by S. J. Bryant
Aart worked as if his life depended on it and then took his full basket over to where Gin stood, slumped against the side of the deposit bin.
"You're working late too?" Gin said between wheezing breaths.
"Not exactly. I figured you could use some help."
Gin raised an eyebrow.
Aart held out his basket. "Extra. So you can make quota."
"You'd do that? What's the catch?"
Aart leaned the full basket against the side of the deposit bin. "Information."
"What kind of information?"
"The shed."
"Oh no." Gin held up his hands. "I can't tell you about that. Besides, I have a feeling you'll find out soon enough."
"I'm looking for someone; she was taken to the shed. I need to know what it is."
"I can't tell you."
Aart sighed and tilted his basket so that it threatened to topple and spill the locusts across the ground. "You're serving prison time here. What happens if you don't make quota?"
Gin swallowed. "They add two days to my sentence."
"Two days?" Aart said. "Worse than people who are on a normal contract then."
Gin nodded.
"It'd be a shame to let this harvest go to waste."
"Please," Gin said. His swollen eyes glanced down at the tilted basket and then at Aart. "If you don't need it, just let me—"
"Just tell me what I need to know. I won't tell anyone you told me."
Gin bit his lip. "If Cole found out…"
"What? Could it be worse than how you are now?"
"Probably."
"Those are your options. Two extra days here, or you answer a couple of simple questions."
Aart hated himself. He could see the desperation on the boy's face, but steeled himself. If he wanted to finish his job and get off the planet then he needed the information. Besides, it wouldn't hurt Gin to tell him.
"Well?" Aart said, tilting the basket further.
"Fine! I'll tell you."
Aart righted the basket. "Good. Do you know a woman named Delia?"
Gin winced.
"You do."
"She used to work this field."
"And then?"
"And then she got taken to the shed. But she didn't come back."
"What is the shed?"
Gin sighed. "It's a fighting arena. The enforcers… they pit workers against each other."
"They what?"
"Fights! Illegal fights! That's where I've been."
"But—" Aart struggled for words. "Why do they need fight rings? And who would fight in them?!"
"It's not like we're given a choice! It's fight or die."
"They just take people from the fields?"
"People who they think can fight, who will make good entertainment. The enforcers make a killing from it, betting, charging entry."
"Does the owner of the plantation know?"
Gin shrugged. "Probably not. I've never seen him there."
"They took Delia to fight?!"
"Yeah. She was tough, like Zap. Zap and Fillup get taken all the time."
"Their bruises…"
"Yeah."
"So what? They took Delia to the shed, then what?"
"I don't know. We never saw her after that."
"But they brought you back."
"Not everyone survives the shed."
Aart shook his head. "No, that's not what happened."
"I don't know what happened; I'm just telling you what I saw. Now, please. Can we go inside?"
"Yeah, you go." Aart handed him the basket full of locusts.
Gin deposited the load and then hurried into the wooden building. Aart stayed outside in the shadows.
An illegal fight ring. It made sense; the enforcers had control over every bit of the workers' lives and if they could make extra money off it as well… But where did that leave Delia? If she had been killed in the ring, wouldn't they have told her father? Surely they would have at least told him she died in a field accident.
A cool breeze rustled across the field and Aart rubbed his arms. Where did the new information leave him? If he was going to finish his job, then he had to find Delia—and that meant going to the shed. But an illegal fight ring was exactly where he didn't want to go.
If the owner of the plantation didn't know about the fights, then perhaps he'd stop it if he found out. If Aart could just get a message to him… But how? Aart didn't even know his name, let alone have any way of contacting him.
But Delia's father said that she'd been contacting him every week… so there had to be a way to get messages out.
Aart pushed away from the deposit bin and marched into the wooden building. The others sat inside eating bowls of gray mush. Gin didn't meet Aart's eyes and instead stared down at his spoon.
"How do I contact someone outside?" Aart said.
"What?" Cole said.
"I want to contact someone outside, a friend. Is there a communicator somewhere?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Cole said. "You can't contact the outside, that's part of your contract."
Aart frowned. "But a friend of mine was calling her dad…"
"I don't think so," Cole said.
"She said—"
"There's no way," Cole said. "She couldn't have smuggled a communicator in and there aren't any here she could have used."
Aart faltered. How had Delia been contacting her father? Did she find a way to steal a communicator? Was that why they took her to the shed and she never came back?
He shuffled to the sink and got himself a bowl of gray gruel but didn't eat it. Uneasiness settled over him and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Not only was there something more to Delia's disappearance, but Aart couldn't get any message to Tyra to ask for help.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next day Gin's face wasn't quite as swollen and he stayed away from Aart. Aart didn't mind, he needed time to think, to plan his next move. All of his muscles ached from the furious harvesting he'd done the day before, and his chances of making quota looked worse as the day wore on.
The bell on the wooden building rang.
Aart turned to face it, frowning, it was only noon. Cole gestured him to come toward the deposit bin, and the other workers were already hurrying over. Aart jogged toward them. His basket smacked against his back with each step, but he'd nearly filled it and didn't want to risk putting it down where it might spill.
