by Natalie Grey
“‘Gods?’” This was an unfamiliar term to Lan. Even Gar, the more well-read of the two, seemed lost.
The human seemed a little blindsided by this. “Ah. Hmm. A force beyond what we can see or measure. An ideal, perhaps. Something greater than mortal beings.” When he saw their blank looks, he shook his head. “I am happy to speak to you about this, but it is not my purpose in being here. I wish only to restore peace to this place.”
Lan came to a decision. “In that case, why doesn’t Vice-Overseer Venfirdri show you around?” His nod to Gar conveyed a silent warning: Keep an eye on him.
Gar nodded back slightly.
“I would be delighted. I sincerely hope I can be of use.” Barnabas stood, and allowed Gar to lead him out of the overseer’s hut.
Lan waited until they were gone, then hit a button to call one of the guards.
“Summon Chogaru.”
He ate some sweets while he waited for the Nekubi to arrive. Gar had done well to bring them back. Such comforts were the only things that kept Lan sane in this miserable place while he accrued his money.
Still, there must be sacrifice in order to gain. If he had to live on this squalid planet for a few more years in order to become magnificently wealthy, he would do so.
He looked at the Nekubi as it slithered into the room.
At first, Lan had despaired of finding a way in which the Nekubi could be useful workers. With short weak arms and a bulbous body, they were not useful for many of the tasks normally performed in a mine.
However, the Nekubi possessed an unusual ability to find veins of ore and assess the quantity of it in a chunk of rock. Lan had been able to make excellent use of them.
Chogaru in particular had other uses. When he’d arrived, Lan had heard his name from the guards almost at once. He was a troublemaker, they said. He was seen whispering in corners with the other workers. Who could know what mischief he’d get up to?
Then something very unexpected had happened. Chogaru had asked to speak to Lan in the dead of night, and he had explained that he would be very useful to the overseer—for a price. He had established himself as one of the revolutionaries among the workers. Anyone looking to make trouble would come to him first.
He offered to be Lan’s source amongst the workers.
Lan, who appreciated this sort of bargaining, had to admit that this was an unexpected bonus. He’d made sure to have the sort of delicacies Chogaru liked on hand for regular indulgence, including a certain sort of tree sap. He’d signed a contract offering Chogaru far more in the way of wages so that money would be waiting for him at the end of his year, and any month he stayed after that would earn him triple wages.
In return, Chogaru had made him aware of certain plans among the workers and advised Lan when to use force and when to capitulate to their demands. So far, Chogaru’s advice had proved worthwhile.
Lan had not summoned him recently, however. He knew that Chogaru must have opinions on the tempers within the mines, and Lan had been afraid that the Nekubi might advise letting people out of their contracts.
“You have a problem, Overseer?” Chogaru dipped a finger in the tree sap and brought it to his mouth. The sticky stuff was just starting to drip as he licked it away.
“You tell me,” Lan replied. “It’s what I pay you for.”
“You have several potential problems.”
“Mmm. I’m aware of those. And there is now one more. Did you see the new alien walking with Gar?”
Chogaru shook his body in a way that Lan had come to interpret as a negative.
“He wears brown robes and is short, and has no claws or teeth to speak of. He is apparently a ‘human.’”
“I’ve heard of humans,” Chogaru related finally. “But they’re myths; they don’t exist. Whoever told you he was human was playing a prank on you.”
“He told me he was human,” Lan replied, annoyed.
“The stories about humans are impossible,” Chogaru told him. “They say that humans can grow claws in an instant and battle creatures four times their size. Who has that kind of technology?”
“Kurtherians.”
“Precisely. And what you described is not a Kurtherian.” Chogaru rippled again; Lan thought this one might be a shrug. “So what do you want from me?”
“I want to know if this thing tries to make trouble or set up an insurrection; that sort of thing.”
“Ah. If you’re worried, why is he even here?”
“He claims he can help with the bad mood among the workers. It’s worth a try. I’ll just kill him if he doesn’t help.”
“Wise,” Chogaru agreed. “Don’t let it go too far. I’ll see what I can find out about him.”
Lan seemed to have nothing more to say, so Chogaru left with the Brakalon who had brought him here, pausing for restraints to be placed on his hands and tail. Whenever he came to speak to Lan, they pretended he was in trouble for some infraction or other. Chogaru told people this was why he’d stayed so long; Lan had extended his contract for all the trouble he’d made.
He didn’t mind living here, not particularly. Ever since he could remember Chogaru had wanted more. More of anything, more of everything. At first he had despaired that a Nekubi from the lowest caste could ever rise in the world, but his instincts had told him to get off Nire, his home planet. Since he’d left, things had definitely been better.
Oh, there were problems. There were rough nights sleeping out in the open, or without food. But he was learning so much. He was learning how to trade what he had for something more, and he got better at it every time.
When he had run out of options on his last planet, he’d taken a contract with the company. He hadn’t had any ideas of what to do when he was done with his year of work. He’d just known that it was better to go someplace new than get into a rut.
