by Kal Spriggs
“Breakfast is served,” Mike muttered. He peered at the Mratha rice, it looked edible, but something about it just seemed to depress him.
“Lunch and dinner, too,” Simon said. “We’re on short rations, that’s what you have for the whole day.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ariadne looked at the tiny amount that the machine had just given her. “How does anyone keep their strength here?”
“Mratha rice has a high caloric intake for small servings,” Rastar said. He put his own bowl into the dispenser. Mike saw with a grimace that the Ghornath received roughly twice what he had. “And it contains enough nutrients to maintain health without use of supplements, for both Humans and Ghornath.” He stared down at his bowl, and then he looked over at Mandy. “You know of some who have not made their quota, who need the food?”
Mandy gave a sharp nod, “Yes, there’s a few people who’re pretty hungry.”
“Give them this, to share, as they need,” Rastar said softly.
Mike stared at the big alien, “You sure about that?” His own stomach rumbled at the thought of food being given away, especially to this mythical resistance.
Rastar gave him a thumbs up and his skin turned a green shade, “I will not starve from missing a meal.” He patted his stomach with his lower arms. “And besides, the menu may improve with time.”
“Right,” Mike looked down at the gray mush in his bowl. “Remind me to give my compliments to the chef.”
* * *
Mike had just finished his bowl of mush when the speaker overhead crackled to life again. “All new arrivals report to the airlock for a brief by their assigned trustee.”
Mike looked over at the others, “I’ve got Krain, who else?”
Ariadne nodded, “Me too.”
“I’ve got Trustee Kranth, I think,” Pixel said.
“Tralk,” Crowe said. Mike saw Rastar and Eric nod at that. “I assume that Pixel told them he knows tools, and the pair of you will be told about the work sled they mentioned. What will we get?”
Run looked around at them. He still held his own bowl, which had some kind of black slime in it. “Tralk is a generic name typically used by a Chxor of the genetically inferior lower caste. He will instruct those with no skills on manual labor.”
Mike had to cover his laughter with a cough.
Eric jerked his head around, “Hey, I got skills!”
“We will be used as brute labor until we die of exhaustion,” Run said. “I find this suboptimal. We should escape soon so that I can continue my research.”
“Working on it,” Mike grunted. “The other Chxor don’t value your research?”
“They do not understand that improvement of lesser races will improve things for all Chxor,” Run said. “Improved slave species will make lower castes such as Tralk unnecessary, which will allow more castes to reach better jobs and to reproduce.”
“Lesser races?” Ariadne asked. “You’re calling us, lesser races?”
Run shrugged, “You are very emotional. This is suboptimal. Logic, not emotion will allow us to escape. Then I can continue my research and you can do whatever it is that unrestrained humans do in the absence of an authority figure.”
“I can think of a few things you and I could do together,” Crowe said to Ariadne. He gave her a leer and a wink.
Ariadne shot a glare at him, “In. Your. Dreams.” She bit off each word. Crowe just gave her a smarmy grin. Mike restrained a sigh… children.
“I have not observed human reproduction,” Run said. “Is it interesting? I understand that it can be done both for procreation and for entertainment purposes. I consider that wasteful, however. Would you mind if I recorded it?”
Mike grabbed Run by the collar and pulled him back behind him as Ariadne spun around, a look of rage on her face. “Alright… so back to work, everyone. Lets go meet our overseers who will no doubt instruct us on how to be good little slave worker drones.”
He moved over towards the airlock. A small crowd of other recent arrivals waited. Two Chxor stepped through the airlock. They looked almost identical, even to the extent of their faded uniforms. The one at the lead spoke, “I am Trustee Krain, pilots will assemble near me.”
Mike followed the Chxor down the corridor a short way. This Chxor looked much like the others he had seen. The same gray rubbery skin, the same block-shaped head, and the same wax-like features. The Chxor looked down at a datapad he held, then at the four assembled pilots. “Pilots may utilize the work sleds in order to meet their quota. Work sleds clock time worked as well as total haul of salvage. All salvage will be downloaded into the salvage bay for processing by other workers. Each work sled has a navigation computer with programmed flight paths. Any deviation from the flight path will result in destruction of the work sled. Any attempt to transit to another region of the station will result in destruction of the work sled.”
