The Valley of Despair

by Chris L. Adams

nearly kicking a man half to death. He stabbed an accusatory finger at Erik who had been tied to a whipping post.

  “This man had the indigestible gall to accuse us of Deneb of being somehow related to you of Earth. Lest any think to follow in his footsteps that one had best consider what follows. Lafalldor!”

  Tied to a post constructed in the past for just this purpose Erik now found himself on the business end of a beating to end all beatings. With a leather, multi-tipped whip, the ends of which were embedded with bits of metal and volcanic glass, they flayed and lacerated his back until consciousness passed from him. Dimly to his ears came the cries of outrage and cursings from the mouths of the gray monstrosities whom he now truly knew to be beasts of the most debased kind.

  Although he only barely heard it for it was nearly drowned by the angry shouts of the Denebians were also cries of anguish and importunities for mercy - outpourings in a voice he knew now as intimately as he did his own - a sweet voice that belonged to Peenemünde; but her supplications were destined to be ignored. Her words, rather than softening the hard heart of Garmakalok instead caused him to stride instantly to her side where he backhanded her to the stone flags of the city square.

  “Spineless vermin!” Garmakalok scoffed savagely at the shrinking girl. “It is only by the firm administrative hand of rule that slaves hearken to their station. Mercy breeds insubordination and has no place in society; and lack of respect for one’s betters must be remunerated in kind – and that by suffering of the most virulent type possible!”

  At last merciful providence caused Erik’s senses to blacken. Only after his body fell limp did the debased creatures cease their efforts. They commanded two human slaves to lift the body and carry the man back to his cell where he might recover from his ghastly wounds.

  Begging to be allowed to bind his flayed flesh, Peenemünde, at last granted permission to do so, followed them - her face stinging from the merciless blow she received from Garmakalok, her mind numbed and her thoughts leaden by the awful act of violence, perpetrated as it had been upon one for whom she now realized she loved.

  09: A Desperate Plot

  Erik von Mendelsöhn never knew exactly for what length of time he lay in his cell after suffering that terrible thrashing.

  He had been nearly kicked to death and then scourged by the whip, with the entire city called out for witness to set an example of what befell those who dared insult the masters. In terms of time on the outside world it might have been weeks he lay recuperating.

  In the beginning Peenemünde was permitted to nurse his wounds, rubbing a Denebian salve into the lacerations which probably saved his life, the medicinal a product of the gray-backs’ strange world and the arcane science of the wise among them. But near the end of his convalescence his cruel taskmasters refused him any further such aid so that the man found he must succor himself – tend to his own injuries and mop his own brow. His back would bear the scars of his beating for the remainder of his days.

  Finally they deemed him well enough to return to the mines, beginning anew the daily drudgery of cutting jewels and valuable metals from the stony underlayment beneath the city to enrich the most debased race that tread the surface of any planet in the known cosmos. At last, they were as far as Erik was concerned.

  Argos had not been permitted to visit Erik during his convalescence so he was eager to speak with the pilot. When he did he was surprised at the changes he saw in the younger man now. Whereas before Erik seemed to have accepted his plight of captivity, speaking often and happily of the moments he spent with Peenemünde, he now seemed filled only with bitterness.

  Often he wouldn’t speak at all, working an entire shift in silence, remaining mute during their rest periods and shrugging off any attempt on Argos’ part at conversation. When he did speak he showed interest in one topic: escape.

  Argos understood the feelings of bitter hatred consuming every thought of one who suffered the type of savagery Erik had undergone, and knew well the hopelessness generated by captivity. He had himself spent a great deal of his life being held captive by one race or another for their amusement or benefit. He’d sought to prevent the risk Erik took in his failed attempt to secure freedom for them all so when Erik determined to escape Argos decided the man would not stand alone this time.

  As devilishly cruel as were their masters, so Erik became devilishly crafty in his inner workings – plotting the downfall of these monsters, and crafting an escape from this valley of despair as he’d come to think of this dreadful place. Together he and Argos lay the groundwork of a rebellion with Argos carrying word to others he trusted, men at whose sides he’d labored for what unknown length of time he would never know.