Once he’d gotten here, though, he’d seen the answer at once. Overseers were deathly afraid of insurrection, and it was all too easy to stir one up.
Lan thought Chogaru was on his side—and when push came to shove, maybe he was—but Chogaru wasn’t useful unless there were workers’ revolts to put down. Thus, he made sure to keep them going with a subtle word here, a little hint there. He was going to make as much of this situation as he could.
In this case, he had to admit he was curious. What sort of alien would dare try to pass themselves off as a mythical being? It was interesting, and it almost certainly meant there were secrets.
And if Chogaru had learned one thing over the years, it was that where there were secrets there was money to be made.
Barnabas walked through the dusty streets with his hands linked behind him and a carefully neutral expression on his face.
He’d decided to let Gar lead him wherever he wanted. There seemed to be good communication between him and the Luvendi. Barnabas had understood that when Gar asked for assurances, he was giving Barnabas the opportunity to set Lan’s mind at ease. Gar had given faint nods when Barnabas had struck good notes, too.
Barnabas would therefore trust the vice-overseer to show him whatever he deemed useful, and only speak frankly when he knew they couldn’t be overheard.
In the meantime, he was happy to have the opportunity to walk the layout of the town, seeing its weaknesses up close and assessing the mood in the workers. Many of them looked at him with scarcely-concealed dislike, assuming he was a friend of management because he was walking with Gar.
He would let them think that for now. It was extremely unlikely that any of them could hurt him badly enough to be more than an inconvenience, and they would know the truth soon enough.
He promised himself that.
Shinigami?
Yes?
Are you getting data?
Yes. She sounded pleased.
He was pleased as well. Before he left the Meredith Reynolds, he’d commissioned a series of pouches and pockets that went with various outfits. Though they appeared to be cloth, they were made of a fabric that resisted
basic scanning technology, allowing him to stash various weapons and electronics in them.
In this case, secure in the knowledge that he could almost certainly keep fighting long enough to be picked up by a Pod, he hadn’t bothered to bring weapons.
Instead, he’d brought a device that would find Lan’s servers and feed information to Shinigami. While Barnabas was here, she would assess the data to see what they could find out about Lan and his employers.
He’d been impressed with her research about High Tortuga. She’d identified many places to tackle in order to make sure no one came looking for the planet—places Barnabas would no doubt have thought of eventually, but not soon, and not without carefully curated lists of exact cities and space stations where he might find relevant servers and information brokers.
He wondered how much else they could do if they set their minds to it. He had to admit, she’d gotten farther than he expected without speaking to people.
If only she weren’t so damned impatient to use that flamethrower…
11
She should burn this whole place to the ground. Shinigami sorted through the files on Lan’s computer, only growing more annoyed as she did so.
The company didn’t care very much about its workers. A cursory check of their standard employment contract compared to any other employment contract revealed an eye-watering set of clauses that allowed for, as far as Shinigami could tell, things like having a relative work off any debt the company decided you had.
It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law of course, but they were betting that no one they took would be able to get to one.
That would have been bad enough, but it was clear that Lan had cared even less about people than the company did from the start. The company had set an exceptionally low bar, and he had failed to meet it every time.
It was clear from the amount of food he’d requisitioned that he wasn’t feeding the workers enough, and from his supply orders that he really only cared about his security systems and all the little luxuries he’d hidden under different line items.
He’d sent a message to the company to confirm that he would shut down the mines just as they had requested, then he’d taken everything offline and gambled that the owners wouldn’t interfere—or, at least, wouldn’t interfere for long enough that he’d be able to make a small fortune off the mine.
She wasn’t sure if he’d planned to leave after a certain amount of time, or if he was only intending to run when he thought he was in danger. He seemed to be leaving his options open, even setting up a system of debts for lodging and food that would give him the chance to move workers somewhere else, claiming they still owed him money.
That was why you couldn’t give people like this any indication that you were coming. Shinigami admitted to herself that she was worried—worried that Barnabas would not be sneaky enough and Venfaldri Lan would disappear with all his ill-gotten gains, and maybe even with some of the slave-workers.
The thought of someone getting away with this sickened her. The injustice of it was enough to make her want to climb out of her servers, take corporeal form, and do any number of violent things to everyone like Lan.
She could build herself a body if she had long enough.
Barnabas?
Yes?
Be honest: are you certain there is no room in your plan for Lan to escape?
His answer came back instantly: Yes. I won’t let him escape without paying for what he has done. More important, perhaps, is that I will never let him do anything like this again. The past cannot be undone, but the future can be shaped.
Thank you, Shinigami replied simply.
There was a pause. She peeked through his eyes for just a moment and saw the world of the mines—depressing even to her AI eyes. Everything was shoddy and run-down. This place wasn’t humming with activity or efficiency, and its denizens were not willingly laboring this hard. There was nothing to be proud of here beyond the grimly determined survival of the workers.
Were you worried? Barnabas asked her.
Yes. She did not see the point of the question. She would not have asked if she were not worried.
