Heavy boots clanked next to him and the ship’s control panels rushed up to hit his nose. Rork crumpled to the floor, looking up at his brother. Another good man, deep down. But why was he doing this? How did he fall this far?
Jord jerked his body forward and a boot struck Rork at the waist. The sharp threads of electric pain shot up his back and down his legs. He rolled over from the force and crawled back towards Mary Ellen, one arm, then the next.
Mary Ellen reached for him, her eyes red, her face wired and dark.
He steeled himself and rolled away from Jord. Another kick came but Rork only felt the wind from it.
Jord put too much effort into his failed assault. His foot led him too far up into the air. He lost his balance and fell onto his back, the metal deck plates clanging as they rose up, fell back down and rearranged themselves.
“Cut the horseplay!” their old man screamed. He looked back at them. “Grow up already.”
Rork guided himself up against the bulkhead wall next to Mary Ellen. “Luna City, Dad? You okay with that? You remember a woman named Dalrymple? Your boss just had her killed.”
Jord picked himself up off the floor with a low groan and hobbled over to his father. He whispered to him.
Rork strained to hear but his ears caught nothing.
The old man waved him away. “You’re just like her. You two weren’t made for this system. This is a hard place. A man has to do hard things to survive. Unless he, or she, is a Barbary.” He edged a glance at Mary Ellen.
“Dad!” Rork yelled. “Why are you doing this? Barbary is our enemy. Barbary stole from us. He stole from our customers. He killed mom!”
The old man swiveled up fast from his seat. “Take over.” He strode at Rork and squatted down in front of him.
Rork studied him. He was in good health. Much better than what Rork remembered.
“You don’t know what happened,” the old man said, his index finger wriggling a millimeter from his son’s nose.
“Tell me.”
The old man looked down. “You weren’t there. You were out trying to sell stale crackers to a mining colony. You don’t deserve to know.”
“You told me I needed to be more independent. You told me to open new markets. I had to prove myself, you said.”
He sneered at his son.
“I did what you told me! And I came back as soon as—”
“That’s why you’re weak. You don’t deserve to live. You’re not strong enough for this life.”
“He killed your wife! The love of—”
“I killed her!” Band leaned in towards Rork and placed one hand on the wall next to him. The other he wrapped around his son’s throat. “I ended her infinite worrying! And I’ll put you down the same way!”
His father’s grip was steel. Rork grabbed at the constricting hand and pulled at the fingers. He opened his mouth wide and pulled hard for air but none came. The edges of his vision blacked out. He swiped a hand at his father but the old man evaded it.
“Let him go!” Mary Ellen stood next to the old man, her gentle fists making contact with his cheek and ear.
Rork startled back to consciousness. How much time had passed? Was he dead? He raised a fist and hit his father square in the nose.
The old man released his grip on Rork’s neck, stood up and grabbed Mary Ellen’s. “I’ll snap it!”
Rork took in breath in huge gulps, his lungs straining against his bruised rib cage and spine. He leaned forward to stand up and collapsed backwards again.
“Dad, he wants her alive,” Jord said from the console. “And we’re three minutes to touchdown.”
The old man released her and she fell to her knees, her bountiful breasts bouncing in and out.
“Bag ‘em,” the old man said.
Boots clomped across the deck. Darkness fell over Rork’s eyes. The rough cloth tightened around his neck and panic washed over him. He fought to stand up but rough hands grabbed his and bound them. His shoulders ached and his elbows screamed.
“I want you to see my eyes when you kill me!” Rork screamed, the hot air warming his cheeks.
The whoosh of weapons being drawn from well-worn holsters reached Rork’s ears. Mary Ellen’s cool, thin fingers reached his and grabbed on tight. He squeezed back.
We’re not going to die here. I won’t die like this.
Safeties clicked. The men mumbled. Something cold and hard jammed into Rork’s forehead and pushed his head into the cold bulkhead wall behind him. The rotten metallic smell of blaster plasma tickled Rork’s nose.
