by S. J. Bryant
Something crunched and Aart's kneecap slid sideways. Pain encased his leg and his vision turned dark. He swam back to consciousness to find himself screaming.
Blue chuckled. "Not so tough now, are you?"
Blue dragged Aart upright then shoved him across the arena toward Red.
Aart staggered and as soon as his right foot touched the ground his injured leg gave out and dropped him to the sand.
Red snatched the back of his shirt and dragged him up. "Oh dear," Red said. "Looks like you're not doing well."
He threw two quick punches into Aart's stomach.
Nausea twisted Aart's guts and bile hurtled up his throat.
"Your turn," Red said, and tossed Aart toward Blue.
Aart tried to stand, tried to drag his body away from the two men, but he could barely breathe and his leg refused to hold his weight. Purple splotches spread around his knee and his kneecap hovered on the outer side of his leg.
They meant to kill him, he had no doubt, and the crowd wanted to see it. He had to get away. If he wanted any chance of surviving he had to get out of the arena and off of Raster.
Blue grabbed Aart's injured leg by the ankle and dragged him across the sand.
Aart screamed and verged on blacking out. He scrounged the ground and snatched a handful of sand.
Blue twisted him so that he lay on his back. Aart squinted against the bright ceiling lights and could just make out Blue's silhouette.
Aart drew a deep breath and tossed the sand at Blue's eyes.
"Arg!" Blue clutched his face.
Aart rolled, biting his lip against the pain that rocked his leg every time it touched the ground. He tucked his arms close to his body and rolled toward the boundary rope. It passed over his head and he was out, out into the crowd of bloodthirsty people.
"Hey! He's getting away!"
"Someone stop him, I've got good money on this match."
Rough hands clamped on Aart's hips and shoulders. "Where do you think you're going?" Foul breath washed over Aart's face.
"No, please, let me go," Aart whispered.
The person holding him laughed and then rolled him back the way he'd come.
The boundary rope passed over his head a second time and he lay gasping on the sand.
"Where do you think you're going?" Red said.
Aart groaned.
"He got sand in my eyes!" Blue bellowed.
A second silhouette appeared above Aart and then kicked him hard in the side. Agony, so much pain that Aart couldn't breathe, hit him like a thunderclap.
"You good-for-nothing, resource slave!" Blue bellowed and kicked again.
Aart curled into a ball as best he could but his injured leg made it near impossible. A rib cracked. Something hard slammed into his nose and blood poured down his face.
"Kill him!"
Aart had to agree with the voice. He wished they'd hurry up and get it over with because at least then the agony would stop.
They tossed his body around like a limp rag-doll and more of his bones snapped so that his limbs hung at grotesque angles.
"Do you want to finish him off, or should I?" Red said.
"I think we should both do it."
"All right, on three."
"Three."
"Two."
Aart squeezed his eyes shut.
"One."
"That will do." A new voice joined Red and Blue in the arena. Aart thought it sounded familiar but couldn't see anything past his swollen face and aching body.
The crowd booed and hard objects smacked into Aart. More bottles if he had to guess.
"Boss, we're about to kill him."
"I said that's enough."
"The enforcers won't stand for it! He nearly got over the fence. If you—"
"Don't make me repeat myself a second time."
Red and Blue fell silent. The crowd got louder and more violent.
"You and you, take him away, see that he's treated," the new voice said. "You two are going to have to fight each other to keep the people entertained."
"But—"
"Better make it a good one or they'll want one of you dead too."
Rough hands grabbed Aart and lifted him off the ground. They pulled on all his broken bones and he felt as though his body might tear apart. The angry yelling grew louder, surrounded him, then he felt something soft, and the voices dimmed, and he dropped into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Every part of Aart ached, from his eyeballs to the tips of his toes. He shied away from memories of the fighting ring and tried to go back to sleep but his body refused.
He peeled his eyes open. Bright lights burned through to the back of his skull. He groaned.
"Finally awake?"
Aart squinted and could just make out a figure by the side of his bed. Their voice made his headache worse, like sharp spikes plunged into his temples.
"You don't look good."
Aart licked his cracked lips, but didn't risk moving the rest of his body. "Who are you?" His voice scraped in his throat.
"You can call me Jonas. I've been given the job of keeping you alive."
"Some job." Aart drew a deep breath and sharp pain stabbed through his ribs. He gasped. "I don't think it's working."
Jonas chuckled. "We're both lucky you pulled through. I don't know what would have happened to me if you'd died."
Aart tried to reach up to feel his face but found his arms pinned to his sides. His heart fluttered. "What's wrong with my arms?"
"You broke them," Jonas said. "I reset them as best I can. You've been out for a long time though, they might have healed by now."
"How long?"
"Weeks. I thought it better to keep you out; you'd probably have killed yourself from the pain otherwise."
"Weeks?" Aart would have sat upright if he hadn't been strapped to the bed. "But what about my quota? I can't stay here any longer. I've got things I have to do."
"Whoa, relax," Jonas said. "That's the least of your worries right now. You're lucky the enforcers didn't kill you. What were you thinking, trying to get over the fence?"