"In line," Cole said.
The others made a neat line in front of the bin. Aart stood at the end, beside Gin.
"What's going on?" Aart said.
"Silence!" Cole's eyes flashed. "Not one word until I say."
Voices came from across the field and three figures came into view; two enforcers and a man in a Confederacy uniform. He had gray speckled hair and walked with the upright march of a soldier.
Aart's eyes widened and he had to bite his lips to stop himself from asking more questions. This had to be the Confederacy officer who owned the plantation. This was the man who supposedly knew nothing about the illegal fight rings, or the way the enforcers really ran things. If that were true then Aart had to tell him, the bloody patch of dirt where Charl had died still marked the ground not two yards from where he stood.
The general stopped in front of the line of workers and the enforcers stood just behind him.
"Overseer Cole," the general said.
"General Haige, good to see you again."
"Yes, well it's been a while since my last inspection and I'd heard this field has suffered more than its share of accidents."
"Yes, sir."
Haige pulled a screen from his belt and read over it. "What happened two days ago? I've got a report here of a fatal accident of a new worker."
Aart's eyes bulged. This was it. This was their chance to tell the general the truth and set things straight.
"A tragedy," Cole said. "But an accident. I'm afraid the boy got his arm stuck in the deposit bin. He was dead befo
re we could pull him free."
"What?" Aart said, stepping out of line.
Cole glared at him.
"General—"
One of the enforcers stepped forward and slammed the butt of his rifle into Aart's stomach. Aart doubled over, couldn't breathe, let alone talk.
"Whoa, Gerald, I'm sure there's no need for that."
"Sorry, sir," the enforcer, Gerald, said. "I just can't stand insolence."
"The boy's probably just in shock," Cole said. "Not that that's any excuse of course, but it was a bloody and traumatizing accident."
"Of course," Haige said. "Should this one be on bed rest? A reduced quota?"
"I don't think that will be necessary."
"Very well, you're the overseer, I trust your judgment."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"And what happened to him?" Haige gestured at Gin's bruised and swollen face.
Aart gripped his stomach and tried to talk but he still couldn't breathe properly and Gerald stood right beside him, rifle ready.
"Accident, sir," Gin said.
"He's so clumsy I'm impressed he doesn't kill himself getting out of bed," Cole said.
"I think I nearly did." Gin gestured to his face and then smiled, but with his swollen face it turned into a grimace.
"I trust the medic saw to you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, I'm not paying the man for nothing, after all!"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, everything seems to be in order here. I'm sorry about your loss yesterday. Do you think the deposit bins need more warnings?"
"No, sir," Cole said. "The danger is clear. Yesterday was a freak accident; I don't think any amount of signs would have stopped it from happening."
"Very well, carry on your good work, Cole. We'd be lost if you ever decided to leave!"
"Thank you, sir, you're too kind."
General Haige turned and stomped away from the field. The enforcers fell in behind him but Gerald took the time to give Cole a significant look and gestured at Aart. Cole nodded.
Aart finally managed to get his breath back and stumbled after Haige. He just had to get the words out before the enforcers could react. Haige seemed like a reasonable man; surely he'd listen. Aart drew a deep breath to shout after the general when fingers snapped around his throat and jerked him back.
He gargled but no air went in or out.
Cole loomed above him, hands around his throat, but he didn't look at Aart; his eyes were locked on the distance, the way Haige and the enforcers had gone.
Aart scrabbled at Cole's fingers. In a normal fight, Aart would have easily overpowered the older man, but he'd been taken by surprise and now his head spun from lack of oxygen. His vision shrank to a dark tunnel.
Cole shoved him back and Aart fell to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs.
"Are you deaf, boy?" Cole said. He drew back and slammed his boot into Aart's side.
Pain exploded through Aart's ribs and he curled into a ball.
"Do you know what the enforcers would do to me if they thought I wasn't keeping you all in line? How do you think I would go in the shed?"
Aart blinked and groaned but hadn't regained enough consciousness to reply.
"I should get the enforcers to shoot you now and save myself any future trouble."
"Cole—" Jen said.
"No! The rest of you back to work, now. I'll deal with this."
Aart heard shuffling footsteps and was vaguely aware of figures moving away from him until there was just him and Cole.
Cole knelt on the ground beside Aart's head. Aart flinched away but Cole buried his fingers in Aart's hair and held him still.
"I'm only going to say this once more," Cole said. "No more questions about the shed or anything else. No more talking back to me, or the enforcers, and if you ever try something like that again, I'll make sure you're dead by nightfall."
Aart drew a rasping breath. "But if he knew, he could change things. Why are you siding with the enforcers?"
"I'm not siding with anyone; I'm looking out for myself. Do you think you're the first one who's had the bright idea of taking on the enforcers? Let me tell you, boy, it never ends well."
"But the general is in charge. He could order them to stop the beatings, make sure we get medical help… he could have saved Charl!"