“Screw you!” Rork roared, a fire growing in his belly. He struggled with the restraints. I can do this. I can defeat anyone. I won’t go out like this!
The trigger scritched as the unknown man squeezed it and the blaster discharged.
29
“GET TO work you lazy bastard!”
A distant ache nudged Rork’s mind awake. A pitch black gloom enveloped his world. He rolled over, the ground sharp and icy cold beneath him. A fetid odor of dust mixed with old sweat and fresh death charged into his nose. A dozen tiny pricks of light invaded his eyes through the gaps in the fabric covering his head. Then he remembered.
Mary Ellen. Lala. Barbary. Dad and Jord are alive. A thrill animated his gut as he realized he was alive, too. Cold, hungry, aching. But alive. He still had a chance. The raw power of his determination overcame him. He snapped the restraints on his wrists and tensed his abdominal muscles to rise.
That ache came again, this time closer. He struggled for breath and tore at the bag. He ripped it off.
A rag-clad beast stood over him, his mouth open, spittle flying past rotten teeth and empty gums. He waved a black stick over his head and slammed it down on Rork’s knees.
The jet blast of pain fired in his mind and he screamed. He pulled himself back away from the man and steeled himself for the next attack.
“You’re mine now, boy, and you’re going to work or die. Probably both.” He raised the black stick again, his eyes flashing above the ragged scarf that covered his mouth and nose.
Rork shivered and pulled himself up. “Where is this?”
Behind Rork and at his feet was solid rock, mostly smooth but with regular sharp edges. It was laser-cut. The grooves from the industrial light beams ran down a sharp incline to his left into a Stygian hole. Above him, dark clouds obscured a too-small sky.
A line of men passed behind the stick-wielding overseer, their faces gaunt, their heads hung low. Each dragged a small pickaxe behind him. Some had shoes, others wore rags on their feet and still others tread the frozen rock with bare, blackened and bloody feet.
Two flashed their bloodshot eyes at Rork and dove at his discarded black bag. They tussled, each with bony fingers grasping at the other’s eyes and necks. The skinnier of the two, clad in an oversized and well-holed black sleeveless shirt and ragged shorts, landed a fist on the other’s nose. The victor ran ahead to rejoin the rest of the doomed men, his prize intact.
The loser lay on the rock, panting. The stick-wielding man approached him, his club held over his head, then lowered it and extended a hand. The loser grabbed it, pulled himself up and limped after the group.
The stick-wielding man turned to Rork. “I’m Falkov, the superintendent here. I make sure we deliver quota but I’m a settler here, just as you are now.”
“This isn’t a settlement, it’s a prison!” Rork wrapped his arms around his chest and stepped in place. Ice crystals rained down on him, blasting his scalp and cheeks. He wiped them away but the cold crept into his bones and his legs began to shake.
“Barbary has worse places than this.” Falkov nodded towards the mine entrance. “They’ll give you a pickaxe in there.”
Rork shook his head. His eyes bored a hole in Falkov’s green irises, reminding him of Earth and the open fields Lala and he dreamed of making a life in. But that seemed too far away now, too impossible.
“Want to stay out here? Be my guest. This is the hottest
hour of the day. Thirty minutes from now, you’re solid ice.”
“I have to get off of here. Barbary—”
“Barbary has screwed us all. Took our daughters, killed our wives, drafted our sons and stolen our futures. So get in line. Now, go.” Falkov got next to him and pushed him toward the cave entrance. “We eat later. We work now.”
“There was a woman with me.”
Falkov shrugged. “Either dead or in his breeding program, like all the rest.”
“Where is the spaceport? It can’t be far.”
Falkov shook his head, skeptical. “It’s a one-hour hike for the strongest man during the warmest thirty minutes of the day.”
“I can do it. We can do it together.”
“Impossible. Now move.”
Rork took a reluctant step towards the hole. It better be warmer in there. His stomach growled. His knees and torso ached with each step. He was in a race now. He had to get off this rock before he died. He had to do it now before he got any weaker, before he starting consuming his own muscles, before the cold, the dust and the drudgery ate everything he was.
