“You understand what’s going on over there?” he asked, pointing at the patrollers.
Ampris glanced that way and saw the landowner handing over his seal of warranty. Her heart sank inside her. Time was running out.
“Your Viis master just lost his farm to government confiscation,” she said. “He has surrendered his seal of warranty.”
The Aaroun looked at her without understanding.
Ampris backed her ears impatiently. “The seal is a symbol of his ownership, like a title or a deed to the property. It was probably given to one of his ancestors long ago. Now he’s giving it back. He doesn’t own this farm anymore.”
The Aaroun shrugged. “Oh. Nothing about us, then.”
He started to turn away, but Ampris sprang after him and gripped his arm. “Are you crazy?” she asked. “You belong to the farm, all of you,” she said, sweeping all the slaves with her gaze. “So you now go to the government. You’ll be transported to the nearest city and auctioned off for whatever profit you can bring.”
Consternation rippled through their huddled ranks. Several rose to their feet.
“I told you,” a Kelth female said shrilly. “I told you we’d be sold.”
Someone started to ask a question, but one of the younger Kelths yipped gleefully.
“Good!” he said. “I’m tired of breaking my back over stelf. Now we can do city work, live the easy life.”
“Easy!” Ampris echoed, amazed by his naivete. “What makes you think city workers have it easy?”
“Sure they do,” he said, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. His fur was a tawny hue, and his upright ears were tipped with black. “They ain’t out here, grubbing weeds and hauling—”
“No,” Ampris broke in scornfully, “instead most of them work the docks, unloading cargo off the shuttles. Or they go on deliveries and unload those. Or they break their backs hauling construction stone. Or they stand waist-deep in the city sewers all day, never seeing the sky, while they scrape out the built-up sludge from the tunnels. Or they go wash out the contaminated tanks in factories, never mind how many die of chemical poisoning. Instead of choking on dust, they breathe industrial pollution. Instead of living in quarters behind the barn, they live in decayed tenement buildings, crammed in tiny spaces too small to hold their families.”
The brown Kelth blinked at her with his narrow jaws agape.
It was the striped Aaroun male who said softly, “Least they can have families. They live in their own place they can call home. They ain’t chained and whipped.”
“You want a home that leaks, that has no heat, no sanitation, sometimes no running water?” Ampris replied. “And do you want to have little ones, only to see them kidnapped in raids to be sold on the black market? I was taken from my mother at birth, and never saw her again. I do not even know her name or clan. We were still in the birthing hut, and I never even saw my father to have a memory of him.”
The Aaroun dropped his gaze from hers, looking abashed, while the other Aarouns in the group came up to surround her.
“What is your name?” one of the females asked.
“Ampris.”
Her name brought no recognition until the striped Aaroun lifted his head. He stared hard at Ampris, as though trying to remember something.
“Kuma?” one of the others asked. “What is it?”
The striped Aaroun went on staring at Ampris and said nothing.
Another female tapped Ampris on the arm. “Kuma was born in Vir. He and his litter mates were sold for farm work when he was very young.”
Pity filled Ampris. She shot him a look of compassion. “I’m sorry I spoke so harshly. You understand what I—”
“Yes,” he said. His gaze flickered to the young Kelth with the tawny fur. “Moska here is always looking for a way to escape field work. He thinks anything else must be better.”
Moska’s black-tipped ears twitched nervously, although the look he sent Ampris was sly. “I don’t believe—I know,” he said arrogantly. “There is nothing worse than here.”
Ampris wanted to laugh at him. In some ways he reminded her of her sons. “No matter how low you go, there is always something worse,” she told him.
“And what do you know about anything?” he shot back. “Who are you anyway? Some kind of spy?”
“Why do you ask?” she answered. “You got something to hide? Something that needs spying on?”
Moska glared at her, but the Aaroun male shoved him aside. “No,” he said before Moska could speak. “We are simple field slaves. We tend the crops. We harvest the crops. That is all we do and know. But you are no common field slave, Ampris. That is plain to see.”
