The Martian King: The Slave Planet II

by Seven Steps

  Kiln cleared his throat, and wiped his hands on a napkin. More lies. More lies for the man who fathered him. When would it end?

  “Yes,” Kiln replied, though he wasn’t sure what question he was saying yes to.

  “What matters are you attending to, son?”

  Kiln took a long gulp of wine, but remained silent.

  “Praxis what has gotten into you? You never lied to me before. We always had an open and honest relationship. I liked to think that we were partners, not just father and son. But now you’re lying to me, your stance on matters of state have completely changed, and you’ve become terrible at war games.”

  Kiln’s head shot up.

  “I’ve been watching you practice in the courtyard with those two dolts Etree and Namic. It’s like you have forgotten how to play the game. Is everything well, Prax?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sir,” Haggarty spat. “You never call me sir.”

  Kiln inwardly groaned. This night was not going as he’d hoped at all. He wanted his father to tell him about his history, where he came from. Not talk about how unlike Praxis he was being.

  “I want you to see my physician. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Yes, I will do that right away.”

  Haggarty, seeming content with this for the moment, and nodded.

  “The physician thinks that there is some untested virus that’s affecting the women, lowering the birth rates, making them go crazy. He thought it would be prudent to do full blood work on each of them. I told him it was a waste of money. I say, chain them up and encourage the men to sire more children.”

  “They’re not animals.”

  “Barely above it, some of them.”

  “Why not just ask the Venians for help?”

  “I will not ask a woman for help running my own planet. I won’t!”

  “Then let me ask them for help.”

  “I will not see you demeaned to such things. We will find another way.”

  “What other way?” Kiln cried. “We are barely surviving. The domes are falling apart, the technology is dated, the birth rate is down and women are either dying or killing themselves. A few more years and we will all be driven off this planet looking for a new home.”

  “That’s enough!” Haggarty slammed his hand onto the table. “You dare question my methods of ruling.”

  “I am just saying that perhaps if we just ask for help from the Venians-”

  “Hang the Venians. And hang you if you continue to defy me.”

  “I am not defying you. I am just trying to help you see reason.”

  “Reason?” Haggarty sputtered. He raised his wrist to his trembling lips. “Get me Lucas, immediately.”

  “Who’s Lucas?”

  “If you forgot my personal physician, then you are worse than I’d imagined. You forget the man who brought you into this world?”

  Lucas, a thin man with glasses and a white coat, came stumbling into the room. “Yes, my King.”

  “Prince Praxis is losing his mind. Fix him.”

  “Yes, my King. This way, Prax.”

  Kiln took one last look at his beet faced, tired looking father before following the physician out of the room. They went down the stairs and into an office on the bottom floor of the palace.

  “You look different,” Lucas said.

  Kiln cleared his throat, not responding.

  How much does this physician know about me? Father said that he brought me into this world. Will I be able to fool him?

  The office was decorated with pictures of war game winners, a desk, and a small chair. He walked over to a tray, picked up a flashlight, and promptly shinned it into Kiln’s eye.

  “Hmmmm. Your sight seems fine.”

  He put the flashlight down and felt along Kiln’s head.

  “No sign of head trauma. Hmmm. Please remove your shirt.”

  Kiln removed the shirt of the red uniform.

  “Oh. Where are your tattoos?”

  “Um...”

  “And this?”

  The doctor touched the scar at the back of Kiln’s neck and gasped. “It’s a Venian mark. Who are you?”

  Kiln spun around grabbing the doctor by the neck, and slamming him against the wall.

  “Who are you?” Lucas demanded.

  “I am Praxis.”

  “No, you are not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You are his brother!”

  Kiln’s eyes widened. His knuckles cracked as they relaxed, dropping the doctor to the floor.

  “How do you know about me?” Kiln asked.

  “I delivered both you and your brother. How did you get back here?”

  “I was brought here.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to get Haggarty to ally with the Venians.”

  “Why?”

  “You ask that a lot.”

  “I am a doctor. I thirst for knowledge.”

  “Are you going to tell Haggarty about me?”

  “I have to. He will inquire.” Lucas jumped up and ran for the door.

  I can’t let him tell. He’ll ruin everything.

  A silver blade caught his eye. Without a thought, he snatched it from the table, slammed it into the doctor’s back, and pulled it out again.

  The doctor let out a single gasp, and turned, his eyes filled with horror. Kiln shoved the knife into the doctor’s gut and stepped away.

  “I’m sorry,” Kiln whispered. “I’m so sorry. I can’t let you kill her.”

  Lucas collapsed to the floor, a pool of red blood around him.

  What have I done? I killed a man. But he would have told Haggarty, and then Boikis would have killed Nadira. I had to. Oh, Mother Goddess what have I done?

  Blood escaped Lucas’ body at a rapid rate, and the doctor’s face grew pale.

  Kiln felt his stomach turn at the awful sight. He’d done this. He’d killed a man.

  What have I done?

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Kiln ran to the door, opened it wide, and ran for his life.

  ~()~()~()~()~

  I killed a man today in cold blood.

