Born of Sand (Tales of a Dying Star Book 5)

by Kristoph, David

  But Kari was no longer listening to him. She pointed down at the freighter and said, "Found him."

  Hob's stout shape emerged from the freighter. He waved up at them, beckoning.

  "No peacekeepers?" Farrow asked when they reached him.

  Hob shook his head. "None. One factory strongarm, but he's Praetari, not Melisao. And he was unarmed."

  Something goes right, Farrow thought with relief. He ran a hand through his sweat-dripped hair, not caring about the sand that he spread. Despite their losses, things might turn out well after all. But only if the freighter has what we need. "And the pilots?"

  Hob grimaced. "Cockpit glass blew out. They're both dead."

  "Shit on me," Farrow muttered. He'd hoped to get them alive. If they were Praetari their loyalties might be swayed. But it didn't matter now. "Have you checked the ship's hold yet?"

  The engineer hesitated. "Yes..."

  "What's wrong?" Farrow asked, suddenly alarmed. He was holding something back.

  Hob gestured. "Best if I just show you."

  He led Kari and Farrow into the dark doorway, turning on a flashlight to guide them inside. The hallway was just wide enough for one person to move. Everything was made of a grey composite material, plain and cool to the touch. The hallway didn't go very far, ending at an open door.

  As expected, the majority of the freighter's space was devoted to the storage hold: one massive rectangular room with wide loading doors at one end, and smaller walled-off compartments on the sides. Large plastic crates filled most of the wall on the left, stacked halfway to the ceiling and with the remainder of the room open.

  Nothing looked out of place, everything exactly as Farrow had expected. But the other four men and women of Hob's group stood around, looking uncomfortable. What the shit is wrong now?

  A few crates lay open on the ground. Hob pointed. "At least fifty crates of DK-3 batteries. Ten per crate. The stacks over there seem to be various electroid parts, all different kinds based on the one we opened. On the front wall, near the loading door, is a cache of packaged food. A month's supply for the mines, but it'll last our Freemen over a year."

  Farrow picked up one of the batteries from a crate. Pristine, with the terminals shiny and intact. It felt valuable in his hands. "Maggy will be happy to hear about the food," he added, "though not that it's pre-packaged. She'll be obsolete!"

  Hob remained sullen, which worried Farrow even more. The engineer jerked his head. "On the back wall are a few crates of rifles. At least thirty. Newer models than what we have," he said, tapping the one slung over Farrow's shoulder. "And explosives. Lots of explosives. They need them in the mines, I guess."

  Farrow looked around the hold. He felt like screaming with joy, like a pirate that had stumbled upon great treasure. Most of their problems had been eliminated--or at least diminished--in one short crash. Stars, the biggest problem now is transporting it all back to base. It was a good thing Dok had repaired their transport. "This is the best news we've had in years," he said, clapping Hob on the arm. "Why the dour expression? Are you afraid those explosives will go off, send us all into orbit?"

  Hob shook his head and nodded across the room, to the door to one of the side compartments. Two of his men stood there with Kari, peering inside.

  Farrow wasn't sure what he expected to find as he approached, boots giving off a hollow echo on the steel floor. What could temper their moods after so thorough a victory?

  It was obvious, when Farrow reached the door.

  Twenty feet deep and forty wide, the compartment could hold maybe a tenth of the main room, typically reserved for more precious cargo that needed to be separated from the rest of the goods. Instead, it held a cargo of flesh.

  More than a hundred women sat, stood, crouched, and lay in the space. Their clothes were faded and in various states of decrepitness, soiled from months or years of sweat and grime. At least a dozen sat up against the left wall, moaning and nursing injuries. Several did not move. One of the Freemen knelt there, using a bandage to wrap a trembling woman's arm. On the other side of the room four children sat in a circle, talking quietly.

  "Factory workers," Hob said solemnly.

  "We knew they were moving electroid parts to be constructed at the mines," Farrow realized, "but we never considered the shitting labour. Stars..." It seemed so obvious, now.

