Godling (Kairenz Jistora Book 1)

by Dusks, Rydre

  G'tavei staggered up and brushed himself off. "Well... I don't need to sleep anyway."

  "How was your night?" I asked, knowing I wasn't going back to sleep now.

  The android shrugged. "They had us walk around the perimeter of the camp and look for vehicles outside the fence or on the horizon."

  "Were you looking for escapees?"

  He shook his head. I could barely see the action in the darkness. "No, we were looking for inspection vehicles. This place is such a frightening disaster that Stone has the prisoners actually looking to see if authorities are on their way for an unexpected visit."

  I'd begun to wish I'd been sent to one of the smaller camps at this point.

  I sat up after pulling a blanket off me, and G'tavei made a sound of surprise. "Yeesh, what happened to you?"

  I figured he probably couldn't smell the blood due to his lack of the sense. "Turns out dusters are the execution clean-up crew," I uttered.

  G'tavei looked sympathetic. "Sorry. Too bad I didn't get your job. Would have been easy for me to stomach."

  A loud buzz came from somewhere closer to town, turning our heads toward the tent opening. I figured it was the wake-up call.

  "You'd better go out there," G'tavei stated. "I'll stay in here and see if I can fix my cot... pretend to be asleep with the other night staff."

  I nodded to him and put my boots back on, looking under my cot just for a moment at my street clothes and thinking of yesterday before the trip to the camp. It was only day two, and I already had a plan rolling around in my head on how to escape. Roavo was big, even for just the men's side, and there were a lot of buildings to inspect. I wanted to get into the buildings first and see if there was anything I could use for my self-induced bail. I doubted it, but knowing my surroundings was the first step to knowing how to get out. Stelliot was still out there, and a big electric fence wasn't going to keep me from my son. But it wasn't the time of day to go exploring. Biting my lip, I walked out to line up with the rest of the morning prisoners.

  Rook was not in the line, but the other two dusters from last night were, and they looked just as ragged and dirty as I did. There were two guards walking down the line to count us. It appeared they did this routinely morning and evening, plus after every meal. Our multiple lines were of about 180 prisoners altogether; some new, some longtime residents. There were a lot to be accounted for. A third guard in front of us paced, checking us over as he spoke.

  "A fair mornin' to ya'll, gentlemen. Today's gonna be another busy day. All of ya will meet in the mess hall for breakfast. Followin' right after, ya'll go to your designated job spots. Dusters to the theater. Afternoon cooks in the kitchens. Day staff and counters by the gate. That's all, ya mangy mutts!"

  I couldn't stomach breakfast. I ate, but threw it all up behind the mess hall building on my way to the theater. It was all too much. Too sweet, too seasoned, too normal. Although the dusters had received several new pairs of uniforms and I was in a new one, the stench of blood remained, and it didn't mix well with food.

  Even Rook noticed I looked worse off than the other two prisoners. When I walked behind the curtains with him he looked me up and down and announced, "Let me show you something. I know the Iasona are proud people, and even if you weren't born one, you certainly act like one."

  Unsure if it was a compliment or an insult... or neither... I followed him silently into a small room off to the left, which I recognized as a changing room for thespians. As Rook opened the door I held in my gasp at the amount of food displayed over the makeup counter. There were breads, pastries, cured meats, fruit, cheeses, and an entire assortment of wrapped candies.

  Rook waved a hand over his stash. "Behold... my treasure trove."

  I gazed at him in shock. "How do you hide this from cameras?" Upon entering the camp, I'd spotted several cameras stationed in areas where guards were not always located.

  "The theater doesn't have any cameras. I made a deal and got them removed some time ago."

  "I assuming this is reason they try to kestil you five times now."

  Rook smirked and picked up a candy, not answering. "These are from the warden's own cabin. Everything else... I had a little help from a friend in the kitchen."

  "...I no think I can partake," I replied softly. "Have not feeling well."

  He popped the candy into his mouth after unwrapping it. "Nonsense, you're fine. You just have the rookie jitters. It wears off in a few days."