“What is our quota?” Mike asked.
“A pilot quota consists of twenty metric tons of salvage per day. The Warden has selected this number to maximize total output and maintain an acceptable level of risk to pilots,” Krain said. “You may supplement your quota with a standard worker’s quota of seven hundred pounds of disassembled and sorted salvage on a percentage scale. In addition, theft of any salvaged materials to include but not limited to: weapons, computers, tools or valuables will be punished with immediate termination upon discovery.”
“When do we start work?” Anubus growled.
“The auto-defense turret destroyed the primary work sled three work cycles ago. The station has not yet received the replacement. You will utilize the secondary work sled on an alternating schedule. Prisoner one five three nine four will begin the work schedule, and will have eight hours. The next prisoner will be…” Mike waited until he heard his own number rattled off. Apparently he had the last shift.
“Pending any further questions you may begin your work shift. The work sled will be retained for maintenance for four hours of every thirty six,” Trustee Krain said. His monotone drawl almost made Mike want to fall asleep. That or stab the bastard just to hear something besides terminal boredom in his voice.
“You said acceptable level of risk,” Cathy asked, “What level of risk is that?”
“After careful statistical analysis, we lose no more than one pilot to a terminal accident per eight hundred hours of work.”
Ariadne spoke after a moment of silence, “So with eight hour shifts, one pilot will survive around one hundred days?”
“We operate on a thirty-six hour work cycle, and therefore do not measure it in human standard days. However, this is an approximate correlation to pilot losses,” Krain said. “Do you have any further questions?”
“How do I get out of this chickenshit outfit?” Mike asked.
“Any further disrespect to myself as your overseer or the Chxor Empire will result in a penalty added to your daily quota,” Krain said. “If I misunderstood your use of profanity involving a livestock animal, then inform me. Do you have any further questions?”
* * *
Mike and the others assembled in their barracks room.
“Alright, everyone knows what to look for and what their particular missions are?” he asked. Everyone nodded and most of them walked started to undress and slide into their ship’s suits.
From decades of life in space, Mike tuned out the sights of the others. Spacers found little privacy aboard ship. He even managed to avoid any looks over at Ariadne, not that she lacked a fine figure…
“What an ass she’s got,” Crowe said from a few feet away. Despite his self control, Mike’s gaze flicked over and caught a glimpse of bare flesh.
“What an ass you are,” Ariadne said. Mike saw the air in front of Crowe’s face flicker with flames. Crowe toppled back on his ass with a yelp of surprise. “And next time I’ll put it in your too pretty hair.”
Crowe scrambled backwards. “Fucking bitch!”
Mike stepped forward and stood over
him. Crowe’s eyes focused on his bare chest, then looked away. “She’s part of this team. So are you. Act like a grown man or I’ll see how hungry Anubus feels.”
“Very,” Anubus growled, “and don’t taunt me like that.”
Crowe glanced between Mike and the Wrethe. “You can’t do that, you can’t threaten me like that you fucking slant-eyed prick.”
“Why not?” Mike said even as he ignored the racial slur. Somehow it didn’t surprise him that Crowe would add racism to his repertoire. “You threatened Ariadne’s privacy. I don’t know what ships you served on, but I will not accept that kind of behavior.”
“You aren’t a captain, we don’t have to listen to you,” Crowe said. “This is a partnership.”
“He’s right there,” Rastar said. “And I don’t like those kinds of threats.”
“The Ghornath has a point,” Eric said. “You said that we’re a crew, we work together, partners in this, right?” He glanced at the others, “Well I don’t want to be in a crew where one member bullies the others into following his commands.”
Mike ground his teeth. “Look, the little shit just eye-raped Ariadne, that kind of thing just is unacceptable. We can’t have any kind of team with that kind of harassment.”