  "My source didn't mention them," Hob said. He sounded guilty, crestfallen. "I had no idea..."

  Farrow pushed past him and stepped into the room. He immediately stopped as he hit a wall of pungent smell. Bile and acid rose up in the back of his throat and he covered his mouth, gagging. The nearest factory worker looked up at him, tired and defeated. Farrow felt ashamed of his disgust.

  "They smell like they've been here for days," he said.

  "They have," Kari said, leaning against the wall. She waved. "Tell him."

  One of the workers, a teenage girl, walked over. Her legs were thin as desert reeds, her hair short and straw-like. "They loaded us up two days ago, then delayed the departure," she said in a voice like a high-pitched whistle. "Dunno why. Said we couldn't leave, 'cause then they'd have to round us all up again. Too much work. Easier to keep us inside."

  "Do you have food? Water?"

  "Water," she said. "Plenty of it, though not clean. We were to be fed specially when we reached the mines." She cocked her head. "Are... are we there? Why did we crash? My brother is in the mines. I had hoped to see him."

  Farrow's eyes returned to the left wall, to the row of bloodied women. Injured in the crash. There were no seats, no safety harnesses. The compartment was designed to hold materials, not people. We shot them down, and they bounced around like marbles. The smell stung his nose, made it difficult to breathe. He took one final look around the room before leaving.

  "What do we do with them?" Hob asked outside, beneath the afternoon sun.

  "There's too many," Kari said. "Leave them."

  "What?"

  "Leave them," she repeated. "They're not our concern."

  "We can't just leave them here," Hob said, looking shocked. "It could be a day before the peacekeepers realize they didn't arrive at the mine, and even longer for them to send help. They've minimal water, and no food. Their injured are..."

  "There are at least a hundred in there," Kari said, wielding bluntness like a club. "Some are children. All of them meek and useless. We are fighters, not some shelter for the helpless. We cannot take them to Victory Base."

  "Binny is a child, and we found a use for her..." Hob began.

  Kari said, "Most of what Binny does is clean. You want those women to do the same? All hundred of them? A fantastic idea. We'll starve, all of us, but at least our base will be spotless."

  "You've been training Mira how to fight. Why not the others?"

  "I am only one person, and I've better things to do with my time. We cannot bring them all to Victory Base."

  Hob clenched his hands into fists. "How can you be so heartless?"

  "How can you be so delusional?" Kari said with a calm, casual posture.

  Farrow listened to them argue while sucking in the hot, but clean, air. The smell still stuck to the inside of his nostrils, like it had seeped into his skin. The mere memory of the stench nearly brought him to gagging. So many crammed in so small a space, like cattle sent to market. A reminder of the cruelty of the Melisao, of the way they treated the his people. We are nothing but animals to them. To the peacekeepers, to Akonai and the other Children. Animals to be used and discarded.

  Thinking of Akonai reminded him of trust. He'd thrown the Freemen into Victory Base and gave them fear and mistrust. What had that gotten them? Mira had been helpless when he found her on the sand, yet she had grown useful and loyal. In spite of the paranoia instilled by Akonai and Spider.

  I still need to tell Mira of her daughters, he thought, the guilt returning like a fresh wound. So many casualties of the planet's occupation. So many toiling in mines and factories, working their fin
gers bloody, labouring until their usefulness ran out. Was that all a person was, their potential for usefulness? Was that what all of the Praetari were, the sum of the collective usefulness to the Exodus? Could the Melisao truly be so callous?

  And was Farrow any better, judging the factory workers on their value just then?

  "Well?" Hob demanded. "What are we going to do?"

  Chapter 14

  "This is a stupid fucking decision," Kari hissed, "and you're a stupid fucking leader for making it."

  Farrow stood with his arms crossed in the Victory Base workshop, staring up at the circular door that led to the desert above. Even with their newly-repaired transport, which could carry several tonnes of men and material at a time, it had taken well into the evening to bring the workers and supplies back from the freighter wreckage. Kari had complained the entire time, insisting they leave the women and flee with the crates of goods before any peacekeepers stumbled upon them. But none did, and they had made it back safely with the workers and material.