Aart frowned. His memories kept getting twisted around in his head and pain made it hard to concentrate. "I was trying to escape."
"But you're only on a short contract! Why would you risk something like that?"
Aart kept his mouth closed. He couldn't risk telling this stranger about Delia.
"I see," Jonas said.
"Everything hurts."
"You're probably due for another dose of Parapem. Hold still."
A sharp prick of pain sparked on Aart's arm, followed by chill numbness that spread down to his fingertips and then up and across his body. He sighed and sunk deeper into the mattress. With the pain gone he could finally sleep.
Aart woke to something jostling his side. "What—?"
"Welcome back," Jonas said.
Aart looked down.
Jonas leaned over his body and pealed a tight layer of bandages from Aart's arms.
"How long?"
"Three days since we last spoke… coherently anyway. These should be almost finished. Thank the stars for modern medicine, right?"
Jonas peeled away the last layer of bandage and released the stale stench of sweat and unwashed flesh. Specks of dead flesh coated Aart's arm, which was thinner than he remembered.
Aart winced.
"Don't worry," Jonas said. "They're all like that at first."
Aart breathed through his mouth to hide from the smell. His arm looked like that of a child. How could he be a bounty hunter, or even finish his job finding Delia, if he couldn't use his arm?
"Try lifting," Jonas said.
Aart strained. He managed to lift both arms a few centimeters off the bed before they flopped back to the mattress. Pain shot through them as soon as they hit the bed.
"Ow! What's wrong with me?"
"You've been immobile for weeks. You've lost a lot of strength."
Aart tri
ed again but couldn't get them any higher.
"Don't worry," Jonas said. "Now that you're awake you can have real food. You'll be back up and walking around in no time."
Aart hoped so, but the agony coursing through his body didn't leave him with confidence. "Can I get a message out?"
Jonas frowned. "I don't think so. The enforcers don't like that. Who are you trying to contact?"
"Just a friend. I want to get out of here."
"We all want to get out of here," Jonas said.
They lapsed into silence.
"Better get started on your legs too."
"My legs?" Aart said, stomach clenching.
Jonas peeled off the blanket to show Aart's legs, wrapped in tight bandages just as his arms had been. Jonas unwrapped them and the stale smell intensified.
Jonas tossed the used bandages into a waste basket and went to the wall where he threw open a window and leaned out into the bright light beyond.
"No offense," he said over his shoulder.
Aart shrugged. "None taken, if I could get there I'd throw my head out the window too."
Jonas took three deep breaths and then came back to Aart's side. "Try sitting up."
Jonas braced Aart's back and helped him sit upright and spin his legs over the side of the bed.
Aart grit his teeth. Pain spiked through his ribs and, when his legs flopped over the side of the bed, his knee felt like it would explode. He tried to hold himself upright but his arms hung useless at his sides.
"Wiggle your toes."
Aart did, the tendons stretched and pulled all the way up his leg.
"Now try lifting your legs."
Aart tried, but pain made his vision blackout and he would have fallen if Jonas hadn't held him upright.
"All right, that's okay. It's a start."
Jonas lowered him back to the bed and Aart glared up at the ceiling. An invalid, he was practically an invalid, and he had no way of getting off the planet; in fact, this time wasted would probably see him trapped on Raster for months. He couldn't do that… but he couldn't exactly escape in his condition either.
"Try not to worry," Jonas said. "It seems worse than it is right now. You'll be up in a few days."
Aart closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He couldn't bring himself to make light conversation with Jonas, or let the other man see his desperation. If they'd been on another planet, they might have had better technology. The Confederacy had special microscopic robots that could go inside and heal a person, knitting their bones back together. But all Aart had was some Parapem and a few grafts. He swallowed a burning lump in his throat. It wasn't fair; those bastard enforcers had done this to him, crippled him. If he ever got the chance…
He let out a long breath. He couldn't do anything right now, but the sooner he got better the sooner he could get back to his job and get to work on a plan for revenge.
They spent the next three days in intense physical therapy. Jonas pushed Aart to reach further, to hold more, and Aart did it, and then some. He needed to get his body back; wallowing in self-pity wouldn't get him anywhere. After a solid week, he could stand up and walk on his own.
He shuffled from his bed to the window and looked out over the fields of locusts. The constant buzzing which had almost driven him mad when he'd first arrived had become a constant background noise; he wasn't sure how he'd feel if it weren't there anymore. "Where are we?"
"Not far from the shed," Jonas said. "We couldn't risk taking you far, given the state you were in."
Aart frowned. He thought of Charl and how the enforcer had shot him when he'd hurt his hand. Jen had said that the cost of medical treatment was more than Charl was worth, but then what was Aart doing still alive? "Why didn't the enforcers kill me?"
Jonas joined him at the window and shrugged. "Who knows why the enforcers do anything?"
"But this room, the grafts, you, its expensive."
"Enforcers. What can you do?"
"Who was the man that stopped the fight?"
"Which man?"