  Kiln’s eyes rose to the comicore, where Nadira paced the small cell.

  I killed a man for you today, Naddie. He would have ruined everything. Do you forgive me? Can you forgive me?

  Banging on the door awoke Kiln from his dark thoughts.

  He walked to open it.

  Two men stood there in the customary red uniform.

  “Prince Praxis, we have news from your father.”

  “What news?”

  “He requests your presence at breakfast tomorrow.”

  Kiln nodded and closed the door again.

  How can I face my father after I’ve killed his physician? He’ll know what I've done? He’ll see the blood on my hands. What have I done?

  Another knock sent Kiln back to the door. When he opened it, Melu sauntered in.

  “Hello, Not Praxis,” she said.

  Kiln shushed her, and then quickly shut the door.

  “Why are you here?”

  “King Haggarty sent me. He wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

  “Why does he keep sending people here?”

  “Women are sent everywhere. We’re like trophies. Win the War Games? Have a woman. Pass a test? Have a woman. Have a good day at work? Have a woman.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Its life here.”

  I have to get off of this planet.

  He suddenly felt trapped. The room was too small. The air too sulfuric and thick. To keep himself from scratching at the walls, he turned his attention to Melu. “How long have you been here?”

  “I was born here.”

  “Born here?”

  “Yes.”

  Kiln sat on the edge of his bed, his mind racing, his body tight. He closed his eyes, wishing that it was all just a dream and that he’d wake up soon.

  Melu sat next to him. “You aren’t like
them, are you?”

  “Like who?”

  “The other Martians? Usually, women are used and sent back to the barracks. They pick us like we’re candy. But you, you don’t think about us that way?”

  “Women should be honored, and revered, not passed around in such a manner.”

  Melu smiled. “Spoken like a true Venian.”

  She followed his line of vision to the monitor where Nadira laid in her bed.

  “Is she your master?” Melu asked.

  “She used to be. Although I don’t think that that really matters anymore? We are only for each other.”

  “If you are her man, then I envy her. A gentle man is a hard thing to find.”

  “Not where I come from.”

  “Yes,” Melu said, standing. “Do you know what the women around here call Venus?” she asked.

  Kiln shook his head.

  “Heaven.”

  “It is far from heaven.”

  “Closer than this place,” Melu said. She walked to the comicore, covered it with a shirt, and turned back to Kiln.

  “Can we talk about my escape plan?”

  “How do you plan on escaping?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what you’re here for.”

  “You could run away, steal a ship, go somewhere far.”

  “I could. But I don’t know how to fly a ship, and I don’t know where to go. I’ll bet that you, however, are the answer to both of my problems.”

  “I can fly a ship, but -.”

  “Take me to Venus.”

  Kiln frowned. “You don’t want to go there.”

  “Why not? Women are revered, men are slaves, who wouldn’t want to live there?”

  “It is more restrictive than you think.”

  “More restrictive then living in a barracks where they fence you in like an animal?”

  “Good point.”

  “Will you take me there? To Venus, I mean?”

  Melu stood in front of Kiln and leaned over him until their noses touched.

  He’d only been this close to Nadira. To have another woman so close, who smelled like fresh soap, and whose hair fell across his lap like the darkest of rain sent guilt surging through him.

  Still, he couldn’t move away from her.

  Is this what my brother felt for her?

  “Tell me you’ll take me to Venus, Kiln,” she whispered, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

  She was intoxicating. All hair, scent, and heat.

  But he was not his brother.

  She belonged to Praxis.

  Kiln held out his hand to her, and she backed up a bit, allowing him room to breathe again. Her eyebrow shot up and she looked at him as if he had sprouted a second head.

  After a full minute, she shook his outstretched hand.

  “You’re a strange man, Kiln,” she said.

  “I only have one woman, Melu. Just as you only have one man.”

  “I have no man.”

  “You had my brother.”

  “Never,” she spat. “There were days that I couldn’t bear to look at him.”

  “Then why would you come here?”

  “Haven’t you been listening? I had no choice. If I refused, they’d beat me, then make me come, and do you think that Praxis would care? Nope. He’d do his business, and send me right back.”

  “He was such a monster?”

  “Worse. He was a copy of his father. I’m glad he’s gone.”

  Kiln frowned.

  I’m not so glad. He was my brother, after all. He may have been horrible, but he was still my brother. And Haggarty is still my father.

  Silence hung in the air. Kiln stood and walked to the window.

  He could see the Martian habitation domes, streaked with dirt and grime in the distance. Each of the domes were connected by underground tunnels. Within the domes were square dormitories that represented woman’s barracks. Further on lay the farms and cattle ranches.

  A small hospital stood next to the palace.

  He thought of Lucas rotting in his office, then turned away.

  “Well, it’s time for me to go, I guess. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they’ll send you back tomorrow.”

  Melu nodded, took a step toward the door, then jogged back to wrap her arms around Kiln’s neck.

  “I will try to find her for you,” she whispered.

  Then, she turned from him, and walked out.

  Kiln collapsed onto the bed.

  Lucas is dead. I did that. I killed him. What kind of monster am I?