“She handled it just fine,” Eric said. “You did not need to get involved. You just have a desire to micromanage. Well, we either work together as a group, or we go our separate ways, I’m not letting you dictate what we do.” Eric stepped forward and Mike grimaced at the other man’s statement. A part of him wanted to tell him to go… yet Mike might need him.
“Things will work more smoothly with a commander, it makes things more organized,” Simon said. “And I was under the impression that you had selected him for your spokesman. He certainly does most of the talking.”
“Look,” Mike said. “Forget I said anything. But the time we waste here in an argument is time we may need to escape.”
“Agreed,” Eric said. He walked over to Crowe and gave him a hand up. Then he slapped him across the face, “And don’t be a shithead to your partners, or we’ll return the favor.” The mercenary gave a nod at Mike, then walked out of the compartment.
Crowe stood surprised, and Mike saw something flicker over his face. He saw the other man’s hand slip for his hidden shiv and then withdraw after a moment, empty handed. The glare he leveled at Ariadne a moment later suggested who he blamed for the encounter.
Probably best if he does not survive the escape, Mike thought.
Mike pulled his suit the rest of the way on. A moment later Ariadne walked over to him, also fully dressed.
“I’ve got first pilot shift,” Ariadne said. “So if you want to come out and look the sled over, we can see if it’s useful for any kind of escape.”
“Sure thing,” Mike said. He checked the seals on his suit and helmet one more time, and then hesitated, “You know how to check your suit, right?”
She gave a nod, “I’ve done a bit of vacuum work before. I got certified a while back.”
“Good.” Mike nodded. He glanced over at Anubus, who had donned his own ships suit. The Wrethe looked more angry than usual with his jackal head stuck out of the suit. “You coming?”
“I might as well,” Anubus growled. “I heard I missed a fight with the gangster’s men. Hopefully we will run across some on our way. I would like to kill something.”
“Hey man, I find there’s safer ways to let off steam, you know?” Rastar said. “I got some anger issues too, I just focus on some hobbies and it really seems to help.”
“You are the one who started the brawl,” Mike snapped.
“Yeah, but I didn’t kill anyone, even that Pierre guy,” Rastar said. “I’m pretty proud of that. I’m telling you Annie, a hobby or two really makes it easier to manage your negative emotions.”
“Annie?” Anubus growled.
“Yeah, it’s kind of like a nickname, almost a pet name and shows I can see past that gruff exterior of yours,” Rastar said. “So, like I was saying, I got a few hobbies. I’m a real big fan of human sports. Surfing looks like a lot of fun, I watched a couple holovids of it and I think I could do it pretty well, you know, and whenever I’m really about to snap I try to think of myself out on the ocean-”
Anubus turned to Mike, “We should leave now.”
Mike swallowed, suddenly overcome by the thought of surfing. He had a sudden vision of Saragossa’s oceans and the things that swam through it. He pushed aside the flashback and wiped at the sweat that beaded his forehead. “Rastar, how about you go with Simon, eh? I think he mentioned he wanted to talk with some others about escape. Maybe you can back him up, huh?”
“Oh, sure,” Rastar said. “Don’t you want to hear more about surfing though? I understand back on Earth, there are these big fish things called sharks, and part of the fun with surfing is dodging these things as they attack you. There’s this movie I saw called Shark Surfer XI, which I guess has some other movies before it-”
“Thanks,” Mike gave Rastar a pained smile. “But we really need to get moving.”
“Sure, man,” Rastar gave him four thumbs up. “See you around.”
The three pilots moved out out of their narrow barracks to the airlock marked as the Pit. Mike stepped inside and dogged his helmet. Ariadne followed him. Anubus joined them. His presence caused Mike’s heart to race in the narrow confines of the airlock, especially with the additional bulk of the suit. Anubus stared down at him, and Mike’s hands trembled a bit as he checked the seals on his helmet. He knew that he and Anubus had worked out a deal. Even so, his animal brain reminded him that he stood in a metal box with a hungry predator.