  That didn't stop Kari from complaining, though.

  "You've lost all focus for this war," she said. "Electroids, weapons, ships. All valuable. Necessary for attacking the peacekeepers. But these women..."

  The one hundred and forty-four workers--they had counted them--milled around the workshop nervously. Dok rummaged through the crates of electroid parts to the right, ignoring the chaos. Farrow had expected him to react angrily at so many newcomers invading his personal area, but so far the quirky man seemed more concerned with the new parts they'd brought back. If only my own worries could be cast aside so easily.

  One of the sand cruisers appeared in the dark ceiling door, carrying the last of the load and the single strongarm who had been guarding the women. They would put him in a cell while figuring out what to do. With a mechanical groan the doors closed as it descended.

  "We'll starve," Kari said. "And then they'll all be dead anyways, only this time it will be your fault. At least if we had left them, the peacekeepers would have thrown them back into the factory rotation. Here they are useless."

  "We have enough food for two months, by Hob's estimate," Farrow said. "And I intend to put these women to work. They will not be useless, Kari, no matter how many times you say so."

  "Then you'll use them," Kari said with acid in her voice, "the way they've been used all their lives?"

  Mira, Maggy, and Binny entered the room with a cart full of supplies. Maggy called the newcomers over, and the three of them began handing out blankets and fresh clothes. The Freemen didn't have enough clothing for all of them, but a cache of black peacekeeper uniforms had been in one of the crates. They would not fit all of them, and it would make them look ridiculous, but it was better than nothing.

  On the journey back to Victory Base many of the workers had trembled with fear, certain they were being sent to their deaths no matter how many times they were told otherwise. Some had wept openly when descending into the base, even. Now many of them smiled while accepting their blankets. Farrow suspected Binny's presence had a calming effect on them.

  "I will rely on them," Farrow finally said, "not use them. They will join the Freemen and help us here in the base, as equals. That is the difference between us and the Melisao." He'd spent the journey back to base considering it, turning it over in his head. Akonai's taunting words--you use men as much as I do--no longer stung the way they had. Farrow held compassion, and that made all the difference.

  "Where will we keep them all?" Kari tried.

  He'd already worked that out, too. "We'll open the east halls. It will strain our electricity usage, and our margin for error will be thin, but Dok fixed the third turbine. We will make do."

  "And you can trust them all? How do you know they won't run to the Melisao the first chance they get?"

  "I don't trust them fully. I'd be stupid to. I've arranged extra guard duty at the exits for a while. Just to be safe. But I won't suspect every person on Praetar. I'm done being paranoid. Look at Mira: I very nearly killed her because I was certain she was a spy. I will not make that mistake again." He sighed. "And I'm done being frightened of the fear of Melisao shades infiltrating us. More fear-mongering from Akonai, designed to keep us scared and reliant on him. If a shade had infiltrated us we'd all be dead in our sleep already."

  Kari thought about that for a long moment before speaking. "Who is going to train the women? Not me, I assure you. I wasted enough time showing Mira how to shoot a gun, I refuse--"

  He rounded on her. "Why are you so fixated on this?" It was as if the decision to bring the workers back was a personal affront to the assassin. "We lost six Freemen bringing down the freighter. That brings our strength down to twenty-eight. We need manpower, however we can shitting get it. Yes, they're weak now. Yes, they'll need training. Yes, it will take time. But with that many Freemen, along with the electroids Dok can build and the aircraft we can fly, we're finally within reach of striking the Melisao down with force." And without Akonai's help.

  "Two of those we lost taking the freighter were pilots," she pointed out. "Hob is now the only one who can fly a ship, and poorly at that."

  "I'm working on it."

  "I'm sick of having to hear that," she said in a low voice.

  "I'm sick of having to say it."

