Last Fight

by S. J. Bryant

  He let out a sigh and waded through the next field, toward the flashing red dot on the tracker.

  A cool wind rustled through the crops and sleeping locusts. They erupted in swarms when he brushed past and then settled behind him.

  The edge of the field loomed ahead, and in the distance, he could see bright lights spilling out of a long, tin building: the shed. Noise echoed across the fields from it. They must have a fight every night. It was a wonder they had any workers left who could still harvest.

  Aart pulled the tracking device out. According to the screen, he was right on top of the flashing red dot. He turned in a tight circle but couldn't see anything except the waving crops and the buzzing locusts.

  He edged forward and the tracker moved away from the red dot. Delia had to be here somewhere.

  He knelt low and studied the ground. Lots of footsteps, some dead locusts. A spatter of blood colored the stalk of one of the plants…

  He frowned and edged closer. Dried droplets stained that stalk, and the ones beside it, like an arc. He followed the blood spatters through the foliage to a dark pool in the dirt.

  His stomach dropped. This was where they'd killed Delia. But there was no sign of a body…

  He brushed his hands over the dirt and something glimmered. He leaned in close and plucked the object out of the dirt. A tracking chip, just like the one he'd taken out of his own neck.

  Delia's, it had to be. But what did that mean? He slumped to the ground and held the chip up to the moonlight. Locusts smacked against his arms and legs, but for the moment, he ignored them.

  If Delia had felt trapped on Raster, like Teak suggested, and she didn't think her contract would ever end then she might try to escape. He would, if he were in the same situation. So she'd come out into the fields, probably at night just like he had, and taken out her chip. But then what?

  The enforcers would have followed her as soon as they noticed her missing the next day. They'd have found the chip, just like Aart had. They hadn't bothered to pick it up, but that seemed typical of the enforcers. Where did that leave them? Where did it leave Delia?

  The whole planet, as far as Aart could see, was all locust fields. Each of them had workers, overseers, and enforcers. There was nowhere Delia could hide and no way to get off planet without being identified. So what did she plan?

  Something rustled.

  Aart froze, the chip clenched between his fingers.

  An enormous rat—bigger than most cats—scurried out of the crops near Aart then disappeared on his other side.

  Aart's racing heart slowed and he let out a nervous chuckle. The wind howled over the fields and he couldn't help a shiver running up his spine.

  He let Delia's chip fall back to the ground and kicked some dirt over it. He then turned back the way he'd come and crept through the fields. He made it back to South Field A as the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon. He ran to the side of the deposit bin, dug up his chip, and tucked it into his pocket just as the door of the hut squealed open and Cole stepped out.

  "Aart?" Cole's voice carried over the field.

  Aart winced. He'd been hoping for extra time to wash his neck, or somehow disguise his bloody overalls. But if he didn't answer Cole now, he'd alert the enforcers and there'd be trouble.

  Aart cast around for anything to help and caught sight of the deposit shoot where Charl had got his arm caught. He bit his lip. It was risky… but if Cole thought Aart had removed his tracking chip it would be worse.

  Aart dashed to the shoot and thrust his hand inside. He stopped just short of the buffeting breeze that warned of the razor sharp blade spinning inside.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. If he went too far he was as good as dead, but he needed blood. Just some.

  His fingers trembled but he forced them forward. The breeze from the blades whipped his fingertips. He moved forward another inch and pain exploded through his hand. The tip of his middle finger tore sideways and knocked his hand away from the blades.

  He fell backward, clutching his hand. Blood spurted out of the ruined mess of his middle finger.

  He groaned, verged on passing out, and clutched his finger to his chest. Blood poured out and soaked his overalls, blending with the drying blood from before.

  Pain throbbed through his whole hand like fire. He groaned.

  "Aart?" Cole came around the side of the deposit bin and fell to his knees at Aart's side. "Jen! We need the first aid kit!"

  Cole grabbed Aart's injured finger and clamped it tight so that the blood flow slowed.

