by Rolf Nelson
Helton: Here is where we part, I guess. Good luck with the job. Maybe you can get out to-
Bipasha: Yes, maybe so. We’ll see.
They shake hands awkwardly, then she goes one way and he goes another.
FADE TO BLACK
Harbin
FADE IN
EXT - DAY - Desert valley
Low angle camera, close-up view of Helton’s face as he lies face down in the sandy dirt, brightly lit by a reddish sun low in the sky. With a flopping sound a puff of dust blows by his face. He twitches, blinks his eyes, and squints as if he is just waking up. Camera pulls back for a wider view. He is lying on the ground, stretched out, with other people lying in the dirt near him. As he starts to groggily move some of the others also begin to make small movements. A big brute of a man, Slaver1, wearing something vaguely resembling a uniform, walks into view dragging two people by their collars. He drops them roughly in the dirt next to Helton and turns to walk back the way he came. Another big and rough looking man, Slaver2, wearing similar clothes, drags a child and woman and drops them carelessly. As the view expands, there are about two dozen men, women, and a few children, dropped like so many sandbags, scattered about on the dry, dusty ground of a desert basin around the loading ramp of a small anti-grav transport. A couple of them are recognizable from Helton’s dinner aboard ship. Slaver1 picks up a large canister, shaped like a two-gallon fire extinguisher, and turns it on the unconscious people, spraying a white chemical fog out over them, sweeping it back and forth as he stands on the ramp. The cloud settles down over the victims, then dissipates.
Slaver1: Wakey wakey, sleeping beauties!
Slaver2 thinks this hysterical and laughs loudly. People start to twitch and slowly turn over, shaking heads, spitting dirt out of their mouths, sitting up or getting unsteadily to their hands and knees. Slaver1 goes over and kicks the ones that aren’t moving. One groans and starts to stir. The other lays unmoving. He kicks her again. She lays there, unresponsive.
Slaver1: One down already. Might have to put another bet in the pool.
Slaver1 walks back to the ramp and hops on. He addresses the crowd with malevolent relish in his voice.
Slaver1: Welcome to Hell. You can sit here and die, but that’s no fun. For us, that is. Or, you can walk that way (points down a valley between two mesas) for a few days to get to the prison mine. Those that live that long will dig ‘lonium there ‘till you work off your debt. In the meantime, how many of you die on the march there will entertain us. I’m betting the pool that only 11 of you make it. He’s (hooking a thumb at Slaver2) betting on eight, ‘cause of all the weak ones he sees. But I’m an optimist.
Passenger1: (Unsteady but with growing rage) You can’t DO this to us! WHAT debt? When we get there, I’ll rip out your-
Slaver2 draws a pistol and BLAM! Passenger1 drops with a thud to in the dirt without a twitch.
Slaver2: No, you won’t. (To Slaver1) One less tough guy!
With a chuckle and smirk, Slaver1 kicks a stack of 1 liter water bottles off the ramp.
Slaver1: One each. You can fight over ‘em now or later, your choice. Got bets on that, too. (Evil grin) See you soon!
The transport lifts up and speeds away, leaving the passengers gaping in disbelief. They slowly start to stand or crawl toward the water, unsteady as they recover from the effects of the sleeping gas.
As Helton sits up he sees a very tough looking bearded Sikh in his late 40s sitting next to him, alternately looking at Harbin and eyeing the retreating flier, adjusting his turban and starting to flex and loosen up.
Harbin: Name?
Helton: Helton. Can’t say I’m glad to meet you.
Harbin: Harbin. The same. (Looks at the dead Passenger1 and shakes his head) Stupid.
Helton: What the hell happened?
They both move carefully to their knees.
Harbin: Pirates. They can sell the ship and cargo. People are harder. A couple of inside guys can put knockout gas in the air but they might be skittish on just spacing everyone. So, entertainment, then slavery in a prison mine where there isn’t a lot of paperwork filed, I expect.
Helton: (Looking briefly around at the terrain) Sssshhhhiiiiit.
