by Ehsan Ahmad
Just as Dukas shook his head, the lights went out.
It sounded as if he were leaving, but he halted. “At Eight. It wasn’t just the one man given the jolts. They took one in ten from his shift and one in ten from his block. Men and women.”
The sisters went quiet.
“You know that I speak for most here,” added Dukas. “Please, Cerrin. Just think of the rest of us for once.”
She almost always slept well. It didn’t seem to matter what happened in the day; night always brought her relief and rest.
She had slept on the first night news reached her village—talk of lights in the sky and shattering cracks louder than thunder. She had slept on the night her father left to join the warband taking on the invaders and the night when she’d heard he would not be coming back. She had slept the night her mother died, her heart giving out as they were pursued through the forest by the Vitaari and their machines. The only night she had not slept was the one before the final battle, when the invaders had cornered the last of the Echobe. Even though they had prayed to the god of battle for hours, made endless offerings, she had feared even Ikala would not be able to help them. She had not slept then because she had known it would be her last night in the forest.
Cerrin turned over and looked up at the faint rectangle of light coming from the makeshift window. Every day since the river, she had thought of ending it. No one would be surprised, least of all the Vitaari; it was rare for a month to pass without someone throwing themselves down one of the deep shafts. But she couldn’t do that. She had broken enough promises to her mother, especially after her father died.
Live, girl. You must go on. For me, for the ancients, and for all our people.
Cerrin felt the familiar warm surge of hope that somehow always saved her.
4
There were no walls at Mine Three. The buildings and the landing strip had been constructed upon a natural platform that jutted out from the side of Mount Origo. Other than a narrow ridge along which several fatal escape attempts had been made, there was no other hospitable terrain and no usable route down to the ground three thousand feet below. Origo and the lesser peaks that flanked it were freezing in winter and cold for much of the rest of the year. On the rare occasions when the heat of the sun could be felt, even the Vitaari would stop to enjoy it. Sonus had grown up hearing of the mountains in tales of ancient adventurers hunting huge, soaring birds. He had never seen a bird near the place; he occasionally wondered if they had been driven away or had never existed at all. To the Echobe—and some Palanians—the mountain was a sacred place. Origo held no spiritual significance for Sonus; it was just another part of Corvos the Vitaari had defiled for their own gain.
The platform of rock sloped downward and tapered at the bottom. Here the Vitaari had mined out a series of caverns in which to house the workers. Accessed by a rusting stairway that had claimed several lives in the icy months, the caverns were never warm. Though the Vitaari refused to provide the natives with fuel for fires, they had given them hundreds of oversized blankets that just about did the job. Sonus wasn’t sure what the strange material was, but it had a remarkable capacity for insulation.
Marching through the caverns, he saw scores of people sitting wrapped in them or lying under them. As usual, his services were in high demand, and he felt guilty about telling two men that he would have to attend to their portable lights another time. The Vitaari had provided these, too, and though they were durable and effective, everyone wanted the adjustment that only Sonus could effect: varying power.
He was in a hurry because he wanted to catch Karas before he and Qari settled down for the night. She wouldn’t suspect anything out of the ordinary; he called on them regularly. Nodding to a familiar face, Sonus then saw another and hid behind some boxes stacked outside a cavern. Only when Tanus was well past did Sonus continue on his way. The last thing he needed was another confrontation with the man.
Karas’s cavern was one of the farthest from the outside, which meant there was less wind but more of the numbing chill that seemed to radiate out from the bowels of the mountain. Mumbling a greeting to the older couple who occupied the cavern next door, Sonus saw Qari bending over a tub, washing clothes. Karas was sitting on their bed, watching her. He didn’t look particularly pleased to see Sonus.
Qari offered her usual welcoming smile. “Hello.”
They were still a handsome couple—Karas tall and even-featured, Qari red-haired and slender—but there was a weariness in every action and a sadness etched into their faces.
“Evening.” Sonus patted down his thick, brown hair and hovered uneasily near the gap in the barrels that formed the entrance to their dwelling.
“You hungry?” asked Qari.
“No, thank you.”
Karas got off the bed and ran a hand across Qari’s back as he walked up to the barrels. “You all right?”
“Yes. Can I borrow you for ten minutes? Another light needs fixing, and I could do with a pair of steady hands.”
Karas waited for an approving nod from Qari, then followed Sonus back along the passageway. Walking side by side, they watched a family with a boy of about eight arrive at their cavern. Sonus led the way between two dwellings into a narrow fissure where they could talk without being overheard.
Karas stood there in silence, rubbing his brow with a finger. “Those children, are there any younger?”
“Boras’s boy. He’s six. It wasn’t long after he was born that they—”
“I know.”
Sonus felt his stomach turn over as he recalled how the situation had worsened. To begin with, the Vitaari had showed little interest in pregnant women or babies. An early ruling stated that the women could be given lighter duties during the last quarter of the pregnancy and three days with no work on either side of the birth. Other than the governor suggesting that couples try to avoid the situation entirely if possible, the invaders had not interfered.