  Aart's vision shrunk to a dim tunnel.

  "What were you doing? You saw what happened to Charl. I can't believe—"

  "Aart!" Jen appeared at Cole's shoulder and fell to her knees. "What happened?"

  "I don't know what the idiot boy was doing."

  Something cold surrounded Aart's finger and squeezed. He let his eyes drift closed; at least if he passed out he wouldn't have to feel the pain any more.

  "Here, it'll help the pain."

  Something pressed against Aart's lips and he drank. It burned his throat, some kind of liquor, but it did help chase away the agony that was his hand.

  "Idiot boy! Anymore and he'd be dead."

  "It's all right, love. We've stopped the bleeding."

  Aart opened one eye, and then the other. A thick, white bandage surrounded the middle finger of his left hand. Some blood soaked through but the worst of the pain had stopped.

  "Thank you," he said. He took three deep breaths.

  "What were you doing?!" Cole said.

  "I just…" Aart winced, buying himself time. "I just… wanted to get an early start on the work."

  "How does that lead to you putting your hand into the bloody chute when you saw what happened to Charl just a few days ago?"

  Aart closed his eyes and bent over his hand. "I—I—"

  "Well?"

  "Don't be too hard on him," Jen said. "We all make mistakes."

  "Not like that. What's wrong with you? Trying to kill yourself?"

  The other workers emerged from the hut and gathered in a circle around Aart.

  "No, I—I was tired. And after the shed… I thought I could make quota by taking locusts from the bin, rather than catching them."

  "You what?" Cole said. "That is the stupidest, most—What about the blades?"

  "I forgot. I wasn't thinking right." Aart kept his head down, bowed over his hand. The story sounded weak even to his ears but it was all he could think of.

  "I can't believe this," Cole said. "You—"

  "Cole," Jen said. "He's had a tough week. I think his hand is punishment enough."

  "Don't think your quota will change," Cole said. "The enforcers don't take stupid as an excuse for not working."

  Aart nodded.

  "And if you think—"

  "It's okay, Cole," Jen said. She laid a hand on Aart's shoulder. "I think he's learned his lesson."

  Cole snorted and stomped away with the box of bandages and first aid supplies.

  "Thanks," Aart said.

  "You take the cake for stupid, love," Jen said. She squeezed his shoulder once and shuffled away, the others joined her.

  Aart used the deposit bin to get to his feet and wavered. He'd lost a lot of blood over the course of the night. He leaned against the bin and took a deep breath. At least in all the confusion, no one had noticed the bloody gash on his neck.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Aart winced as the locust in his hand flapped and its powerful wing caught the top of his injured finger. He hurled the insect into his wicker basket. The best chance he'd ever get to find Delia, her tracking chip, had led nowhere. Black desperation settled on his shoulders and weighed him down. The pain pulsing from his finger and his neck didn't improve his mood.

  "I don't need excuses; I need you to find your tracker! Do you know what those cost?"

  "But—"

  "We've all seen you here; you barely look up from your damn communi
cator. It's that girl on Vix, isn't it? You know she's just stringing you along? That's what they're paid for."

  Aart glanced up to see two enforcers marching toward his field. One he recognized; Jack, the one he'd taken the tracking device from. The other he'd never seen before, but his uniform looked cleaner than most and he had an air of authority. Jack twisted his hands about each other and cowered away from the other enforcer.

  "Maybe if you paid more attention to your job and less attention to that… woman, you wouldn't have lost it."

  "She's not just some woman—"

  The other enforcer rounded on Jack, his nostrils flaring.

  "I mean—I'm sure I had it. It's the worker's fault. I had to tackle one of them when he tried to run away."

  "How many times do I have to say it? I. Don't. Care. Find your tracker today, or you'll be in the shed faster than you can blink."

  All the color drained from Jack's face. "You don't mean that."

  "Like hell I don't. Do you know what people would pay to see the workers beat up one of us?"