  I closed the door all the way, narrowing my eyes. "Ano, you mean you think I break in a few days."

  Rook quirked one purple eyebrow, and I offhandedly wondered if his hair color was natural. He pointed to his pile of food. "Does this look like the act of someone who's broken?"

  I supposed he did have a point. Rook was a kleptomaniac. He stole, got tossed into prison, and still stole... even after six years.

  "It's like I said yesterday, blackie. You get here, you drop your sense of pride, and you just live. You just do what makes you happy when you can. Be it self-pleasure, stealing, eating, beating someone up... who cares? What matters is that you're still riding high on what you got. So eat now, because you never know when you'll get to eat again."

  There was no point arguing. I internally agreed with him. Sometimes it was best to just enjoy the little things, because the big things had all been taken away.

  I ate like a runaway king that morning with Rook and felt a little more like myself.

  The days continued like this for almost a week. G'tavei managed to keep undercover, although he stated that the guards were starting to give him funny looks. Any time I couldn't eat, Rook had his plentiful stash that only seemed to keep growing each time I walked into the changing room. We cleaned messes, I bit back my pride, and we survived. The days blended together, but I didn't mind. I had a couple of friends who kept me sane, and that was enough for me to prepare my plan to escape.

  "I'm getting out, G'tavei," I said one afternoon. It was my hour break in between lunch and work, and I planned to make good use of it. The guard normally stationed outside our row of tents was not within earshot, and I'd made sure of this before opening my mouth. I assumed he wouldn’t have understood us speaking in Iasona, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  G'tavei glanced up from his satchel. "For real?"

  "I'm going to run."

  He dropped the bag into his lap. "Crow, I can tell you a thousand reasons why that's a bad idea."

  I was already shaking my head before he finished. "They can't keep me in here, G'tavei. I have a little boy out there somewhere who needs his father. I'm not going to let Radley Stone and his low-grade robot guards keep me from getting back to him."

  G'tavei closed his mouth, his brow pulled inward with worry, but he nodded. "I'd love to get out myself. Imagine what Mr. Voelwrath would say if he found out one of his prized, million-jel Machinics got stuck in Roavo. Anything I can do to help?"

  I smiled a little. I had a feeling G'tavei would want to assist me; his model was known for being an aide bot. The android felt like my only piece of home, and he had an even stronger connection since we both knew Toanwar.

  "Are there any weak spots in the fence?"

  G'tavei's innocent look suddenly went dark and wily. "I could draw you an entire chart."

  My smile grew wider, and I headed for the tent flap. "I'm going to go look in some of the other buildings. Draw me a chart, and I'll be back in a few."

  "Be careful."

  My exploration was short-lived, as I only had about 45 minutes to look. The last week had given me a chance to memorize the shifts of most of the guards, and the locations of plenty cameras. Their watch let up slightly during certain breaks in the afternoon, and now was one of those time periods. A tiny grocery store managed to give me a hundred-year-old piece of green paper with a face in the middle and the number 50 printed on all corners. It was some form of terribly old Souloran money. An old library had a lot of ruined books, but not much more that I had easy ac
cess to. It appeared many of the buildings that weren't demolished were turned into living spaces for the guards. Twice I risked getting caught by a scanning camera stationed outside of a building, but I took necessary measures to keep out of viewing range.

  The casino was the most reliable building I found. I'd never been in a casino until now, but they were very common in Souloroh. Era had outlawed gambling buildings in Iason, stating that Iasona needed to be mindful of their money and put it toward proper investments rather than the fantasy of winning a lottery.

  A lot of objects had been left in the abandoned building, and for the most part it didn't seem occupied by security. There had been a camera outside, and one at the entrance, but a small hole in the back of the building had been totally unguarded. I managed to crawl my way in and climb over a couple piles of storage boxes. I found rolls of coins, metal dishware in an old connecting cafe, and an entirely blocked off gift shop filled to the brim with items.