  "I'd like to be more involved with your decisions. You've been keeping a lot of things close to your chest, instead of going to the men and deciding as a group."

  "My decision is made, and that's all you need to know." Before she could argue more he left her.

  Dok had made a mess opening crates of electroid parts and scattering them around the floor. "Quite a haul, huh?" Farrow asked, partly wanting to get some positive feedback from somebody.

  "Quite the haul indeed!" Dok said with flawless diction. It was strange hearing him speak normally. "You acquired enough batteries not only to arm the electroids, but to fix the final Riverhawk as well."

  Farrow tucked his thumbs behind his belt. "So we'll have forty completed electroids?"

  Dok said, "You didn't let me finish! These crates contain all the parts required for the newest model of electroid. All the parts, pristine and new. I will need to meticulously inventory each crate to know for certain, but I believe we can assemble more than a hundred."

  Farrow was too pleased by the answer to make a quip about what 'meticulously inventory' meant to Dok. A hundred. And the final Riverhawk fixed. He looked around the room. After so much bad luck over a lifetime, I've certainly saved up for this good fortune.

  He visited the radio room, but there had still been no signal from Akonai. The way in which they had parted had given Farrow a clear picture of what they needed to do. Or rather, what they didn't need to do. They didn't need to wait for the Children of Saria to attack. Not anymore.

  And that was just fine.

  They opened up the east wings for the factory workers, and the turbines held strong despite the extra drain. Their quarters were cramped with five women to a cell, but nobody complained. They arranged new meal shifts since their full number--now over one hundred and sixty--couldn't all fit in the kitchens at the same time. Maggy did complain about that, and all the new work she had to do, until he sent the four new children to help her. She ordered them around, gesturing sternly with her spoon, but Farrow saw her smile when they weren't looking.

  Twenty other workers were given various simple tasks--cleaning, or shadowing some of the veterans on scouting duty deep in the tunnels--but the majority were sent to the workshop. Without needing to be ordered, Mira took charge of the workers, evaluating their experience and arranging them accordingly. Within a day she had a makeshift assembly line snaking across the floor of the workshop. That freed up Dok to focus on the code for the electroids, reprogramming them to fight. "It's not difficult; these are made to work drills, so they already have a lot of the code to point at something and activate their tool. Just need to change the tool from a drill to a laser, of which we now have plenty." He s
cratched his white hair. "Four days. Maybe five. Stars above, the women will have all the electroids assembled by then."

  Farrow watched Mira move from worker to worker. They sat on the floor, sliding each assembled piece to the next woman in line. Occasionally Mira stopped and gave instructions, gently pointing and demonstrating whatever it was that needed doing. Other workers moved among the assembly line, adding new electroid parts to the piles next to each woman's station so they always had a supply.

  "I've set them up in six-hour shifts," Mira said. "Half as long as the factories in the city. They're thrilled by the change! To them it feels like a massive improvement on conditions. It is a massive improvement."

  Farrow nodded. "I'll arrange daily weapons training for those who want it. It will not be mandatory. Those who wish to remain peaceful will not be forced to fight. But those who do..."

  "All of them," Mira blurted out.

  "What?"

  Mira looked at the assembly line, now working smoothly. "All of them will fight. I can see it in their eyes. Some of them may not know it yet, but they will."

  And she was right. Sixty workers visited the armoury for weapons training the first day. Eighty the next. By the third day all but the injured went straight to the armoury after their workshop shift to train with rifles--which they had plenty of, finally. Farrow had to dedicate nine of his veterans to working in the armoury around the clock to train them all. A good problem to have, he thought. Even Kari stopped complaining, though he could tell she was still bothered by the entire thing.

  A hundred electroids. A hundred and forty fighters. Seven aircraft, and a handful of vehicles. There's just one final piece to collect.

  That piece returned a week later, just as he was beginning to worry.

  Farrow met Geral in one of the scouting tunnels, where he'd come down a secret escape hatch from the sand. His face was flushed and grimy, but he wore a big, toothy smile. "It's open."