by Caleb Fast
“It’s marked, boss,” T reports, “We also opened the gas lines in there to make the air worse off.”
“Great,” Clive says with a nod. Looking up to a rusty clock which hung from some scaffolding, Clive continues, “Get all of our people up here soon, in case the kintics get a little curious. I don’t want to risk any of our people.”
“Um, what about us?” T asks, motioning between he and Mav, “We’d be at risk again!”
“Don’t worry about it, you’ll have plenty of time,” Clive says reassuringly.
“Alright,” T says after a sigh. He turns and spins Mav around by his shoulder and briskly walks away as he complains to Mav whom he is nearly dragging behind him, “One of these days I'm going to die from something Clive doesn't want me to ‘worry about’, Mav,”
“Maybe death is something you ought to face bravely,” Mav offers as he slows down to the monotonous shuffling speed of the rest of the prison. After a thoughtful pause, Mav continues, “Yes, fearing death helps us make safer decisions daily, but when the time comes you must be willing to die in order to truly make a difference. Maybe sacrifice yourself to save a friend, or an idea, a movement, anything.”
“I see,” T feigns interest in Mav’s words as he looks back to Clive and rolls his eyes. T and Mav have an odd relationship where one will only half listen to the other in literally every conversation, because they were both from such different worlds that they couldn’t see eye to eye even if they tried. The duo fall silent and disappear into the shadows as a brigade of Triborn’s guards march toward the lift.
“What are you doing in here?” One of the guards demands of Clive and Jenessa.
“Waiting for dinner,” Jenessa states dismissively.
“Not today,” The guard hisses, “Get back to work,”
“No food?” Clive asks as his stomach growls.
“Well, that is what I said,” The guard chides mockingly.
Clive sighs and looks over to Jenessa who is eying him with concern. She knew he already wasn’t well off. Not only had he missed breakfast, he had also given up his meals the day before after two the newcomers both lost their own meals to a hazing ritual Triborn holds for some newcomers. No one was given much food at all, and to miss just one meal could be as effective as a death sentence, and here Clive was without three meals.
“I got some rations hidden down here,” Jenessa whispers to Clive as they slowly make their way back to their work stations.
“I couldn’t,” Clive protests, only partially convinced with his own words. He knew Jenessa had been saving and stealing food for the last few months in what she called her ‘rainy day fund,’ and he didn’t feel like he was in dire enough straits to waste the supply.
“You will,” Jenessa says matter-of-factly.
“Fine,” Clive cedes after a sigh, relieved that he would have at least a little food. Behind he and Jenessa, the lift roars to life to bring the evening shift to the mines to work alongside Clive and the morning shift.
“Why do you think they’re having us work around the clock?” Jenessa inquires as she leads the way back to the shaft she had been working her entire time in Paradise.
“They must have found something…” Clive starts when his heart skips a beat. After a startled gasp, he asks, “Do you think they might have found the seam of diamonds?”
“Oh no,” Jenessa breathes as she shoots an accusing look at Clive, “I’d hope not,”
“Maybe this is all part of Jenniston’s purge?” T offers as he pulls up alongside Clive and Jenessa from one of the countless tunnels that branch off of their usual route.
“Again, I hope not,” Jenessa repeats with a discontent look.
“So, you didn’t tell anyone to meet us at the lift, right?”
“Oh, I thought we were supposed to go there no matter what?” T starts in his trademark wise guy voice. After a laugh, he continues, “Don’t worry, I told everyone to keep their heads down, instead.”
“I’ll fill Dream in on everything when he gets situated,” Clive informs the others as they all make for the break area where there’s quite the commotion going on. As they draw near, they quickly realize the commotion was actually a riot as bloodied inmates stagger down the side tunnel, towards them.
“No more!” One voice cries out above the din, his voice echoing throughout the tunnel networks.
“We’re hungry!” Another calls.
“T, make sure none of our people go into our trap,” Clive nearly shouts into T’s ear in order to be heard above the racket as he begins jogging toward the riot.
“Sure thing,” T nods. He turns to make for the tunnel, but stops to ask, “You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, right?”
“I am,” Clive answers dutifully. He doesn’t wait for T’s response before elbowing his way through the steady stream of bloodied inmates who were doing their best to get away from the action. Clive had to do what his sole purpose seemed to be these last few years, he had to get people out of harm’s way. People who made a scene ended up dead, sometimes in unimaginably cruel ways, and Clive wasn’t about to let that happen when he had the means to stop it. Besides, Clive reasoned to himself, They might be able to help out on the escape plan.
“You can’t save everyone!” T’s voice calls to Clive, who ignores him. Out of the corner of his eye, Clive sees T stalk away with Jenessa in close pursuit, both to get out before all Hell broke loose.
“Come on,” Clive urges one man, “The guards are coming!”
“They’re already here,” The man says gruffly as he points to a bloodied helmet at their feet.