  My breath grew hot with hunger as my eyes landed on the many trinkets and glistening objects just beyond the taped off glass door. There were lights on inside, though dim, but it was easy for me to see guards on the other side. Although everything looked untouched save a few items, human guards seemed to have entered through a back door and used the place as a meeting room by filling it full of their own supplies.

  I kept low and in the shadows, staying behind desolate slot machines while watching the gift shop windows. The two guards inside slouched against item shelves, drinking from bronze bottles and smiling while they chatted. I couldn't hear their words from this distance, but their laughter was audible.

  A distraction was needed. I picked up a stool beside the machine I was near and hurled it toward the cafe across the walkway. It dropped metal leg first against the open tile floor and clattered before rolling behind a table. The shock of the sound resonated clear through the mostly empty building, loud enough to wake the dead. The guards' smiles slipped from their faces immediately, and they set down their drinks and straightened. I saw them shift rifles to position them at the ready as their eyes coasted over the dark casino floor. I inched away from the slot machine and backed into another row, watching through the cracks between the pull handles as the guards left through a back entrance and rounded a corner to come into the area.

  I stole a breath and raced forward, keeping silent while sneaking around obstacles until I made it to the gift shop's other side. The guards had left the light on, but it would be stupid to turn it off. I crept in and set to work, searching every shelf for anything I could use for an escape. Most items that had been left from the time when the casino had been running were just gimmicky knickknacks, stuffed animals, or postcards, but I didn't stop looking. I made it behind the cashier counter before the guards walked back in, and I dropped down and silenced my hard breathing. I'd managed to find absolutely nothing, and I squeezed my eyes shut as a bead of sweat rolled down my nose. All that work, and nothing. And now I'd just gotten myself trapped in a gift shop with the only exit completely open to the guards' eyes.

  That wasn't the only thing. Looking up I spotted a security camera mounted above the counter with its lens directly on me.

  "The hell was that?" one of them wondered as I heard him pick his drink back up.

  "Dunno. Ya know Teg thinks this place is haunted," the other replied.

  "Teg thinks every building in this dump is haunted. Ain't you heard him rattle on sometimes? Every building we killed in, Teg all like, 'Ya hauntin' the place with every single soul.'"

  They snorted and scoffed and took drinks. There was a short pause.

  "...I don't like killin' 'em, Stevin."

  There was an eerie silence.

  "Don't be tellin' Stone that, but I don't like it."

  The other chuckled again. "Well I do, so leave the killin' to me. They just dogs, Jules. They got in here and now they’re servin’ time and takin’ punishment, just like they should."

  I bit my lip and leaned my head against the inside of the counter, pressing it to locked cupboard doors.

  "So how about the new stock that came in last week?" the same guard started. "Eh? I saw they had a black one."

  "Stock... Ya mean prisoners, Stevin. Yeah, I saw 'im. I was in there when Stone had 'im in for inspection."

  "Mean lookin' shuck, ain't he?"

  Even more derogatory than "blackie," the term "shuck" was taken from Earthan lore of a big black dog that was an omen of death or bad luck. I'd rarely heard it outside of Souloroh, but it was used to describe dark-skinned people, and especially rebellious ones.

  I twisted ever so slightly, then felt something with my shoulder. Turning subtly, I spotted the leather-wrapped handle of a Souloran bat. It was metal and a bit scuffed, but I easily recognized its iconic shape. Mean looking? I wondered while carefully picking the bat up and pulling it out from inside the counter. Who had left something this precious in here? It could have been an old defense weapon from the past owner of the shop, or it could have belonged to a guard. Regardless, it was mine now, so long as I could get it out of the gift shop without getting shot. I was already in trouble thanks to the blinking camera.

  "I hope I get called on duty the day that dog gets chosen for execution," he went on. "Just love wipin' them defiant mouths clean off with a good few rounds to the face."

  "Shut up, Stevin."

  I heard feet approaching, and I gritted my teeth and held the bat firmly.

  "I'm serious. Ya gotta let go, man. It's just good sport."