"No. Because you'd have to convince him that what you're saying is true, and what evidence do you have? None. It would be your word against the enforcers and they would make sure you had an unfortunate accident before you could find proof."
"No, there has to be a way."
"There's not. Like I said, I'm looking out for myself in all this, and if you cause trouble while you're under my watch, I could get punished for it. So stay in line!"
"I—"
"This is your last chance. You stay in line, you do as you're told, or I see that an enforcer takes you into the field and shoots you in the back of the head. Do you understand?"
Cole's grip on Aart's hair tightened. "Do you understand?"
"Yes! Yes, I understand."
"Good." Cole threw Aart's head back and stood. "Now get back to work."
Cole's footsteps scraped on the gravel, leaving Aart alone on the dirt. He dragged himself to a sitting position and rubbed his aching ribs and stomach. He didn't take off his overalls, but he could imagine the giant bruises that would already be spreading across his abdomen.
He winced as he stood and had to lean on his knees to stop himself falling over. He caught sight of his basket; he'd dropped it when he'd gone to chase after the general and it had toppled. Locusts dotted the ground all around it but most of them had flown away.
Aart groaned and righted the basket but the damage was done. There was no way he'd make quota now, and somehow he doubted that Cole would let anyone help him; that's if anyone was willing. They'd all played along with the lie; even Gin whose face looked like it had been put through a blender. He'd been given a chance to talk; why hadn't he told the general the truth?
Aart tugged his empty basket onto his back and shuffled through the field. He made half-hearted attempts to snatch locusts but if there was no chance of him making quota, he didn't really see the point in trying to catch them at all.
Cole couldn't be right; there had to be a way to stand up to the enforcers. Playing along and lying to the general was not the way to do it. If only Aart had spoken faster… or if he'd run after the general… or if he'd had some way of passing a note. Maybe next time… but how often did the general make inspections? It didn't sound like a common occurrence; he'd only come this time because of Charl.
Aart hung his head. Poor Charl. In a way, it was Cole and all the others' fault that he'd died. If they'd had other chances like today, chances to tell the general the truth and they'd lied… then they were as much to blame for how things were being run as the enforcers.
That made Aart mad and he hurled his basket to the ground. It landed hard and the wicker bent. The lid popped open and the rest of the locusts spilled across the ground.
Aart slumped into the dirt and rested his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand. He couldn't make quota so he may as well relax. And those spineless cowards could do whatever the hell they wanted; Aart would make a difference. He'd do something, even if no one else would.
CHAPTER NINE
Aart hadn't said a word to any of his fellow workers since the day before and the incident with the general. Rage boiled in his chest and most of the locusts he caught got crushed in his fist. How did Cole, Gin, and the others expect things to get better if they didn't fight for it? It made Aart's stomach turn; cowards, the lot of them. As soon as he found Delia, he'd leave Raster and to hell with the rest of them.
"You Aart?"
Aart glanced up at the new voice, an enforcer, as he hurled another locust into his basket.
"Well? Are you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Come with me."
Aart glanced over his sh
oulder at Cole and the others but they dropped their gazes back to the locusts and wouldn't meet his eyes. All except Drax, who grinned at him from across the field.
"Don't make me come and get you."
Aart lowered his basket to the ground, but kept it upright so the locusts wouldn't spill out, and trudged to the enforcer.
"Can I help you?"
"Shed."
Aart's eyes narrowed. The day after he tried to speak to the general, he suddenly gets summoned to the shed? That was too much of a coincidence. His hands clenched into fists but the enforcer had a plasma rifle slung across his back.
Aart forced himself to breathe, even though it felt like his fellow workers had plunged a knife into his back. Wasn't this what he'd wanted anyway? This was how he found out more about Delia.
"Okay," he said, voice trembling.
"Good. Don't cause trouble and I won't have to beat you."
"Sounds fair."
The enforcer turned and marched away from the field, Aart following behind. He had to act like normal; he couldn't cause more trouble. "So… the shed, huh? What's happening there?"
The enforcer glanced at him. "Heard you're a hunter. You should be right at home in the shed."
Aart blanched. He'd only told one person he was a bounty hunter, Drax. The enforcers might have found out another way—searched his ship perhaps, but that didn't seem likely. On the other hand, Drax ferreting out secrets about his fellow workers and feeding them to the enforcers sounded exactly right. He'd told Drax he was looking for Delia. What if the enforcers found out about that too? Would he be in trouble?
He kept his doubts to himself and followed the enforcer out of South Field A and along a dirt track. Ten minutes later, they came to a long, tin shed with locks on the doors.
"Remember what I said," the enforcer said. "Don't make trouble and I won't have to hurt you."
Aart nodded.
The enforcer unlocked the door and led the way inside.
Bright light spilled through the doorway into the dark room beyond. Dried pools of blood dotted the dirt floor. A thick rope cordoned off a square in the middle of the building and curtains hid the far end. A strong smell of stale booze and blood filled the hot air inside but at least the tin walls helped dull the buzzing locusts.