She blinked in surprise. Years ago, when her golden fur was sleek and beautiful and her muscles rippled gracefully in perfect condition, yes, she had stood out from the others. But she was older now, had survived experimentation and abuse, had lived in the wild for many years, had grown thin and rough. Today she was dressed in rags, like the others in this pen with her. What was so different or remarkable about her?
“Years ago, there was a golden Aaroun named Ampris who fought in the arena,” Kuma said. “I heard my father speak of her. He used to bet his wages on the competitions, and my mother would get very angry. But when he bet on Ampris, he always won.”
A gasp ran through the group. They stared at her with widened eyes, while Ampris glared back with her ears flattened.
“A gladiator,” Moska breathed, his eyes shining. He stepped closer to her and pointed at her crippled leg. “Those scars . . . from fighting?”
Involuntarily she glanced down at where her fur had grown in white over the scars on her leg. Denial seemed pointless. “Yes,” she said.
They gasped again, and some drew back from her in fear.
She didn’t understand their reaction. She stood among them, unarmed and civilized. Did they expect her to turn on them like a savage?
“What are you afraid of?” she asked.
Instead of answering, they drew back as far as the pen would allow. Only Kuma and Moska stood their ground near her.
Ampris looked around in exasperation. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Killer,” someone in the crowd murmured. “Abiru slayer.”
Shame touched her then. But she had long ago come to terms with what she’d been forced to do in the arena. “Yes, I killed many,” she said with her head high. “All had been condemned—”
“—The standard excuse,” Moska muttered.
“—and I could obey my Viis master or be executed in the arena myself,” Ampris finished grimly. “How many of you have never been forced by your master to violate all you believe in and hold sacred?”
They fell silent. Many stared at the ground and would not meet her eyes.
“Anyone?” she asked, making it a challenge. “No? Then I need offer no excuses or apologies for my past.”
As she spoke, it struck her as absurd that she should finally be defending her actions to a bunch of ignorant field slaves on a remote farm.
A shout in the distance caught her attention. Ampris turned aside to look and saw one of the patrollers waving as he spoke into a hand-link. Moments later, a shuttle flew over the compound wall and landed near the barns, throwing up a fierce cloud of dust.
Turning away to shield her eyes, Ampris coughed, then straightened as the shuttle engines cut off. She watched the activity a few more seconds to confirm her worst fears before she turned back to her fellow prisoners.
“Kuma,” she said, “we must form a plan.”
The striped Aaroun looked at her in amazement. “What?”
She pointed. “Look at what they’re doing. They’re raising an imperial flag over the compound. In a few minutes they’ll start loading property, the important and perishable items first, which means any valuables owned by the family, their stores of food, and us.”
Kuma’s eyes still held no understanding. “The Viis will do what they will do. What do you expect
of us?”
“We must make a break for it,” Ampris said urgently. “The chance, when it comes, will probably be while they are loading us, or perhaps when the guards unlock this pen. We’ll have to—”
“You’re saying escape?” Moska interrupted. He twitched his black-tipped ears and looked at her in disbelief. “Run away?”
“We’ll be shot,” Kuma said.
The others behind him murmured agreement.
Ampris looked at their fearful faces in exasperation. “Don’t be so docile,” she said. “This is a chance to take charge of your lives. You could be free, live as you please—”
“Free to do what?” Kuma asked her. “Starve?”
“We can’t survive on our own,” one of the Aaroun females said.
The others nodded.
Ampris backed her ears in exasperation. “Of course you can. I and my friends will show you—”
“You mean you been living free?” Moska asked her with open skepticism. “No master?”
“Do I wear an ownership ring?” Ampris asked him. She held up her arm and parted the fur across the back of her elbow. “See this scar? It’s where my registration implant was cut out.”
Kuma came forward and peered curiously at the small scar, but the others hung back, exchanging glances.
“You’re a renegade, an outlaw,” Moska said.