As his eyes come back to the people around him, he notices that a little way back, behind Harbin, six tough looking youngish punks are gathering.
Helton: (Nodding slightly toward them) That doesn’t look good.
As he kneels there, Harbin casually glances out of the corner of his eye, back at Helton, then bends as if stretching and surreptitiously picks up an oblong rock in one hand.
Harbin: (Very quietly, nodding slightly) Good call. Can you move OK?
Helton stretches carefully, grimaces, and nods slightly.
Harbin: Right. Follow my lead.
Harbin slowly stands up, flexes, and goes toward the six punks. They look at him suspiciously, also stretching, flexing, and making fist-into-palm motions. Harbin grins a wicked grin as he approaches, while also taking a moment to leer at one of the ladies. They spread out, preparing to fight him all at once. When he gets close, but not quite touching range, he speaks quietly, pitching his voice as a whisper for their ears only.
Harbin: Kill the other men, then rape and kill the women and kids, take all the water? Make for an easy walk to the mine.
Thug1: Shit, yeah!
Thug2, Thug3, Thug4 all smile.
Thug5: Kill ‘em, then rape ‘em. Can’t hurt you that way, and it’s faster.
Thug6: I like the way you think!
Harbin: (With a nod and an evil smirk) Thought so. Here’s how.
Harbin steps toward them, waving them in slightly as if to huddle for a quick plan. There is a whirl of kicks, chops, lunges, smashes with his rock, a head butt and neck twist. In a few brief seconds of violence five of the punks lay dead, or at least out cold and bloody. The sixth, who was biggest, is fighting with Helton. They are about evenly matched. As they clinch and struggle Harbin steps up and efficiently whacks Thug6 in the back of the head with almost casual precision, laying him out very effectively, like it’s something he’s done many times before.
Everyone else is scrambling out of the way, then staring in wonder and fear at the sudden turn of events.
Helton: Thanks.
Harbin: (Not the least bit out of breath, nods acknowledgment, and speaking quietly, keeping it just to Helton) Thank you. Four isn’t a problem; six is pushing it.
They look at the bodies, then at the fearful groups of passengers.
Helton: Well, that helps the water problem, anyway.
Everyone has scattered, putting some distance between themselves and the violence as they assess the situation. A few have grabbed water bottles as they moved. Then, everyone is still, eyes on Helton and Harbin as they walk toward the small heap of remaining water bottles, suspicion showing on their faces. Some of the adults shield their children behind them. Helton squats to pick up a bottle and hands a second to Harbin. They look around to evaluate their position.
From between two groups of passengers, a frail looking elderly man in a monk’s habit slowly gets to his feet, then walks stiffly toward them. They watch him silently. He stops a few yards away and regards them intently. His face is ashen and yellowish, even the whites of his eyes are yellow, but his expression is sharp and inquiring.
Monk: What now, my violent young friends?
Helton: Well, (takes a drink) We make a plan, and get everyone to safety.
Monk: (With a small smile) I admire your faith, my son, but you seem to have more hope than sense.
Harbin: (Skeptically) Doesn’t your God preach “God will provide?”
Helton: Yeah, right now all He’s provided is an abundance of shortage.
Monk: Perhaps. But He provided them (waves his hand to indicate the rest of the passengers) with you (nods to indicate the fallen punks).
Helton: (Sarcastically) Which only proves He’s got a really odd sense of humor.
Monk: (Wryly) Perhaps
. But you don’t look like a punch line to me.
Harbin: (Grimly) Not a perfect situation, but we’re not dying of thirst just yet.
Helton looks sharply at Harbin, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and talks mostly to himself
Helton: Liabilities are obvious. Assets. Observe, orient, decide, act.
He looks around, eyeing the people, the water bottles, gazing over the terrain. Suddenly he squints more closely at one of the mesas, then back and around. Surprise lights up his face.
Helton: Hey, hey-hey-HEY! I… I know that rock outcrop! I know this place. I’ve been here before!
Helton paces back and forth a couple of times looking at everything around him like a crazy man energetically pointing out things and muttering to himself.