That was until someone discovered what a Corvosian infant would fetch back on the home world. Aside from fashionable Vitaari families interested in unusual-looking slaves, there were scientific institutes eager to pay well for healthy subjects—for experimentation.
When the next baby was born, the medical officer invited the mother to the infirmary, then took the child and sent it off with the next shipment of aronium. The rumor was that he had done extremely well out of the transaction. The hysterical mother had been killed by guards while trying to get the baby back. No one seemed to know who the father was.
That medical officer had long since been replaced, but there were several more such incidents before the governor acted—encouraging the use of a medicinal root employed in many parts of Corvos as a contraceptive. He made it very clear that this was done to reduce disruption and maintain discipline, not to benefit the workers. If prepared and administered correctly, the concoction was effective. But not entirely reliable.
“We were so careful,” said Karas. “We always did precisely as we were supposed to.”
“She is sure?”
Karas nodded. “Four months. She gets more tired every day. Soon she will show.”
“Has she tried taking more of the root?”
“Of course. Old Marla says that there are chemicals she could drink—to stop it. You could get them for us.”
“That’s been tried before. Remember Seri? She burned half of her stomach out.”
Karas stepped toward him. “What, then? You always have an answer for everything, Sonus. Tell me what I must do.”
“What does Qari want?”
“She thinks we must try to escape. The three of us.”
“You know that’s impossible.”
“Better to die together than…”
“Karas.” Sonus put a hand on his arm.
Though they did not speak of it, they both knew what had happened after the last time a pregnancy had been discovered. The governor had ordered that the unborn
child be terminated and the mother be put back to work the following day. She worked on the night shift and—although Sonus couldn’t remember her name—he knew she hadn’t uttered a single word to anyone since.
“We both know what they’ll do,” whispered Karas. “And you heard about this one that’s coming tomorrow. They’re saying he’s worse than any of them.”
“I will do all I can to help.”
“Thank you, my friend. But it seems the Maker has ignored our prayers. I fear we are beyond help already.”
Sonus did not enter the mountain at all the following day. He was plucked out of the line by Kadessis and sent immediately to the maintenance yard. The cleaning drones were all needed urgently, and Sonus was put to work on a malfunctioning pair with the same navigation problem. He was close to the yard entrance, working unsupervised, and able to observe what was going on. The Vitaari—administrators and guards alike—had seemed unsettled ever since the news of their new leader, but the prospect of a personal visit had even more of an effect.
Every one of them was up and working, including the governor, who seemed intent on inspecting every last corner of the installation. He had already been into the tower when he passed the yard, barking orders at a trio of subordinates. Kadessis was trailing along behind them and glanced briefly at Sonus as he hurried past.
Sometimes they would talk. Kadessis liked to practice speaking trade and was interested to hear Sonus speak of his past. The administrator had been surprised to learn that he was not from this region, that he was a Palanian, from the most advanced of the planet’s peoples. Sonus had been an engineer, working alongside other innovative thinkers on using water and steam to power machines. It had been a glorious period for the Palanians, a time of progress and achievement. During his life, women had been allowed to cast their votes in elections for the first time and inventors and academics seemed to offer something new almost every week. Then the Vitaari came.
Though nothing so overt was ever said, Sonus could tell that Kadessis did not entirely approve of what had been done to his people. Unlike most of the others, this Vitaari was open and curious, a thoughtful individual. Sonus had learned that he was required to complete several years of service for The Domain before embarking on his preferred career. Kadessis wished to be a historian when he returned to the home world.
Sonus was so lost in thought that he now found himself staring blankly at the ground. Shaking his head, he refocused on the green status screen in front of him. He was kneeling beside the egg-shaped drone, one hand holding up the access hatch because they had a habit of closing without warning. He tried to absorb and process this particular combination of error messages. But though he knew enough Vitaari to understand exactly what they meant, he couldn’t arrive at a solution.
He had parted from Karas and Qari at the top of the walkway that morning. She was out of breath, and Karas had to help her up the last section. Sonus could not forget the look on his friend’s face as he watched his wife move into a separate line and walk away.
Sonus tried to apply some logic to the situation. He’d thought they might have a few weeks, but given Qari’s condition, it might not even be that long. The Vitaari were never slow to spot anyone not pulling their weight, especially at the moment. If she were sent to the infirmary…
No. That could not happen. Until they could come up with some-thing close to a solution, they needed to buy some time.
Qari had been assigned to the secondary shaft for several months. She worked there with a clearance team, removing debris that might clog up the drills. It was hard, hot work. If she could be put on a lighter duty, she would at least be spared the strain and the greater likelihood of her condition being discovered.
Kadessis had some sway over work assignments. Twice he had been able to arrange rest days for Sonus when his coughing fits had been at their worst. There were lighter assignments available for the older, weaker females—cleaners and cooks for the tower and the Vitaari accommodation block. Sonus had done endless favors for the administrator—helped him with his equipment, tweaked the heating within his quarters. He felt that he knew him, understood him even. But could he trust him?