I am sorry, then, he replied at once. It was not my intent for you to think that I… He paused. What did you think? To my knowledge, I have never given anyone in the former Etheric Empire cause to doubt my devotion to Justice. He sounded offended now.
Not that, Shinigami told him. I was worried that your pride was leading you to do this the difficult way for no good reason, and that Lan might have a chance to escape because of it. You cannot deny that humans do illogical things out of pride.
As do AIs, Shinigami. All minds are prone to pride. It is, for all my jokes, one of the reasons it is good to work with a ship who can test my plans—and for you to work with a human who won’t let you use that flamethrower without good reason.
Shinigami considered his words. Maybe, she agreed finally.
Maybe? Maybe? You’ve been advocating charging in head-on when it might cost us months of time in finding others like this male, and—
Got you.
A simmering sort of silence came through the ether, and Shinigami immersed herself once more in her research a bit hastily. She was incorporeal, so she wasn’t precisely sure what Barnabas could do to make her sorry for her jokes.
She was, however, not stupid enough to find out.
Leiguba had not been hopeful when he’d seen the alien head up to the overseer’s hut. Once—long ago—he had thought that aliens might come to help them. That they would see how Lan was running the place and report back to the company, and a better overseer would come.
He had learned that this was a foolish hope. No one cared. Whatever they might think when they saw the mines and its workers, nothing ever happened.
Maybe they even approved.
So when he looked at this one, it wasn’t with anything more than bitter curiosity. The alien was dressed strangely, in long robes that looked impractical for manual labor and weren’t of a very nice material.
But he seemed oddly dignified…and the guard captain treated him with respect, which was unusual. Even the guards didn’t like Lan and Gar.
And then the alien had turned toward him and Leiguba had felt the thoughts pour in: Aebura has not forgotten you. I am here to help. Be patient. All will be made well. It sounded like someone yelling from very far away with their voice being drowned out by white noise, but Leiguba could hear it.
More than that, for just a moment, he could hear the frequency of the group mind. There wasn’t anyone around who could share thoughts since all the other Ubuara still had working radio chips, but it was as if Leiguba’d had a head full of clouds and now it was clear again.
It was intoxicating. He stood staring after the alien and wondered what was happening.
Aebura has not forgotten you. Had Aebura truly sent this strange alien? If so, how did she propose to have him set the workers free? It had been so many months since she left. When the year was up and the overseer had refused to free them, Leiguba had been sure that Aebura would do something to release them.
But she hadn’t. Locked in the mines, he couldn’t tell if she even knew they were missing. He spent long nights torturing himself with possibilities. Had she left Devon behind, never even caring about them? Had she noticed they were gone and had gotten into trouble coming to get them? Maybe she’d forgotten the time passing and hadn’t realized anything was wrong.
Now she had sent a single alien. Was she rich enough that she was sending a broker to buy the whole place?
I am here to help, the alien had said. Be patient. All will be made well. It sounded as if he was telling Leiguba not to do anything on his own, to just wait for things to happen.
But he could not keep this to himself. The workers here had been depressed and anxious for weeks, and he was afraid of what might happen if things got any worse. He saw the hopelessness in people’s eyes. How long until they did something foolish, thinking they had
nothing to lose?
He spread the word to the other Ubuara as best he could. Though they could not speak mind to mind now, they had noticed that the Brakalons could not interpret their native language very well. Sometimes they mistook it for just meaningless chittering, and that meant that they could pass messages.
Not only that, the Ubuara were used to passing messages. The links persisted, even when they could not connect to a group mind. Soon, the Ubuara were whispering messages to everyone they came across who was known to be friendly. Help is on the way.
It wasn’t very far into the afternoon before Chogaru came to see Leiguba. Leiguba had been sitting in a patch of sun on one of the fences in a secret place that the guards didn’t know about when Chogaru slithered into the alley.
“Do you know what these messages are all about?”
“Yes.” Leiguba smiled. He was glad to see Chogaru. The Nekubi had been brave in standing up to Lan since he arrived, and he was always getting marched up to the overseer’s hut and thrown into the little jail.
Chogaru was just the sort of person who might do something desperate if things didn’t turn around soon.
“You don’t need to worry anymore,” Leiguba said. “Aebura has sent someone to help us.”
“Aebura?” Chogaru looked doubtful.
Leiguba could not blame him, not particularly. Aebura had left soon after Chogaru arrived—back when Lan was still letting people go at the end of their yearly contract. Chogaru didn’t know her, so all the information he had was that she hadn’t come to save them yet.
But now she had. Leiguba wrapped his tail around himself and tried to find a way to explain to the Nekubi why he was so sure this was going to work.
“This alien…he can override the radio chips,” he told Chogaru earnestly. “That’s how I know he’s from Aebura. He looked at me, and for a moment I could hear the group mind.”
“A hallucination,” Chogaru replied dismissively.
Leiguba frowned. He understood not trusting Aebura, but this was different. Chogaru knew Leiguba. The Nekubi should know that he wouldn’t lie about this.