  Someone leaned against the counter and slammed his bottle down. "Good sport? Ya callin' killin' them prisoners sport?"

  I saw the guard right above me. He was a young man with blond hair, still pale and not tan and weathered like the rest of them. A new recruit. His blue eyes happened to flick down once he caught sight of the gleam of the metal bat in my hand, and I tensed, ready to strike. But instead of the man jumping up and positioning his gun, he hesitated. I stared him down until he blinked in surprise and looked back over at his buddy across the room.

  "What is it?" the man named Stevin questioned.

  "Nothin'."

  "Well, my break's just about endin'. See ya back in the heat."

  Footsteps left the room, and for ten seconds or so the blonde waited until everything was quiet before glancing back down at me.

  "Ya out-of-bounds, prisoner."

  I gave him a "You think I'm stupid?" kind of look.

  "I'm givin' ya thirty seconds to get outta here before I shoot ya."

  I slowly rose from behind the counter, keeping the bat at my side. "Ah, and after that talk, you think I am dumb? Let me go free, and I not tell Stone that you don't like to kestil the 'stock.'"

  The man straightened, the arm with the rifle resting cautiously by his hip. He swallowed, then motioned with his head for me to move out from around the counter. "What are ya doin' in here?"

  I kept a firm grip on the bat, walking around him slowly. "If you want to know, you leave me alona and find out later."

  "Stone was right," the blonde mentioned as I tentatively stepped back toward the doorway.

  "Right about vasu?"

  "Ya gonna be a rebel. They'll shoot ya quick."

  "They will not," I breathed, then turned and continued looking through the gift shop.

  "Ya underestimate 'em," said the man. "Ya may've been a Strejc, but that don't mean nothin' here no more. Drop the bat."

  I glanced back at him while tugging out a couple of glass bottles of alcohol from a standing cooler, ignoring his request. "Huh, a Souloran who actually know how to pronounce 'Strejc' correct."

  "I'm serious, Anli. It ain't easy bein' a minority here. Now drop the weapon."

  I tugged out another bottle, ignoring his command. "And are you a minority, Mister...?"

  "...Federspiel," the blonde replied.

  I paused as the cooler door swung shut. "An easier first name, perhaps?"

  "Julien, sir. But most just call me Jules."

&nb
sp; "...You just call a prisoner 'sir.'"

  He shrugged one shoulder. "Outside this camp, ya ain't exactly below me."

  I paused what I was doing, staring at him with interest. Here I was in front of a Roavo guard... the same people I'd witnessed murder several inmates over the past week just for opening their mouths... and he'd just told me that he considered me equal.

  "I not understand," I admitted.

  Jules shrugged again. "I shouldn't be gettin' friendly with ya. I ain't gonna ask again what ya doin', but just keep ya head low, will ya? I don't wanna be the one gettin' called in to do the slaughterin'. We all human--we should act like it here, too."

  My face softened from his words, and I nodded my head to him politely. "Thanes phoro not shooting me, Jules."

  Jules nodded back to me. "I won't so long as ya drop the bat and bottles."

  I balked, glancing up at the camera again. "I need them."

  Jules unhooked his gun, following my gaze for a moment. "Please... I ain't wantin' to shoot ya. Don't make me do it."

  I could have dropped the items. I could have let him escort me back to the tents. But instead I felt defiant and eager to get moving on my escape plans--even if it meant risking my life.

  "Can the camera hear noise?" I inquired.

  Jules scrunched his face in confusion but shook his head.

  "You pretend to shoot, then leave and turn off lights?" I tried. "I can bribe."

  Jules had the gun pointed at me. My heart raced from the position, but I kept still. He seized a moment to understand my broken speech. "Ya wantin' to fake your own death an' be let off the hook?" His eyes searched mine for a moment before continuing. "Ya crazy. An' there ain't anythin' that I'd need from you."

  "I have cigarettes," I offered. Technically I didn't, but I'd spotted a pack in Rook's dressing room stash that I could easily slip away without him noticing.