Ampris faced him with pride. “I am.”
Someone gasped in admiration, but Moska yipped loudly. “That means a reward’s on your head. I’m going to tell the—”
In two limping strides Ampris reached the young Kelth. Gripping him by the throat, she lifted him so that his feet almost left the ground and propelled him backward at the electrified fence.
Clearly he thought she was going to shove him into it because he closed his eyes and yelped shrilly.
“Let him go!” Kuma said, moving to intervene, but Ampris blocked his ineffectual grab at her arm.
She throttled Moska expertly, letting him feel his own mortality in her hands. When he began to gasp and pant, his tongue lolling out, she released him.
His legs wouldn’t support him and he dropped to the ground, coughing and sputtering.
Ampris stood over him and growled. “Never threaten me,” she said harshly. She swung around to glare at Kuma and the others. “We are abiru, kindred brothers and sisters all. We do not betray each other. Is that clear? The Viis are our enemy. We should not be enemies among ourselves.”
No one replied. They stared at her with wide eyes.
She looked at them in rising exasperation. “Where is your spirit?” she asked them. “Have you no yearning to be free?”
“We are slaves,” Kuma answered at last. “Born slaves. Will die slaves. We obey. We do our work. Sometimes we are treated well. Sometimes we are not. It is the way of life.”
“No,” Ampris said hotly. “It is not the Aaroun way. It is not the Kelth way. It is not the Myal way. We were born free. Our ancestors lived on their own separate worlds. We did not always have Viis masters to grind our faces into the dust. Everything possible lies before you, if you will only find the courage to reach for it.”
“Freedom Network,” said one of the older Kelth females from the rear of the group. “That was you.”
“Yes,” Ampris said. She craned her neck, trying to see the female who was speaking, but they were bunched too closely together behind Kuma. “Long ago, I worked for the cause. You know it. Were you a part of it?”
“No,” came the voice with too much haste. “I saw the messages. I heard the slogans, but nothing came of it. In the end, there was nothing to fight for. There never is.”
Her pessimism annoyed Ampris, who glared at them all. “The Viis were lazy and disorganized when I lived among them. I can’t imagine they have improved. You could be free anytime you want.”
“That is a lie,” Kuma said flatly.
Ampris’s ears went back flat against her skull. She glared at him through narrowed eyes and bared her teeth. “If you remain a slave, it is because you wish to be.”
His mouth fell open, but it was Moska who jumped to his feet in outrage. “Not true!” he said shrilly, holding his throat. “We didn’t choose to be slaves.”
“Then what have you chosen to be?” Ampris asked him.
He snarled at her. “You make fun of us. but you are prisoner too. If you value freedom so much, why don’t you take it for yourself?”
“I will,” Ampris said.
As though she had been overheard, a spotlight stabbed through the darkening gloom and illuminated the pen with blinding force. Ampris squinted and put her hands to her eyes to shield them.
“Attention, slaves!” came a Viis voice over a loudspeaker. “Move to the rear of the pen now. When the gate is opened, you will come out one at a time with your hands on your head. Obey now.”
In silence, the slaves moved to do as they were ordered.
Ampris squinted past the blinding spotlight at the figures silhouetted in black. She could smell the sour Viis stink, and her nostrils wrinkled in repugnance.
“You, Aaroun!” came the harsh voice over the loudspeaker. “Move back with the others.”
Slowly Ampris backed up. Her fur bristled on her neck and stood up in a ridge down her spine. She kept her jaws closed, but a constant growl rumbled in her throat.
Kuma reached out and gripped her wrist, making her jump violently. She turned on him with a snarl, but he glared at her, close and furious.
“Make no trouble,” he said in a low voice. “Bring no harm to us.”
It was death for any abiru to strike a Viis. Ampris knew that if she attacked and was defeated, the slaves would all be executed as accomplices. At least that would be the official word put out on the planetary newscast, but in reality the slaves would be sold for whatever profit the patrollers could get.