  "I'll find it. It's here… it has to be."

  Jack jogged away from the other enforcer and into the field where he'd tackled Drax. He shoved crops and locusts aside, scouring the ground.

  Aart brushed his hand against the pocket of his overalls where the tracking device bulged. It wasn't any good to him now, not that he'd found Delia's chip; on the other hand, it would be nice for one of the enforcers to be sent to the shed for a change.

  He bit his lip and considered his options, revenge would be sweet, but of all the enforcers, Jack was probably the nicest. He left the workers on their own most of the time.

  If Aart pretended he'd found the tracking device it would look suspicious, especially after he'd tackled Drax and been right there when the tracker went missing.

  Jack dropped to his knees and crawled through the crops. They rustled and bounced about, marking his movements.

  "Well?" said the other enforcer.

  "I'm sure it's here."

  The other enforcer stood at the edge of the field and his expression darkened. "Jack—"

  "It's here! I know it is. There's nowhere else it could have gone." Jack's voice cracked.

  Aart ducked below the level of the crops and stared at the ground. If Jack got too panicked he might start pointing fingers and Aart was the obvious choice. Then if they searched him and found the tracker… he had to get rid of it. He cursed himself; he should have got rid of it as soon as he got back to the field after finding Delia's chip. But he'd been in so much pain that he didn't even think about it…

  He couldn't very well drop it where he crouched. Jack had never come this far into the field and they'd know right away that Aart had had it. Aart pulled his basket off his back and flicked open the lid. Locusts bounced around inside.

  He got the tracker from his pocket and then plunged it into the writhing mass of locusts. They flicked and scratched his hand and some latched onto the sleeve of his overalls.

  He pushed the tracker in as deep as he could reach and then tore his arm free. He tried to scrape as many locusts back into the basket as he could and then snapped the lid shut.

  Sweat trickled down his forehead and he glanced over both shoulders before he stood and continued harvesting.

  "Time's up," the second enforcer said. "You're going to the shed, Jack."

  "No! It's here." Jack's head popped up above the crops and his gaze whipped across the field. It landed on Aart. "Him! He was there when I tackled Drax. He must have done something."

  Aart flinched and ducked his head.

  "Don't be ridiculous, Jack."

  "He has it." Jack strode across the field toward Aart.

  Aart took a step back.

  "Stay where you are!" Jack said. He pulled his rifle from his shoulder and held it in both hands. "If you run, I shoot."

  "Jack," the other enforcer said.

  "If he's got nothing to hide then he won't mind me searching him."

  The enforcer sighed and stomped into the field. They both reached Aart at the same time.

  Aart swallowed. "Please don't take me back to the shed."

  "If you haven't done anything wrong, we won't have to," Jack said. "Hold still."

  Aart planted his feet and stared straight ahead.

  Jack ran his hands up and down Aart's legs, torso, and arms. When he finished his face flushed and he repeated the process.

  "Jack…"

  "No! I know it's him." Jack ran his hands over Aart and third time. "Bastard! What did you do with it?"

  Aart didn't reply.

  "You've wasted enough of my time, Jack. We're going."

  "Please, let me have one last look over the field."

  The enforcer rolled his eyes. "Fine."

  Jack ran into the crops and fell to his knees near where he'd tackled Drax.

  "May I move?" Aart said.

  "Of course you bloody can, get back to work."

  Aart shuffled away from the enforcer, toward the deposit bin. He poured his basket in slowly and kept his eye on the opening, when the tracker reached the top he pulled the basket back some so that the tracker clattered to the ground. Aart kicked it a short distance from the shoot, near to where Jack usually leaned against the bin with his communicator.

  Aart finished emptying his basket and trudged back into the field where he resumed catching locusts, neither of the enforcers paid him any mind.

  "That's enough," the second enforcer said. "We've got to go."

  "Please," Jack said. His cheeks glowed red and his eyes shone.