  “Are you afraid, Erik?” Argos eyed the younger man as they spoke of their plans. Since Argos threw in with him in planning an escape the pilot had become galvanized once again, seeming more like the old Erik Argos knew.

  Erik sat, his back to a mine shaft, staring at the dusty, rock-strewn floor. “I’m terrified,” he admitted.

  He looked at his friend. “But fear is only an emotion, and one which I am master of, not a servant to. The sensation will make me cautious, and careful, but it will not sway me, Argos. In fact it is what spurs me to act because I’m determined I will not live forever in fear and slavery. None of us will. This has gone on long enough. It has to end.”

  Argos nodded his head. “It has to end.”

  Erik spoke to Peenemünde of his intentions, thinking initially the girl might beg him not to make such an attempt for fear of reprisal. But in this he was wrong, finding in the girl a form of obstinacy he never dreamed could exist in the frame of one who, on the surface, appeared so delicate and fragile. He hated to involve her in the actual bid for freedom but she had knowledge they intended to put to good use; she knew where lay the entry to the gateway.

  The bulk of the duration they spent planning was to give Argos time to feel out his conferees. Their strategy was relatively simple and needed no protracted planning to work out the details; soon the moment arrived to act. It was useless to wait for nighttime here as evening came and passed in a very short time within the sphere of influence of Deneb, causing the sky to have a strange flashing effect to which Erik never quite grew accustomed.

  At the mid of an agreed on cycle he would meet Peenemünde near her rooms at the palace. At the top of the same cycle, Argos and the others were to attack the Denebian forces and then begin making their way toward the front gate, ushering as many slaves along with them as possible. Erik hoped a half cycle (a cycle being a time period used by the Denebians) was enough to complete the task he’d set himself. If he were not successful then neither he nor Peenemünde nor Argos nor anyone for that matter would be passing through that gate.

  For weapons the miners smuggled iron bars out of the mines at high risk. If they were discovered with these in their possession it would mean death by torture, the preferred method of the gray-backs. For nothing one might say could possibly explain the presence of implements that would have all the earmarks of weaponry in the eyes of the masters.

  And for Erik the pry bar was a necessity as well to escape his prison. Of all the prisoners he alone was chained by the neck in his cell, a continuation of his punishment meant to frighten the others into submission. By means of the bar he’d pilfered from the mine he was able to pry loose the chain attaching his neck to a bolt and circle in the stone floor of his cell.

  The resultant pop terrified him for a moment, fearing recapture as it would mean the end of any chance of escape for them all. But it wasn’t for himself or the others that he feared but rather it was for Peenemünde, the girl at whose feet his heart now lay. Having freed himself from the floor he paced to a position just to the side of his door, which was unlocked, and waited with his bar poised to strike. No one came to investigate. Emboldened, he slipped from his cell.

  The loose ends of chain he had wrapped about his waist and crisscros
sed over his torso so that it did not drag the stone flagging with which the city was paved. Swiftly and quietly he made his way toward the palace where he was to meet the German lass. He’d long since sworn that, for all his love, their bliss would not be spent in slavery. He’d now taken the first step on the path toward keeping that oath.

  Desperately hoping they were not committing folly yet committed to what must follow, he slunk along the ancient paths of the inner city, knowing the moment drew nigh when Argos and his men would pour from their cells and attack the various points where were quartered the warriors of Deneb. He must hurry.

  As he passed a street entry that led to one of the mines - the very mine, in fact, in which he had that very day labored - he heard the approaching voices of two of the gray fiends. The fact they joked about the beating he received weeks before did not disturb him; but when one casually suggested they pay him a visit in his cell and give him a few more kicks he saw he must interfere lest his absence be discovered.

  One iron bar he propped against the side of a building in the alley in which he sought refuge. He had taken two of the utensils so he might arm the girl if a more fitting weapon for her was not forthcoming. With the other one in hand he