"I don't know; I only heard his voice. He stopped the fight, before they killed me."
"I wasn't there," Jonas said. "But it was probably the boss, Mackay."
Aart frowned. "And why are you helping me? Don't you have your own quota to meet?"
"Ah," Jonas said. "I don't have a contract. I'm here on a life sentence, but I have medical training so the enforcers use me for that, rather than in the fields."
"Lucky for me." Aart rolled his shoulders. He'd come to like Jonas over the last few days. The other man was honest, patient, and had helped Aart through the pain. He wanted to know what Jonas could possibly have done to earn himself a life sentence on Raster, but knew better than to ask.
"So you really thought you could escape over the fence?" Jonas said.
Aart glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "How long until I get sent back to the field?"
"Tomorrow probably," Jonas said. "Any enforcer who saw you now would say you're fit enough to be working the fields."
Aart cursed. He couldn't go back to the fields, he just couldn't. Not only could he not face more time spent gathering locusts, but he suspected the enforcers wouldn't take long to find an excuse to shoot him. "Right. And how well guarded are we here?"
Jonas turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Not as well as the fields."
Aart bit his lip. "How much do you like working here?"
"Are you kidding? I hate it here."
"What if I told you I might know a way off of Raster?"
Jonas' eyes bulged. "I'd say you got smacked in the head harder than I thought. Look how well it turned out for you last time."
Aart bit his lip and turned back toward the window. "I heard a rumor. There are others who have gotten away from the fields; they escaped. I heard they're hiding past the south fields. I need to get there."
Jonas staggered back and fell into a chair. "The missing people?"
Aart nodded.
"But we assumed they were killed."
"No… at least not from what I've seen and heard; they're living beyond the fields. They might even have found a way off planet."
"But why would anyone risk that? They all chose to come here, except those of us serving sentences of course, and they can all leave once their contracts are up."
"Really?" Aart said, lifting an eyebrow. "Even if they become favorite fighters in the shed?"
Jonas dropped his gaze. "Well…"
"Exactly. If they feel like they don't have a choice, then they might think it's worth the risk."
"You really think they're there?"
"Yes. And I'm going to find them, tonight."
"What?"
Aart turned to Jonas. "Please, this might be my last chance. Once they send me back to the field, there's no way I'll have another opportunity to get to the fence. I'm looking for someone, and I think she might be living out there."
Jonas studied the ground beneath his feet. "You really think there's a way off Raster?"
"Yes."
"But look at you. If they catch you a second time…"
"I'll be more careful this time. I won't get caught."
"You'll take me with you?"
"Yes."
Jonas bit his lip. "Then I might know a way."
"What?"
"I used to work the south field, before they decided to use me as a medic. There's a segment of fence the lights don't quite reach. If we can get there…"
Aart's heart fluttered. "We can get over."
Jonas nodded.
Aart went back to his bed and lay down. "We should get as much rest as we can. It's going to be a long night."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"What if the enforcers come here looking for us and we're gone?" Jonas said.
He and Aart crouched to either side of the door that led out into the fields. Moonlight filtered through the windows and cast everything in blue. The locusts droned outside, underscored by the occasional cheer f
rom the shed. Orange light poured out of the shed, across the fields.
"You don't have to come," Aart said. "Just tell me where to go. Then if they find you, you can say I overpowered you."
"They'd never believe me."
"I have to do this."
"I know, I know."
"When the next patrol goes past we'll have five minutes to get out of sight. You know which way to go?"
"Yes."
They crouched in silence, each peering over the window sills at the fields beyond.
Aart's heart hammered in his chest. If only he'd had Jonas before, he might have stood a chance of getting past the fence and finding Delia. Then he wouldn't have had to suffer through a beating at the hands of Red and Blue. At least he'd survived, he supposed he had Mackay to thank for that, but then, he'd also heard Mackay was responsible for the shed in the first place, so maybe not.
"There he is," Jonas whispered.
An enforcer rounded the corner of their building and sauntered past the windows. His boots crunched in the dirt outside and the moonlight reflected off his gun.
Aart held his breath.
The enforcer stopped at the other corner of the building and scanned the surrounding fields.
"Come on," Aart said. If the enforcer took too long then they wouldn't have enough time to get away before the next patrol came.
The enforcer spat at the ground and then strolled around the side of the building and out of sight.
Aart sagged and reached for the door. He tugged it open and the lower hinge squealed. The noise broke through the silent night and Aart froze.
Jonas hissed and backed away from the door. "Shut it! They'll come for sure."
Aart stayed crouched in the doorway, ears straining. Nothing.
He let out a long breath and straightened. "Come on, we have to go."
"But—"
"Come on, please."
Jonas glanced back at their room and then slipped through the narrow doorway and into the night. Aart followed and pulled the door shut behind him.
They dashed into the waving crops and crouched down low. They ran like that, bent over, for two minutes. Aart's back ached and the remnants of his broken ribs burned his chest. His knee hurt with each step, what would he do if it popped out of place again? He swallowed and kept going; he couldn't worry about 'what ifs' he just had to focus on the job.