She met Kuma’s eyes, trying to find some spark of defiance or courage in their depths. “There are four patrollers, armed only with stun-sticks. Their side-arms are not drawn,” Ampris said softly. “We number twenty-three. We can take them.”
His grip tightened on her arm. “No! You will get us killed.”
“It’s dark. We take them, put out the spotlight, and slip out through the back gate of the compound. By the time we are missed by the others, we can be well-scattered.”
“Their scanners will find us in minutes,” he said.
“Ah.” She drew in her breath with a sharp hiss. She’d forgotten about their implants. “Some of you will get away,” she said. “They won’t have time or fuel enough to hunt down everyone. It’s worth a try, Kuma.”
“No.”
“Kuma!”
He snapped at her muzzle, making her jerk her head back to avoid a bite. “No!” he said fiercely.
The fence buzzed, then went dead. The gate swung open with a shriek of rusty hinges. “Everyone, out,” one of the patrollers ordered. “Single file, hands on your heads.”
Ampris hung back when Kuma stepped forward. He was the first one out of the pen, and Ampris heard rather than saw the click of restraints being locked onto his wrists. Past the spotlight, she saw him walk up the ramp into the belly of the large shuttle. Regret filled her. She wished she had worn her Eye of Clarity today. Perhaps it would have helped her make these slaves understand what freedom could offer them. But they were afraid of uncertainty. They did not know how to take risks or turn dreams into reality. Wishing, by itself, was not enough. Action had to be taken if anything was ever to be accomplished.
One by one, the slaves filed past her, exiting the pen and standing in docile acceptance as restraints were locked on them.
Ampris growled softly to herself. She would not be docile, and she would not go quietly.
When half the slaves were gone, she joined the exodus, moving into the center of a small bunch.
At the gate, they tried to go through in a wad, but the patrollers shoved them back.
“Single file! One at a time.”
&
nbsp; Ampris let herself be shoved back, but she grabbed the wrist of the patroller who pushed her. She yanked with all her strength, using his own impetus to send him sprawling on the ground. She twisted his stun-stick from his grip as he fell.
He yelled something in Viis, but Ampris found the button and activated the weapon. She stunned him and spun around just as another patroller came through the gate at her.
She stunned him too, and with a strangled yell, he fell at her feet.
The other two patrollers jumped back. One of them drew his side-arm while the second one started calling for assistance on his hand-link.
Snarling, Ampris hurled her stun-stick at the patroller drawing his lethal weapon. Someone jostled her from behind, however, and spoiled her aim. The stun-stick went flying off into the darkness, and the patroller fired his weapon.
When Ampris saw the flash in the darkness, she was already diving for the ground. She heard a scream next to her and smelled blood and burned fur. One of the slaves fell across her legs, and Ampris frantically squirmed free. By the time she reached her feet, the spotlight had swung in her direction, pinning her in place.
The other few slaves still in the pen screamed and shoved each other, milling in panic. The patroller fired again, shooting down another Aaroun. Realizing they would all be killed, Ampris launched herself at the fence. She bounded halfway up and climbed swiftly, flinging herself over the top and letting herself drop.
A shot blazed over her head, missing her by scant centimeters. She hit the ground hard enough to jolt her bones. Pain shot up her crippled leg, and she grunted, staggering to one side and clutching the throbbing limb.
The spotlight was swinging around again, coming toward her.
Ampris looked around frantically at the shadowy outline of the barns and the open expanse of the compound. Ducking low beneath the sweep of the spotlight, she scrambled forward to the shuttle and dived beneath the ramp as the spotlight swung back.
“Where is he?” one of the Viis patrollers demanded, mistakenly. The gate banged shut, and the slaves still in the pen screamed in fear. “Get the light on him, fast.”
Panting for breath, Ampris grinned briefly to herself. So they thought she was male. When would the Viis learn anything about her kind? The females were generally more aggressive than the males, although all Aarouns could fight well when they had to.
The Crystal Eye Page 6