“Safer if we check each other’s seals,” Anubus said. “I can check yours.”
“Thanks, thought the same thing,” Mike said. “I feel so much safer with your claws that close to my vital organs.”
“Oh, don’t worry, human, I think my survival and yours are tied together at the moment.” Anubus sealed his own helmet, and then did a pat-down of Mike. Mike did the same, and they both turned to face Ariadne. She stood frozen, helmet in hands, however. She had gone into a hundred mile stare. Mike waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello, anyone in there?”
She showed no response, but Mike saw her breath more rapidly, and then she let out a shout, “No, Mike, leave him be!” Mike reached and tapped her on the shoulder, but she did not seem to notice. He considered slapping her to break her out of her fit, but he hesitated as she spoke again, “Run, they’re coming, no Anubus, don’t do it, just run.”
“What is she talking about?” Mike asked.
“She’s… Rhangar,” Anubus said, his voice muffled by his helmet. Yet Mike still heard something besides disdain in the Wrethe’s gruff voice. Something that Mike thought sounded almost like awe. “She sees things of the past or things yet to be.”
“What, like a…” Mike hesitated to say psychic, because, well, that was obvious.
“Your people once called them oracles,” Anubus growled. “But they are few, most are charlatans, and the handful of others are mostly driven mad by what they see. My people have tried to make some, but it brings great danger. Too many possible futures will drive them mad.”
“No!” Ariadne shouted. “Rastar!” A look of sorrow passed across her face. Mike saw tears flow down her face, and he felt suddenly uncomfortable, as if he had violated her privacy somehow. She blinked a moment later, and looked around. “Anubus… Mike… sorry about that.”
“You get visions?” Mike asked.
“On occasion. Sometimes something will set them off,” Ariadne said. She looked down and checked her suit seals, and Mike noticed her hands shook slightly as she did so, though whether from fear or some other emotion he couldn’t tell. She settled her helmet on her head. “I saw… well, not the future, call it a future. What Anubus said about your lives being entwined set it off. I saw Anubus die, and you might have as well, Mike, I couldn’t tell.”
“What happen
ed?” Mike asked.
“I don’t know, exactly. Everything was confused. Sights and sounds seemed off, somehow, like from a damaged holovid. We were at a spaceport… a world I’ve never seen, a planet with a twin and a green star… some kind of a shootout…” Ariadne sighed. “It fades so fast, there were details, Mike shot someone, then other people arrived, and Anubus…” she frowned, “you did something you shouldn’t have. You died. I could feel Rastar die too, but I couldn’t see him. And Mike, they had you pinned down.”
“Well,” Mike said. “The good news is we got off this damned station, so that’s something anyway.” He patted her on the shoulder, “And it’s just a possible future, right?”
“Yes…” Ariadne said slowly. “But the worst part was not just that you three died, but that I realized that everyone else beside myself and Pixel had died as well.”
“That sounds like one hell of a firefight,” Mike said. “But I don’t think we need to worry about it yet. Once we get off this station we can worry about twin planets around a green star, alright?”
Ariadne nodded behind her helmet. Mike toggled the airlock.
The airlock pumped down, and they stepped out into the Pit.
This section looked to be an open bay. Piles of twisted metal and larger pieces of ships lay in a tangle across the bay. Mike saw large bay doors in the overhead. A couple dozen or more prisoners worked across the bay, many with cutting tools that cast sparks across the bay.
Mike saw a trolley system that ran down the center of the bay. It led to an airlock at the far end of the compartment, this with a green light at the top. He saw a number of carts on the trolley. As he watched, a worker dragged a large metal plate across the room and lifted into one cart with a grunt. A moment later he typed his code into the side of the cart. So that’s how they log their quota, he thought.
Not that he hoped to reside on the station long enough for it to really matter, but any knowledge might do him some good.
Anubus tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. Mike saw a small airlock along the outer wall of the station, off to their right. Ariadne had already started on her way towards it. He followed her as she wove her way across the bay.