Hearing a shout, Sonus looked up. A detachment of twenty guards—about half the total force—had just come to a halt in front of the tower. The Vitaari stood with their arms by their sides, weapons across their chests, as an officer inspected them. The sky was clear, and the sunlight danced off the gleaming weapons and metallic trim upon their dark green uniforms. The officer stopped several times, pointing out deficiencies here and there. Close to the end of the line, he ran his finger along the barrel of one of the guns and showed it to the soldier holding it. The man hung his head in shame.
Sonus glanced up at the sun. Three hours beyond dawn at least and the visitor was expected around midday. He had to get this drone working; he could not afford to displease Kadessis. He rubbed his eyes and looked again at the screen.
The Galtaryax was an old ship: forty-one years old, apparently. There were dark stains across the curved expanses of the gray hull, even the odd dent. The red lettering of the name was patchy and mottled. Inside a nearby vent, an errant piece of cabling stuck up at an unlikely angle.
Turning toward the door, Vellerik was dismayed to see that there was still no sign of Talazeer and his party. Troop Lieutenant Triantaa and the other two soldiers were standing in a line, as quiet and as bored as Vellerik. Administrator Danysaan and Kerreslaa were also waiting in the shuttle attached to the Galtaryax’s side, but nobody dared say anything.
Vellerik kept his hands behind his back and paced along beside the viewport, relieved that at least Talazeer’s tour of the mines was almost over. They had taken in eight installations on the first day, eight on the second; thankfully there were only six left for today. Presumably, the Count felt he had to show his face to his underlings and the natives, but he didn’t seem to grasp the irony of disrupting mining operations while simultaneously demanding an increase in production. At least there hadn’t been any more problems after the incident at Eight. Vellerik had expected the punishment but not that Talazeer would extend it randomly to individuals the offender happened to work and live with. Still, at least he hadn’t killed any of them and the message would undoubtedly spread; it might even prevent further suffering in future. The Count had certainly made an impression.
Vellerik just wanted to get it over with. He didn’t want to see the natives. Not the females and certainly not the children. All he could ever think of was what Seevarta would say. She said young ones were always sweet. Even animals. Even primitives.
He heard footsteps behind him. Military boots, but a light step. Kerreslaa.
“Captain.”
Vellerik stopped but barely turned, making the liaison officer walk around to address him.
“Mine Ten. I know things were quiet when we visited, but this problem with the natives remains. His Excellency is keen to remove any threat to the water supply, and another pipe was attacked only a few days ago. I think the time has definitely come to—”
“I am old, Kerreslaa, but my memory still functions fairly well. You mentioned this matter yesterday. Twice.”
“Yes, Captain, but Governor Sekithis is reluctant to risk his troops that far outside the installation. This is precisely the type of operation that the Colonial Guard is—”
“I suggest you concentrate on your own decision-making rather than mine. For example, the decision not to leave your quarters without removing that unsightly stain from your uniform.” Vellerik nodded at Kerreslaa’s chest.
Aghast, the young liaison officer stared down and pulled the material out to check it.
Vellerik was already on his way by the time Kerreslaa realized there was nothing there. He walked past his men and over to Administrator Danysaan. Though he had little cause to celebrate Talazeer’s arrival, Vellerik had observed with some amusement Danysaan’s response to being rendered virtually redundant.
“Morning, Captain.”
Vellerik nodded. He didn’t particularly like the man, but his regime had at least been consistent; Danysaan had allowed each governor to run his operation as he saw fit. Unless there was a significant fall in production, he seldom intervened. And though he insisted on being notified of every sanction, to Vellerik’s knowledge he had never actually been present to observe a punishment being delivered.
When the guard at Mine Eight had jabbed his jolt-rod into the unfortunate local, the worker had fallen, vomited noisily, then undergone spasms that had lasted for a long time. Danysaan had watched; Vellerik had watched him.
“Hopefully there will be no… unpleasantness today,” said the administrator.
“Hopefully not.”
5
Sonus was the last to join the line. Having repaired the second cleaning drone, he’d then been instructed by another administrator to fix a landing light. Breathing hard, he took his place not far from the low wall that ran along the edge of the platform. Beyond it was a sheer drop into a deep gully perpetually shrouded by mist and shadow. The workers had been assembled in front of the gaping entrance to the main shaft.
The landing strip was needed for the shuttle and—though he had now seen flying craft hundreds of times—Sonus always experienced the same sense of wonder that such heavy vehicles could be propelled into the air and across space. Though he now grasped the basic principles of how the vessels were controlled, the specifics of the engineering remained a mystery, largely because none of the Vitaari he spoke to seemed to know much about the subject. He was just as curious about the combat shells, and their weapons, and their communication technology. But they only ever wanted him to help out with basic maintenance, nothing more.
Now familiar with the flight path, Sonus saw the shuttle before anyone else. It dropped out of the cloudless sky above the plain, then disappeared behind the tower. When it reappeared a minute later—easing in gently over the top of the generator station—the Vitaari all looked up. They were gathered at the side of the strip: the governor, his staff, and half of the guards. The other half had surrounded the workers, but they were watching the shuttle, too.