Clive swallows a lump in his throat as he considers what Jenniston may do once she finds out one of her guards were killed. He studies the helmet briefly, seeing that it belonged to one of Triborn’s guards, he sighs with some sense relief. At least it’s not one of Richardson’s boys, He thought, taking solace in the idea that Richardson wouldn’t have a vendetta after the riot was put down. Determined, Clive tries again, “More guards are going to come, we can’t take them all on,”
The brawny man ignores Clive’s words and shoves him aside, “The Hell we can’t. Hit the road, coward!”
Unfazed, Clive makes his way to another inmate, “This isn’t how you’ll get out of here,”
“I don’t care about getting out anymore!” She shouts back as she throws a water bucket across the cavern toward a line of Triborn’s guards who are backed up against a wall.
“They’ll kill us all!” Clive shouts, giving it another shot.
“They already have,” Another prisoner, who had overheard Clive’s pleas, says solemnly.
“Please!” Clive begs, “No one else needs to die today!”
“Tell that to Jenniston,” A voice calls from behind Clive, followed by another shove.
A gunshot sounds, and Clive spins around in time to see a guard nearby being pummeled by a rain of fists and every weapon that could be found. As Clive takes in the scene, he sees Mav weaving his way through the crowd, trying to get everyone he could to leave as well.
“Mav!” Clive shouts, as he waves so the man could see him above the heads of all the others. Clive waits several moments as Mav forces his way to him before continuing, “It’s no use, we’re out of time! The guards will be here any second!”
“I got a few people out,” Mav informs Clive with a beaming smile. The drive to save everyone was one of the very few traits Clive shared with Mav, but the way Clive saw it, it was the most meaningful one.
“Awesome,” Clive says happily. He leads Mav to the fringes of the crowd. Knowing that the guards would target anyone nearby, Clive continues to Mav, “Get out of here as quick as you can,”
“I’m ready to get out of here,” Mav informs Clive as they weave their way around the crowd and back to their wing of the mine. To be caught outside of one’s assigned area was as much of a crime on Paradise as revolting.
“Halt!” A guard shouts on Clive’s right. Clive and Mav f
reeze, and slowly turn to where the voice had come from. After several beats, they see that the guard wasn’t interested in them, and they continue. Overhead, alarms begin sounding and their lights flash, which meant that the hurt was coming.
“I’ll see you at the next evening meal,” Clive starts, glancing over his shoulder, “Spread the word to the others who are supposed to be there, since we aren’t eating tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Mav nods as he scampers off to get to his station before the guards arrive.
Following in suit, Clive runs down several tunnels to his cart, and catches his breath once he touches it, relieved that he would likely live another day. As cruel as Jenniston was, she rarely took things out on inmates who did their jobs well, mostly because of the fact that she had quotas to fill. As plentiful as the supply of forced laborers was, she couldn’t start from scratch too often, otherwise she’d find herself on the receiving end of someone else’s wrath.
“What’s going on down there?” A man asks as Clive draws near for his pickup.
“An uprising,” Clive whispers as he hoists several chunks of the reddish ore up and drops it into his cart.
“It’s about time,” He comments with a grunt as he pulls another hunk of ore from the wall and let it sets into Clive’s cart.
“It’s a good way to get killed, not to get out,” Clive says as he leans against his cart.
“That it is,” The inmate agrees saddened. He continues several moments later with a laugh, “But that’s still a way out!”
“I guess so,” Clive chuckles, “I’m Clive.”
“Name’s Gene,”
“I haven’t seen you around, how long have you been here?”
“About a year, I worked the hanger up until last week.”
“What happened last week?”
“Let’s just say some stuff has been getting misplaced lately,” Gene replies mischievously. He looks up and down the tunnel before pulling up one of his sleeves to reveal several odds and inns strapped to his forearm, including everything from a lens from someone’s eyeglasses, to a robotic finger.
“Very nice,” Clive admires the haul for several moments before asking, “How’d you get someone’s finger?”
“It was in the lost and found?” Gene offers sheepishly.
Clive laughs, knowing the man wasn’t about to tell how he really got the finger, “Alright, I don’t want to know then,”
Gene suddenly becomes very serious and he looks around to ensure they are alone before continuing, “Is there anyone making a real plan to get out, though?”
“Yeah, there’s a riot going on that way,” Clive offers with a chuckle. He had never been one to trust people too quickly after they came out of nowhere. Rather than be too trusting, Clive liked being able to watch people from afar for quite a while before sharing anything volatile, hence why he knew he could trust Richardson.
“No, I mean something that has an actual chance of working out,” Gene presses, “My friends and I in our cell have been spit balling plans for a while now, but nothing seems like it’ll work out.”
“Why’s that?” Clive asks, his interest piqued. His current plan depended on getting out through the hangar, and if one of the hangar teams couldn’t figure a way out, he wanted to know exactly what was holding them back.
“They check all the cargo, and have way too many guards to sneak aboard,” Gene starts, still looking around anxiously.
“What about trying to overpower the guards?”
“Overpower them? How? It’s two to one in their favor most every day. Even if we did, they’d close the hangar door and seal us in.”
“What if you had more people?”
“How would we get more people?”
