by Todd Brill
“No.”
“Languages? Arts? Music?”
“I can play a little guitar, I guess.”
“Do you have any physical or mental defects?”
“Whaddya mean exactly?”
“Are you finding it difficult to breathe since you arrived?” asked the officer.
“Yes, but it’s getting easier,” replied Nomad.
“Good. Stand up and hold up your arms to the side,” said the officer. Nomad stood and raised his arms slowly. The officer looked him up-and-down through the wired goggles. Nomad felt like he was being scanned.
“You are in poor physical health,” said the officer matter-of-factly. “You have no useful skills or education. Are you willing to work hard?” Nomad suddenly had a terrible feeling. His stomach knotted up and a tense cold spread through his body. He remembered what Ungo told him about prisoners who were unable or unwilling to work.
“Y-Yes. I can work hard. I will work hard for you. Whatever you want.”
“Good. Work hard and you will live. If you become useless to us, you will die. If you become sick or injured, you will die. Do you understand this?” said the officer, still tapping at the air.
“I understand,” he replied, nodding.
“Good,” said the officer, looking up behind Nomad. “Take this one to the general labor pool. If he gets injured or is too weak to work, dispose of him immediately.”
“Yes sir!” came the reply from the armored guard behind Nomad. The guard grabbed him and dragged him away from the table, forcing Nomad through the gate marked with a series of dots. Eight dots. Nomad noticed the other gates each had a number of dots above it. One through eight. He was to report through gate number eight each day for work.
Nomad walked through a short fenced walkway and out into a large bustling yard filled with aliens. Some of them appeared to be using tools to clear away dirt and debris left by larger creatures who were digging a huge pit-like structure. Others were using machinery to pound the ground flat inside the pit. It looked like a construction site.
The larger creatures were something out of a nightmare. Nomad thought they might stand ten feet tall and about six feet wide with rough gray skin. They had no hair and thick, rumpled and broken nails on the fingers of their four-digit hands. They rumbled when they breathed and shoved their immense shovels into the dirt, scooping up human-sized loads and dumping them roughly into large metallic wheelbarrows. The digger closest to Nomad looked at him and huffed through his giant nostrils. They’re giants or trolls, thought Nomad. Who’d ever believe him when he got back?
A guard who stood just inside the gate gave a shrill whistle sound and a short humanoid alien in a gray robe came running over.
“This is Nomad. He’s new and needs to be put to work,” said the guard. “See that he’s employed appropriately.”
“Yes sir,” said the short humanoid. The guard sauntered away, keeping an eye on the prisoners as they worked.
“All right, Nomad,” said the squat, hairy humanoid over the din of construction, “I’m Telarch, your foreman. You’ll do what I say or the guards will punish you. Cause any trouble and the guards will take you away and we’ll never see you again, got it?”
“Got it, boss,” said Nomad, looking around. Telarch looked like a dwarf. Not a little-person dwarf -- more like a dwarf from fairy tales. He was short and hairy with a broad, strong chest and arms. His long curly dark hair was pulled into a ponytail and his long scraggly beard was tied into a knot and braided. His legs were short but incredibly powerful-looking. Telrach’s face was haggard and worn and he had a hard glint in his eyes. He wore a belt over his robe. It appeared to be made of silver and had a gold buckle with a small red button on it. He also had a device strapped to his wrist that looked like a display from a smartphone.
“You ever do construction-type work before, Nomad?” said Telarch, punching something into his wrist computer.
“A long time ago,” said Nomad. Telarch looked him over.
“You don’t look very strong or healthy. I’ll try to take it easy on you for a few days so you don’t end up dead, but if you can’t hack it, I don’t have any choice but to tell the guards. You understand?”
“I understand. I’ll try my best.”
“Don’t mistake my attitude for weakness either, New One,” growled Telarch. “I’ll send your sorry ass to the pits in a heartbeat if you mess with me. If you work hard and don’t try anything funny, you’ll live…”
“And if I don’t, I die. I know. They told me that already,” said Nomad.
“As long as we’re clear on how this works. You work for me. You do what I say, when I say, how I say, and we’ll get along. Try anything funny or stupid and you’re gone.”
“Got it, boss,” replied Nomad. Telarch handed him a large shovel and flicked his large head toward the others.
“Get over there and start digging.” Telarch motioned to a large group of aliens digging earth and flinging it behind them where other aliens carried it away in wheelbarrows.
6
“For the security of our home and the security of our children!” a voice buzzed out over the prison camp. Just after sunrise, they blared the Leader’s recent speech over the sound system. Nomad thought he sounded like most Earth politicians. Lots to say but not much substance. He wondered if the Leader knew about this camp.
The Leader droned on and on about how some project would save their planet from invasion. Nomad asked Danik about it that evening and she told him about how the Leader ruled this planet and everyone on it. They had voted for him when he succeeded in overthrowing the previous Leader.
Apparently, each time a Leader died (whether by natural causes or not) everyone on the planet voted for a new Leader. The Ruling Council chose the pool of Leader candidates and it usually consisted of the previous Leaders’ heirs and cronies. Each previous Leader was decried as a tyrant and the people were told that change was desperately needed. They hailed each incumbent Leader as a hero, a champion of change and a paragon of the people.
