulsing rhythmically. Falken put his hand on the bark, and the tree stopped moving. Then movement caught his eye – out over the water, he saw hundreds of wooden crates descending from the sky under parachute canopies. They drifted lazily down to the ocean, and with horror, Falken realized the men inside were about to drown. But instead of splashing when they hit the water’s surface, they merely disappeared.
What the fuck is going on?!
Falken shook his head, and hurried down the beach. He made it another mile, and then his stomach heaved. He fell to his knees and vomited violently for several minutes. When it had passed, he wiped his lips, gasping, and struggled to his feet again. Falken
stumbled forward another step, and then toppled to the sand.
Chapter 11
Falken opened his eyes, and found Mallerie lying next to him in bed, sleeping peacefully. He shook her urgently.
“Mal! Wake up!”
She rolled over and smiled at him. “What?”
“I had the worst nightmare,” he told her. “I was on some planet. They made me fight … I didn’t want to. I was stranded there. I was never going to see you again.”
“You’re dreaming,” she told him.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s over now.”
“No.” Mallerie shook her head. “You’re dreaming, right now.”
The bedroom walls seemed to close in around him. Falken held his hands up, as if to ward off the encroaching walls. “What’s happening?”
Mallerie looked at his hands and screamed. Falken saw that they were dripping with blood.
“What have you done?” Mallerie shrieked, shrinking from him. “Get away from me!”
“Mal, wait!” Falken pleaded, but she merely faded away, slipping between his fingers. He reached for her again, and then she was gone. “Mallerie …” Falken sobbed.
* * *
“Drink.”
The voice was stern. Falken felt something smooth and hard pressed against his lips, and then cool liquid splashed down his throat. He choked, spitting it out.
“Drink, damn it. It’s just seawater. Which is drinkable, here on Oz.”
Falken felt the cup at his lips again. He drank, and then opened his eyes. He was lying on a thin pad on the floor of a wooden hut. The hut was dark – it appeared to be lit by a single candle, attached to the wall. He thought he saw another person lying on a pallet across from him, but in the gloom, it was hard to tell. An older man squatted next to him, holding a wooden cup.
“How do you feel?” the man asked.
“Stomach hurts,” Falken said.
“Of course it hurts,” the man agreed. “You’re lucky to be alive after eating that many tree fungi.”