He stopped at the threshold and looked up at the sky. The ice crystals were falling harder now and the wind blew them into complex spirals above him. The tiny shards jammed into his eyes and he closed them. Falkov pushed him in and his stride shortened as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
A sharp double beep came from his left and a screen illuminated. Falkov strode over. “Accept.”
Barbary’s pockmarked face appeared on the screen. “Put him on.”
Falkov turned to Rork, his eyes sympathetic, his mouth tense.
Rork straightened his back and strode over to the screen, waves of cold rippling across his tight chest. He was frowning. He had to fix that. Barbary couldn’t think he was defeated. He wasn’t. He reached the screen and searched Barbary’s gloating eyes for weakness.
“I’m going to kill you,” Rork said.
“That’s what I like about you, Rork. That pride.” A grin crept across his enemy’s face.
Fear slithered into his heart. What if he never got out of here? There had to be a way, but what if there wasn’t? He never gave up, but he’d never faced something like this before. Where was this place? Mental strength depended on physical strength and they were taking his physical strength. His spirit was strong but Barbary was testing his body now. His resolve slipped away from him.
“This is your chance to beg,” Barbary said.
“This is your chance to grovel, Gamil. Release Lala and I will only kill you. The rest of your clan can live on.”
Barbary threw his head back and opened his mouth, revealing a perfect set of gold-encrusted teeth. His cackling scratched at Rork’s rigid eardrums.
The screen image changed. Moans and sharp screams rattled forth into the echoing cave mouth. A new energy coursed through Rork’s body from toes to fingers and to his ragged scalp.
Men roamed the large room. They were naked, their bulging, hairy chests and snaking arms reaching, gyrating, pushing, pulsing against females held face down in transparent boxes.
In the center of the room, impeccably combed bright blue hair hung over a pair of knees brought up against a girl’s face. She hugged her legs against her chest in a corner of the box.
“You trained her perfectly for our breeding program. Submissive, cooperative. Any day now she’ll stop fighting. The boys are going to love her then. Literally.” Another Barbary cackle came through the screen’s speakers.
The blue hair moved and the camera zoomed in. Lala wore dark bruises around her distant eyes. Her face was pale and her cheeks hung too loose.
Rork strode forward and punched the screen. “I’m going to kill you, Barbary. I’m going to make you suffer!”
Barbary’s cackle rose higher and the image of Lala faded from the screen.
Falkov pushed an icy pickaxe against Rork’s bare chest. “Get to work!”
30
“WE’RE GETTING out of here. Pass the word.”
Rork stepped carefully deeper into the mountain, the laser-cut grooves digging into his bare feet. He looked back at Falkov. “I’m serious.”
Falkov shook his head. “Barbary comes back every year and takes a man with him — the strongest, the meanest. They become soldiers.”
“Still slaves. Just more comfortable ones.”
“It’s a chance and every man here knows it. But trying to escape? Your destiny is death. And they know that, too.”
“I make my own destiny. Be ready. Or stay. But don’t get in my way.” Rork continued down the path. It curved and doubled-back, but the descent was unyielding.
He stopped to touch a wall. It was smooth, wet rock. The metallic smell of dust was stronger now. Ahead, a dust cloud hung between two failing wall lights.
Men appeared out of the gloom, harness straps wrapped around their shoulders, waists and even foreheads. They dragged metal boxes behind them filled with rough, silvery rocks.
“We’re getting out of here. Pass the word.”
They stared at the floor ahead of them, their eyes glazed over. Bones poked through papery skin and sweat poured off their bodies.
“New guy,” a strong voice said from below.
“My name is—”
“Here. You won’t live long enough for your name to matter.”
Rork strode down, his eyes narrowed. The gravity of the place, the hopelessness of it, began to weigh on him and he stopped. Every step drew him further from Lala. He didn’t want to go down there. He didn’t want to breathe that dust into his lungs. He didn’t want to meet this man or do whatever task he would assign him. He wanted to be out of here, in the MORF-9 again, with Lala.