Danik explained this type of government had been their way for a long time and would never change. She also told him that prisoners in camps weren't given a vote. They were basically considered non-people.
So it seemed hopeless to Nomad. Day after day, he worked to the point of collapse constructing something he knew nothing about. He grew weary and depressed. He spent more and more time with Danik and Yola in the few hours they had together and they became very close. When Yola fell asleep each night, they would spend time whispering in the dark so as not to arouse the ire of the guards.
When Danik would fall asleep, Nomad would lie awake awhile longer and dream about being free of the terrible camp, of having a life on this strange world with Danik in a little cabin somewhere. Then he would sleep and have fitful dreams about the alien Leader. In those dreams, he would run from the camp guards and the evil Leader would chase him with a massive gray whip in his hand, slashing at Nomad’s back with it, driving him like a team of frothing horses into a dark, bottomless fissure that opened before him the ground.
Nomad worked hard and, eventually, earned a promotion of sorts. Telarch had become friendlier once he realized Nomad was intelligent and hardworking, and most days they would chat and have their midday meal together. Nomad found out Telarch was not from this world either. He was a prisoner like the rest of them.
“Most of the people here are from some other world,” Telarch explained. “Didn’t anyone tell you what the hell we’re building here or why?” Nomad shook his head while he chewed on some stale flatbread. Telarch looked incredulous and shook his head, his gray knotty beard snagging on the wooden table.
“That’s surprising,” continued Telarch. “I thought all the prisoners would be yammering away to each other about it. Especially to the New Ones.” He casually wiped his mouth across the back of his sleeve and looked at Nomad.
“I was told the story when I was a New One. Must be about twelve yea
rs ago or so now. Funny how time passes. When I arrived all disoriented and confused and blind from the bright sun in the sky, the other prisoners told me what was going on. Apparently, it’s been going on for as long as anyone can remember. A hundred years or more. People just began showing up on this world. From worlds nobody else heard of. It was the same for me. One moment I was exploring this ancient cavern filled with strange electronic equipment and next thing I knew I was here.”
Nomad stopped eating and stared at Telarch as he told his tale. He couldn’t believe everyone in the camp had just suddenly appeared here like he had. Everyone! Why here? Nomad realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it.
“So everyone in this prison came from another world?” asked Nomad.
“Not everyone,” corrected Telarch. “Some of them are political prisoners the Leader is punishing for whatever reason. But the results are the same: nobody leaves, everyone works. And when they stop working or can’t work anymore, they die in the pits.” Telarch motioned around the camp with his hand.
“All this? This is a crazy dream of the past and present Leaders. They got tired of dealing with all the aliens appearing on their world and decided to do something about it. They had their scientists working for years trying to find some way to stop these ‘illegal immigrants’ as they called them from showing up uninvited. But they just kept coming. More and more of them would suddenly appear just to the South. So the Leader back then (I think his name was Irrin or something) commissioned this prison camp close to where all the aliens kept appearing and started this project.
“They hope to build a massive device that will shield the planet from any more of these appearances. From what I’ve been able to gather, the device and the systems and power it requires will take the resources of a small city before it’s complete. The main control tower will be over three floors high and the underlying tech will sprawl for miles in each direction. They are even tapping into the power of the planet’s core, I heard. They better hope they don’t run into any of the underground demons and things my people had to deal with on my planet when they got too close to the core.”
Telarch looked down at his half-eaten piece of bread, dropped it on his tray, and sighed.
“I figure I have another ten years or so left. I was lucky to get to be a supervisor. Less physical danger and stress on the body means I might last longer. But it’s inevitable. Sooner or later we all have to go into the pits.”
Nomad looked around to check how far away the guards were. He didn’t want anyone overhearing what he was about to say to Telarch. Nomad lowered his voice and leaned in toward him across the table.
“Hasn’t anyone ever escaped? Isn’t there some hope the people will rise up and change things for real?” he said.
Telarch looked at him with a slightly alarmed expression on his leathery face and dropped his spoon, which clattered on the tray.
“Talk like that is what’ll get you retired sooner rather than later, Nomad. And yes, people have tried, and they all got slaughtered. Every single one of ’em. We have no weapons, no armor, no tech. The Leader’s men have all that, and superior numbers. Now stop that foolish talk before you get us both killed.” Telarch tugged on his gray beard nervously, his eyes shifting left and right.
“You sound like a soldier,” laughed Nomad, sitting back in his seat. Telarch relaxed somewhat and smiled.
“I used to be,” he said. “On my home planet, most men were soldiers. There were things down in the dark caverns that would attack our settlements, and we needed to defend ourselves.”
“What kind of things?” asked Nomad, his eyes opening wide.
“Mostly they were just really large rats or snakes. You know how people exaggerate sometimes. A big cave rat suddenly becomes a man-eating Devil Rat; a huge snake becomes an evil Crevice Serpent. There were some truly dangerous things we uncovered as we dug deeper toward the core, though. I’d…I’d rather not talk about those though,” replied Telarch. He began tugging on his beard again.