  "I've done all I can. You know the rules."

  Jack bowed his head. "I don't understand. I had it yesterday, I know I did."

  The second enforcer spun and marched toward the deposit bin and the path that led out of the field. He reached the edge of the crops and stumbled.

  Aart held his breath. If they made the connection with his recent visit to the bin he'd probably be sent straight back to the shed, and this time they might let him die.

  "Jack, you idiot!"

  Jack looked up from his feet. "What?"

  "It's right here, you moron!"

  Jack's eyes widened and he ran through the field toward the bin.

  "What do you call that?" The enforcer thrust his finger toward the ground near the bin.

  "It—it's my tracker!" Jack fell to his knees and plucked it from the ground. He cradled it close to his chest. "I knew it had to be here somewhere, I knew it."

  "You idiot, did you even look here?"

  "Of course I did."

  "Not very well, obviously."

  Jack clipped the tracker to his belt and tugged on it, but it stayed attached. "I don't know how it came off…"

  The other enforcer snorted. "You probably took it off without realizing because you were too distracted by your communicator."

  "Maybe, but I thought I looked—" Jack frowned down at the ground and then looked up and scanned the field. His gaze caught on Aart.

  Aart whipped his head away and snatched for a locust, his heart hammered in his chest. Why had he been staring? Idiot! If Jack made a connection… Heat crept across Aart's cheeks but he forced himself not to look up. He couldn't do anything that would raise Jack's suspicion.

  Aart snatched three more locusts and shoved them into his basket. They hit the bottom and smacked against the sides.

  "Just count yourself lucky that you found it, I didn't want to put you in the shed, but you know Mackay's rules."

  A pause. "Yeah, lucky."

  "Come on, we've already wasted too much time. If I'm late for another shift they might put me in the shed!"

  Their boots crunched on the gravel path and then faded beneath the buzz of locusts.

  Aart sagged and allowed himself to glance up. They left the field and rounded a corner, out of sight.

  Aart swiped sweat from his forehead and snatched a locust. He ignored the jab of pain from his finger and tossed it into his basket.


  What had he been thinking? He should have just left the tracker in the bottom of his basket and been done with it. Instead, he'd risked getting caught, and for what? To save Jack time in the shed? Aart was sure Jack wouldn't have done the same if their roles were reversed.

  Idiot! He needed to stop looking out for other people so much and start looking out for himself. This whole job was just another reminder of that. He'd come to Raster thinking that he could be a hero and save Delia, only to find that she'd already rescued herself, or been killed—although Aart didn't like to think about that, and now he was trapped on the hellish planet with no easy way out.

  He'd risked his life to get that tracker, and for what? An injured finger? All the tracker told him was that Delia had taken hers out, or someone had taken it out for her. He was still no closer to finding her, or even knowing if she was alive.

  He hurled another locust into his basket. He needed a plan, or help, because if he had to spend much longer harvesting locusts, he was sure to go mad.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Aart heard raised voices and pressed his back against the side of the deposit bin. Evening light cast purple shadows across the ground and a cool breeze made the crops rustle beneath a flurry of locust wings. He'd thought the other workers had all gone inside, his injured hand had slowed him down and he'd only just made quota.

  "I told you I don't know anything."

  "I'm not an idiot. And I'm not like you; I didn't choose to be here like this."

  Aart recognized Gin and Zap's voices.

  "No one chooses to be like this," Zap said.

  Aart pretended to fiddle with the lid of his collection basket in case they came around the corner.

  "You know what I mean. How long do you have left on your contract? I've got years."

  "I can't help you."

  "I know there's a place. There are too many rumors. I heard them when I got taken to the shed."

  "They're just rumors."

  "Why can't you just tell me? It won't cost you anything."

  "It will if someone finds out."

  "I won't tell anyone."

  "No."

  "Please. Zap, I don't know how much longer I can last here. And if I have to go to the shed again…" Gin's voice cracked and he drew a ragged breath.