Helton: The basalt was over there, and the granite that-a-way, terraforming cut through silicates there…
He’s gesticulating, trying to remember everything from a faded memory years old. Everyone else around him eyes him cautiously.
Helton: (Snapping his fingers) GOT IT! Sun’s coming up over there, gonna get hot, damn hot. That valley he pointed us down is a long way to the mine, but it should be easy walking. There is a shorter way around that side, but it’s rough. Lots of sharp igneous rock, and an old TFP cut. How, how, how…?
Harbin: Could we cut ahead, take a transport, come back to get them?
Helton: Huh? Oh, ummm… no, well, maybe… ah… let me think…
Helton taps his chin, looks around him intently, becomes oblivious to the people around him, muttering and looking acutely at features here and there.
The monk collapses, sitting down hard. His face is pale, jaundiced, and sweating. Helton snaps back to the people around him and goes to the monk’s side.
Helton: What’s wrong?
Monk: (With labored breathing, trying to put a good face on a dire situation) Nothing that’s not been going wrong for months. I was headed home to the abbey for my final voyage. (He winces faintly in some internal pain) Looks like… uuuhhhh… it might be a shorter trip than I planned.
Helton: No, you’re going to make it! We’ll all make it!
Monk: Would that it were true. But no, I… It’ll spread the water. I’ve done my work in this world.
Helton: No, you’re not done yet!
Monk: With my kidneys, I’ll be visiting with God in a couple of hours. Sorry to disappoint you…
Helton: Well, we’ll do what we can do.
The monk smiles at him faintly, and Helton stands up and looks around, for a minute…
Flash a rapid series of images from Helton’s POV:
Harbin
A mesa
Six groups of dumped passengers, one after another
Another rock outcropping in a different direction
A small heap of ten water bottles
The sun, about twenty degrees above the horizon
The monk
Another rock outcropping
Helton: (Confidently) OK, unless someone has a better idea, here’s the plan.
Helton squats down and picks up the water bottles one at a time, looking around to see who has what. He tosses water to everyone that doesn’t already have one, and an extra one to each of six that appear to be family groups or together. While he does this, Harbin checks through the clothing of the seven dead for possibly useful items, taking jackets and belts and tossing them to the groups for nighttime warmth, and turning out pockets looking for useful items. Helton explains, talking fast and firmly, pausing to look people in the eye as he hands them things.
Helton: Harbin and I can cut over that way along other side of mesa and-
Passenger2: (Pointing down valley) But they said the way to the mine was that way.
Helton: Just ‘cause they handed us a crap sandwich doesn’t mean we have to eat it. Just deal with it. Now, the sun is still low, so we can move into and through the shadows on the east side of the canyon for a while. By noon it’ll be getting hot. Find a shady spot, lie down, and sleep if you can. Move out again in the evening as it cools. If you come across any water it’ll have a lot of alkaloids, so DON’T DRINK IT! And…
Helton cuts himself off, and pats at a few of the many pockets in his travelers coat. His face brightens.
Helton: Ha! Here.
Helton pulls out a series of tiny flashlights, checks them and tosses one each to four groups.
Helton: Always kept a supply of these handy for the kids. You’ll need to march all night to keep from freezing, but don’t go too fast or you’ll sweat and get dehydrated and exhausted. Save your water until tonight if you can. A couple of big turns down the canyon, you’ll see the prison mine. Find a spot just around the bend, out of sight on the west side, and wait for us. Harbin and I’ll take the cut around the other side of the mesa. We’ll sneak in, grab something flyable, zip out to grab you, and get as much airspace as we can between us and them as fast as we can. We’ll aim for sunset in two days, so be ready to move. If we don’t pick you up before sunset in three days, go in together as a group, and you’ll have to take your chances because in three days… (shrugs the obvious alternatives away). If you are stopped and cold, huddle together. Questions?
Male passenger2: Shouldn’t we bury these guys?
Helton: No. No time to waste before the heat sets in. Anything else?
Monk: (Holding out his water bottle) I won’t need this.
Helton: Yes, you will.