“I know a guy,” Clive answers confidently. Turning back to his cart, he starts trudging away. At the mouth of the tunnel, he turns to the exasperated Gene and calls back, “Meet me at the next evening meal we get,”
“Where will you be?”
“I’ll find you,” Clive responds confidently as he leaves Gene. Clive feels emboldened with the new opportunities the man had opened up, and the gears in his brain start spinning all the faster as he alters his grand scheme yet again.
Two
Paradise, Galatia
“Move it!” Captain Richardson shouts to several of Triborn’s guards who are cowering behind a crate near the guard’s lift. He takes a hold of one of their shirt collars and lifts them to their feet before pushing them towards the riot that was unfolding nearby. He had always hated when soldiers let their friends die at the front while they cried far from the action.
“You think Clive has something to do with this?” Phelix whispers into Richardson’s ear as they pause behind several barrels.
Phelix had been with Richardson the longest of all his team, she was just a few weeks old when she was assigned to Richardson, who had just began walking. Phelix’s parents didn't want her, so they turned her into the state, at least, that's what Richardson had heard one night when they were about ten. Rather than fund orphanages across the galaxy, the Coalition opted to train said orphans to become soldiers, with the promise of freedom once they finished about twenty years of service. Richardson never knew about his parents though, and he wished someone would have slipped at least a little information to him about them, so he could find some sense of peace.
“I doubt it,” Richardson starts as he scans the tunnels around them, wary of the unlikely event of an ambush, “This isn’t his style, he’s more organized.”
“I hope you’re right,” Phelix says as she checks her magazine. Sighing, she continues, “Hasn’t there been enough bloodshed today?”
“Not with Jenniston,” Richardson answers bluntly, knowing his team made similar comments all day long. He and his team generally shied away from the other guards, who relished their jobs, and all the excessive violence Jenniston pushed for.
“We should get a move on,” Wyndover offers from behind Richardson after several beats, “Jenniston will get suspicious if we don’t show up.”
Seville Wyndover a built ex-special-forces man Richardson had met in a bar when they both were serving in the Space Corps. He and Wyndover clicked on day one, and Wyndover had resigned his position with the special forces to join Richardson's squad. Richardson and Wyndover had to pull quite a few strings to allow for Wyndover to join the team. What complicated the addition to the team was the fact that the ‘orphan brigades,’ as they were often called, were fine tuned to operate as their core team of fifteen. Prior to Richardson’s team’s successes with Wyndover, every other team that was shifted around ended up failing miserably. Wyndover was the oldest member of the squad, was respected by everyone from the get-go. When the team was pinned down overnight, or was otherwise idle, he would share stories of his spec-op days or tell stories about his wife and family. Wyndover’s stories always kept the team's spirits up, and they helped pass the time through many boring missions.
Wyndover’s stories gave Richardson hope for what he might have when he finally finished serving under the Coalition and could start a family. Up until the day he met Wyndover, Richardson’s team was his family. They had been together through thick and thin, even all the way to this prison when they were stationed here as a punishment for disobeying orders and declining too many missions. They had his back, and he had theirs, just like the family Richardson always wanted.
“Right,” Richardson agrees to Wyndover’s recommendation with a nod, “How about we clear the side tunnels first?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Phelix agrees, “Less action that way,”
“Exactly,” Richardson smiles, “Alright, fan out.”
“Yes, sir,” Comes a chorus of replies from the team as the they branch off into four groups of three, plus an odd group of four. Each group disappears down the various tunnels before Richardson leads Phelix and Wyndover down the remaining tunnel.
“How many people do you think they’ve killed over there?” Wyndover
whispers as he motions towards the riot.
“Enough to get Jenniston mad,” Richardson replies as he checks behind a stack of crates for any sort of danger. After a moment, he continues, “There aren’t any surprises down here, this can’t be Clive.”
“Don’t you and Clive have a pact or something?” Phelix asks, “He’s normally good about telling you what’s coming.”
“Yeah, we do,” Richardson answers, as he continues scanning the tunnel for any signs of life, other than the shouting of the nearby riot. They continue in silence for several moments as they carefully clear the tunnel, spending much longer than necessary in an effort to avoid taking the riot head on.
“It’s eating you up,” Phelix starts, reading Richardson’s mind in a way only she could. Phelix’s ability to know what was on Richardson’s mind at all times was one of the many traits that made Richardson love her. After a nod from Richardson, Phelix continues in a near whisper, “I know how much you hate letting everyone else do the fighting for you, but as you’ve said, this isn’t our fight.”
“It’s still hard to know that people are dying,” Richardson complains as he shakes his head, “And that we’re not doing anything about it. I hate it.”
“You and I both know we’d do more harm than good,” Phelix maintains.
“That’s a fact,” Wyndover agrees.
Richardson nods silently, knowing that they both meant that they would end up helping out the inmates in some way, which would land everyone in hot water. Richardson and his team would face just as much of Jenniston’s wrath, if not more, if they were found out. After several beats, Richardson whispers, “I just wish there was a way we could actually help them,”