“You must miss your home,” said Nomad.
“Very much,” Telarch replied, staring over the camp fence and into the sky. “Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking about my wife and pups. And my dogs.” He laughed. “I miss them all.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, my friend,” said Nomad, “but I don’t intend to stay in this camp until I die. There’s got to be a way out.”
“Just you be careful, Nomad,” said Telarch, reaching tentatively for his stale bread, “There are eyes and ears everywhere. Be careful who you trust. The guards routinely try to trick people into escaping just so they can make an example of them to the others.”
“Thanks, Telarch. For everything. And don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” said Nomad as he ate his gruel.
They finished their meal together in silence and went back to work to the wail of the siren. Over the next month, Nomad made many friends among the prisoners, feeling out which ones he could trust and which ones might be working for the guards. By day, he dug and cleared debris, moved construction materials from place to place, and tried to find a weakness in the camp defenses.
Several times, he met prisoners who thought they could earn favor with the guards by snitching on other prisoners. But aside from extra shower privileges or some extra rations, they were never set free.
One day, during an evening meal, Nomad met a tiny old woman who called herself Jorune. She was barely over three feet tall and wore a tattered, gray flower-print dress under a thick, coarse robe of charcoal gray. Her skin was pale blue, and she was gaunt, the years hanging on her face like crooked old pictures.
Jorune had long, white-gray hair, which she wore in a tight bun behind her head, and she always managed to have a fresh-looking pale-yellow flower in her hair each day. She had a large, white bone-like crutch she used to help her walk. Her left leg and arm seemed to be lame and Nomad was filled with sadness each time he saw her, knowing what fate would befall her soon.
She still worked, but it wouldn’t be much longer before she couldn’t anymore and the guards would take her to the pits. Whoever couldn’t work was retired. Retirement meant they were sent to the pits and were never seen again.
Jorune was the sweetest, kindest woman Nomad had ever known. He instantly took a liking to her and they quickly became good friends. He was careful at first, of course, making sure she wasn’t an agent of the guards. After a while, he relaxed around her and she began telling him stories. In fact, many of the prisoners would gather around her in the evenings, when they had time and she would tell fantastic stories about other worlds and heroes and princesses that went on grand adventures across the universe.
It was on one such evening, while Danik nestled into Nomad’s shoulder and Yola curled up into Danik’s lap, that Jorune told everyone about the Legend.
The prisoners had a story they called “The Legend,” which was about someone who would come to set them free from their enslavement and slay the Leader. It was a secret story they dreamed about and nobody mentioned it to anyone who was suspected of being in league with the guards for fear of punishment. Even imagining harm to the Leader could result in early retirement.
But they kept this secret hope alive for years. Nobody knew how the prophecy of the Legend began or where it came from, but everyone hoped that someday, before they were retired, they would meet the Legend and be set free. They called Jorune “The Mother of the Legend” because she tended the story, made sure everyone knew it, and was responsible for ensuring that it was passed down before she was retired. Whomever she chose would become the new Mother or Father of the Legend.
Danik chuckled softly when she heard the story and Nomad asked her why she laughed.
“It’s a cute story,” said Danik, “but I don’t believe in fairy tales and prophecies. If we’re going to get out of here, it’s going to be because someone does something about it. Probably by a Leader who cares about what's going on here. It doesn’t seem likely there will be a
coup, either. The Leader system is too entrenched on this world. These people like their benevolent Leader.”
Danik sighed and looked far away, searching the stars for her home. Nomad hugged her tightly and kissed her head just above her ear.
This is how Nomad remembered the Prophecy of the Legend:
****
A long time ago, on a faraway world, a man stumbled upon a room in a cave. The cave was actually an ancient building that had collapsed into rubble over the eons. The man saw strange writing that he could not understand on the white walls and stone fragments littering the ground.
Believing there might be ancient treasures buried in the ruins, the man began to clear the rubble. He worked for weeks, digging and hauling away stone and metal and other material he didn’t recognize.
Finally, he uncovered something interesting. It looked like a large arched doorway with strange symbols and markings around it. It appeared to be made of stone, but when the man touched it, the stone vibrated and tugged at his insides in a way that scared him.
The man was wary of the door. He cleared more of the debris away from the strange white room, hoping to find answers to the mystery, but he found nothing that could tell him about the purpose of the strange door of white stone that wasn’t made of any stone he knew.
Discouraged by finding nothing of value, the man began to study the writing and symbols of the strange white room, wanting to find a clue to some yet undiscovered treasure. For months, he reassembled debris fragments, etched symbols from the stones onto paper, and puzzled over the strange markings of the white room.
One night, the man was drinking in his local establishment and got too drunk. He began to let slip his secret about the white room in the strange ruins.
“All my hard work is for nothing,” he ranted. “There’s nothing there but the doorway and the ruins — nothing of value.”
But others heard his story and were convinced there must be something there, and the man was just a fool who hadn’t found it yet. They conspired to find and take the treasure from the foolish man.