Monk: (Gritting his teeth) No. It won’t make any difference for me, might save one of you.
Helton: Thanks. (Takes the bottle gently) We’ll come back for you.
Monk: Only if you can do so safely.
The monk motions feebly to Helton for him to come closer. Helton bends down. The monk whispers something into his ear, and presses a small medallion into Helton’s hand.
INSET - a 40mm medallion of metal, red with a black enamel Possenti cross, which looks somewhat like a mil-dot reticle with two short and one long stadia lines on each vertical, and two short stadia on the horizontal crosshairs.
The look of seriousness on Helton’s face deepens. He puts his hand with the medallion into his pocket.
Helton stands up, looks at the group as they arrange themselves, looking like they have renewed hope, even if it’s going to be tough.
Helton: Well, good luck. Hopefully we’ll see you all in two days.
One of the ladies in the group comes up and gives him a hug.
Lady1: Thank you. Good luck!
The rest of the group gives Harbin and Helton a quick hug or handshake, with murmurs of “Luck” or “Bless you” and “Give ‘em hell.” Harbin takes a close look at the monk, sitting, slumped on the ground. The monk looks at Harbin and shakes his head slightly, wincing. He straightens up slightly, adjusts his position, and settles into a meditating position.
They all start off in their respective directions. After two dozen paces, Harbin stoops, picks up a smooth rock a bit smaller than a baseball, hefts it, and turns toward the monk, now sitting facing the sunrise. The camera view returns to frame Harbin as he winds up and hurls the rock, hard, and there is a soft crunch as it smashes into the monks skull, then the flopping sound as he collapses over onto the ground. Helton looks at him, appalled.
Harbin: (Flatly) Alone in a desert dying of thirst and organ failure. Not a good way to go.
He turns to address the monk, salutes him, and speaks in a respectful, sincere tone.
Harbin: May your God watch over your soul.
Harbin turns back to Helton, waving his hand in the direction of the mesa.
Harbin: Lead on, gubernator.
FADE TO BLACK
FADE IN
EXT - DAY - Near the foot of a long mesa
Helton and Harbin scramble rapidly along a narrow flat spot at the foot of a mesa, Helton's traveler coat flapping in the wind, with a steep side going up on their left, and a deep, regular but rough, nearly semicircular valley cut made by a terraforming machine sweeping down to the
right. They hop from one rock to another, moving smoothly along, a half dozen paces apart.
CUT TO
Series of short aerial flyby shots of them making rapid progress along the foot of the mesa, first in shadows then with the sun working its way overhead.
CUT TO
A series of shots showing some of the other groups of people walking along a sandy valley bottom, steep canyon walls rising around them. They march along, the stronger helping others who are struggling, such as one man lifting up a young girl to sit on his shoulders.
CUT TO
Flying zoom into Helton and Harbin standing side by side, surveying the way ahead, pointing out a possible path, then standing arms akimbo as they just take in the view across the valley.
CUT TO
Much closer view of them standing, scanning ahead and taking a breather.
Harbin: Where did you serve?
Helton looks at Harbin questioningly.
Helton: Serve?
Harbin: The way you talk, move; like most of the good officers and NCOs I’ve known. Either officer training, or good command instincts.
Helton: Thanks. I did the traditional two years everyone in my family did. Army on Asimov 3. (Faux haughty) Attained the exalted command rank of corporal, second class, promotable. (Sarcastically) The 500 they asked me to pay for a five year reenlistment and one-grade promotion didn’t quite seem right.
Harbin laughs out loud and nods knowingly.
Harbin: I’ve worked with that sort of force before. Payoffs and corruption throughout.
Helton: You’re a soldier?
Harbin shrugs to indicate “more or less.”
Helton: …Mercenary?
Harbin: I prefer “freelance righter of wrongs.” My wife describes it as “negotiation failure contingency planner” to keep from scaring people.
Helton: Anywhere in particular? Lots of stuff going on right now.
Harbin: I work for a Plataean unit wherever it goes. Here and there.
Helton: You Plataean?
Harbin nods.