  Suddenly, the door burst opened. Boikis dragged in Melu, and slammed her against the wall by the throat.

  Namic and Etree were close behind and shut the door. They grabbed Kiln’s arms, holding him hostage as he watched Melu kick her feet against the wall in terror.

  “Rescuing damsels in distress, are we?”

  “Get off of her!” Kiln screamed.

  The white of Melu’s eyes turned red, blood rushing to her face. Her body struggled against its ending, fighting to stay alive.

  “What do you want from her, Boikis?”

  “Her silence.”

  Kiln struggled against the iron like grip of Etree and Namic. “She won’t tell. She promised.”

  “The promise of a woman means nothing.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is here.”

  Melu’s eyes bulged, her tanned face beet red.

  “Boikis, please don’t do this.”

  “I told you that if you told anyone, there would be consequences. Now, she must pay for your indiscretion.”

  In one final desperate act, Melu punched and scratched at the arm that held her to the wall. But Boikis was strong. Finally, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and her body went limp.

  She stopped fighting.

  Stopped kicking.

  Stopped moving.

  Though it was only a short time, Melu was his friend. A woman who know what it was like to be trapped, to want to escape. She’d offered her help and her friendship, and what did she get in return?

  Dead, Kiln thought. Just like Lucas. And it’s all my fault.

  Boikis released her then, her body collapsing to the floor.

  He turned to Kiln.

  “That will cost you. No food for Nadira tomorrow.”

  Namic and Etree let go of Kiln, moving to drag Melu’s body into the closet.

  Kiln couldn’t tear his eyes from her body.

  Two dead because of me.

  “Hey!” Boikis sent a hard slap across Kiln’s face. “Look at me. No more secret meetings. No more indiscretions. I’m watching you, Kiln. My eyes and ears are everywhere. This time, it was this ration. The next time, I will rip out Nadira’s throat with my bare hands. Do you understand me, Kiln?”

  The slap had stung, bringing Kiln to full attention.

  The tears stopped flowing.

  He was no longer sad.

  He was furious.

  He took a step toward Boikis and, for the first time, saw something in the man’s eyes he’d never seen before.

  Fear.

  Something flashed in his palm, and, for a split second, he felt it.

  The heat from his toma.

  “Do you understand me, Kiln?” Boikis’ hand moved toward the gun at his hip.

  Kiln didn’t reply, only stared daggers at Boikis. His hands shook at his side. What he wouldn’t give to wrap them around Boikis throat and add another body to his already rising body count. His muscles tensed with built up rage.

  Only one thing held him back from tearing these men apart.

  Nadira.

  “I will convince the king, Boikis,” Kiln said. “And, when this is all done, I will come for you.”

  Boikis smirked, though his hand never left the Martian rifle at his side.

  “Those are big words coming from a slave.”

  “No. Not a slave, Boikis. A Prince.”

  Etree and Namic looke
d at each other, and took a step toward the door.

  Boikis gave a mocking nod in Kiln’s direction.

  “My Prince.” He said. “We will be back in a little while. Praxis is missing a tattoo, or two.” He took three steps back toward the door, and the three men fled the room.

  The instant the door shut, Kiln gave his rage full reign. He destroyed anything and everything in his path. The only thing left, the only sacred place, was the comicore. His view screen to his beloved.

  When he was done, he crouched in the middle of the floor, his head in his hands. A headache had formed in the back of his eyes, its slow throb makings its way to his brain.

  Anger, guilt and claustrophobia clawed their way through him.

  He had to get out of here. If not off this planet, at least out of this room.

  Swinging the door open, he marched down the grey concrete stairs, and down the dreary hallway. In moments, he found himself walking across the walkway toward the courtyard. It was mostly a square, grassy field, perfect for war games practice.

  This planet was made for men. There were no beautiful parks, no benches to lounge on, no fountains to admire. Everything had a purpose. Everything was functional, built for use.

  It was a good thing.

  A man didn’t want to admire a beautiful flower when he was angry. He wanted to punch something.

  Kiln made his way to the side of the field. He knew exactly what he wanted, and smiled when he found it.

  A punching bag.

  He would imagine that it was Boikis’ face.

  The thought made him giddy, and, when he arrived, he reared back his fist, throwing everything in his body behind it. The bag danced at the impact. A little bit of the rage within him drained.

  He punched it again, and again. Each punch taking a bit more out of him.

  “What did your father do this time?”

  The light voice came from his left, and Kiln looked up at the person who dared interrupt his imaginary assault.

  A woman, tall, lean, and beautiful walked toward him. Though she was older, in her sixties perhaps, her blonde hair hung long and straight down her back. She didn’t wear the skimpy outfits that the other women wore. Every inch of her between her neck and her ankles was covered in a soft, blue dress. Her sharp, blue eyes reminded Kiln of his own.

  Kiln took a step away from the punching bag and wiped his sweaty head with his black shirt.

  “He can be a handful,” she said, not stopping her approach until she had come close enough to touch one sweaty cheek.

  Her voice was familiar, like a forgotten memory surfacing.