His arms wrapped around Lala’s compact body, her breasts pushing into his chest, his shoulders creating a barrier to protect her. The deep tang of her body he drew into his nose. He ran his fingers through her silky hair and reached a hand down to her soft—
“Now, new guy!” A hand reached out of the gloom and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. “You’re taking the boomer down to the end of the line.”
Rork stared at him, trying to recover his dream.
The man pulled him forward and dragged him down the low-roofed trail. The walls narrowed and Rork bumped his head against a ridge in the ceiling.
The strong-voiced man shook his head. “Duck, new guy.”
Rork rubbed his scalp. It was wet. He held his fingers up to a passing light and they shone red. He stopped and ran his hand along his scalp. He touched the gash. It stung and he pulled his hand back, bloodier now.
“Baby need a diaper change?” The strong-voiced guy stopped and looked back at Rork with a disapproving glare.
“It cut me! I need first aid.”
The man grabbed a handful of dust from the floor and slammed it onto Rork’s head.
The impact tore Rork’s swollen scalp further and then the burning kicked in. He leaned forward, swept the dust out of his air with both hands and stomped the ground. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
The strong-voiced man grabbed Rork’s tricep and ran. “We’ve got a short amount of time to get this done and you’re holding me up.”
They rounded a corner, then another. The trail spiraled down at a sharp angle. The light receded. The dust thickened and the artificial lighting grew weaker.
Rork’s eyes burned. He stopped and blinked them, again and again.
“Let’s go, new guy!”
“I can’t— My eyes!” Rork’s breath caught in his throat. His lungs rebelled and he tried to expel the toxic powder. But with each breath he only took in more.
A hand covered Rork’s mouth and nose and he coursed with fear.
“Easy!”
A soft yet greasy rag replaced the hand. Strong hands tied a tight knot at the base of his skull and relatively clean air flowed into his spasming lungs again.
“Come on!” The hand clamped tighter over his upper arm and they proceeded down again. They tur
ned another corner and the trail opened into a wide, rounded cavern.
Floodlights punched through the dust and illuminated the walls. Men paced the floor and waited. A short one, his face caked in dust, approached them.
“Sharp,” the short one said, “three unaccounted for.”
“Dead anyway,” Sharp said.
The short man nodded. “We cleared a path and sunk the shaft. Just waiting on new guy.” He sized up Rork.
Rork opened his mouth to talk and his lungs seized up again. He tried to cough and the cough caught in his throat. He drew breath again and expelled some of it but his lungs were full. He stretched his shoulders out and took more. Finally, the cough came in staccato burps and his lungs refused to take in air again.
The short one nodded at Rork and raised an eyebrow. “Him too.”
“We’re getting out of here. Pass the word,” Rork croaked.
“What?” Sharp said.
“We’re getting out of here. Pass the word!” He coughed then lifted the borrowed rag and dug his finger into his nose. Dust cascaded out and he began to breather easier.
The men laughed and Rork looked up at them.
“You don’t know who I am.” He managed to get the words out between hacks.
Sharp grabbed his arm and pulled him towards a serrated opening in the wall. Next to it sat a cube as wide as Rork’s chest.
“You’re going to take that cube through the path the guys cleared in the rubble. Then you’ll find a shaft. Climb down it with the box and set it gently — I said gently! — on the ground at the bottom of the shaft.”
“What if—” Rork started.
Sharp held up a finger. “Then, if you can, you climb back up.”
“Don’t you have bots for this kind of thing?”
Sharp looked away.
“What if I drop it down the shaft?”
“It’ll detonate and the shaft will channel the force of the explosion into your face,” Sharp said, one eyebrow higher than the other. “Let’s go new guy. You say we’re getting out of here? Well, step one is getting out of that shaft.” He turned and faced the other men. “Let’s go guys, hoof it outta here. We’re on a schedule, two minutes to detonation.” He walked over to the box and smacked a button on the top of it.
Rise the Renegade (Rork Sollix Book 1) Page 16