by Ron Schrader
“Please step into the airlock as soon as you’re ready, sir.”
“On my way,” said the general in his usual impatient tone.
“Of course, sir,” came the response through the speaker, followed by a crackling of static that quickly went silent.
He walked toward the airlock and entered, automatically initiating the rotation and venting process. The airlock slowly turned counterclockwise until it reached the opening of the next room and locked into place. He stepped out of the airlock and removed his mask, attaching it to his belt while he walked down the short hallway to the control center.
“Good afternoon, General,” was the greeting from a tall wiry man wearing an officer’s uniform. “And what brings you out to the mine on such a nice day, sir?”
“Just here to observe, Captain, check in on things,” replied General Quinn, exceptionally annoyed today as he walked past the officer and into the large control room.
~
Captain Davis McNevin stood tall and confident in General Quinn’s presence, wearing a cleanly pressed uniform with boots polished to a shine. Having worked as a miner for most of his life, dealing with unwanted visits like the one from the general was all too familiar.
He’d been working for the general since the beginning of this operation, and while he’d become accustomed to these visits, he never did enjoy them. But he greeted his superior officer on this day the same as he always did, with a smile, though inside he felt more like frowning. He absolutely loathed these purposeless visits because they meant either lost production or a reprimand for something the general really knew nothing about. But at least his lifetime of mining experience had finally earned him a place at the top for a change. Instead of sweating in the trenches with the other miners, he enjoyed the comforts of the climate-controlled structure from which he oversaw the operation. Putting up with the general and his absurdities was just a part of the job he’d resigned himself to accommodate. With each visit, he just reminded himself about the money he’d been promised. It was the only reason he was still here.
General Quinn walked through the large control room toward a wall of monitors, each with a different camera view of the work in the mine below. Immediately focusing on one monitor in particular, he blurted out his first order.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Get rid of him!” Davis walked closer and peered over the general’s shoulder to view the screen in question, only to find an older slave who was clearly struggling to keep up with those around him, a slave Davis recognized.
“Sir,” Davis began, “I see no reason to remove a slave that’s producing. Some production is better than none at all,” he insisted in an attempt to spare the man’s life.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Captain. I want that slave removed . . . now!” His tone was full of anger and frustration as he spoke, the words echoing through the room.
“Yes, sir,” Davis said reluctantly, knowing that to argue with his superior would only cause him more grief. “Corporal, please have the slave sent to holding block 3. I’ll personally see to the disposal.”
The sneer on the general’s face as Davis gave the order was one of pleasure, but Davis had grown weary of these visits, the general, and his complete lack of respect for human life.
While Davis knew the workers were necessary for the mining process to continue, he’d never been a fan of slavery. And though he’d worked hard to lie to himself, it was a fact that never sat well with him. Killing slaves was just one more thing he’d never agreed with, and in the past, he’d tried to sneak as many out as he could. It was how he justified staying—that, and the fact that General Quinn probably wouldn’t just let him walk away from this. At least not until the job was done.
“Davis!” came his next demand. “I’d like your company in the mine where I can do a more thorough inspection of the work. Would you please join me for a tour?”
Knowing the question was more of an order, Davis walked across the room and opened a door leading to a downward stairway. “Please, sir, after you,” he replied.
The two entered and began the short descent down the spiral staircase, where they exited into a small room, another airlock directly in front of them. They both put their filter masks on and entered the airlock chamber that quickly began the rotation process, opening to an outer platform suspended by large steel cables that was directly below the structure. The platform was quite large, containing several organized sections of tools and other drilling equipment.
Davis led the way to another large elevator lift designed to haul both men and equipment to and from the platform. The men entered the lift, and Davis stepped up to the controls, starting the lift on its downward descent into the mine.
Just a few short minutes later, the lift touched down on another large platform that had been constructed right into the side of the open hole. From this platform, a suspended scaffolding walkway that had been attached to the walls of the mine spiraled around and down the open hole. Visible openings could be seen along the walkway as it wound its way down into the earth—mineshafts shooting deep into the ground where the work commenced. The noise from the work below bellowed up to where Davis and the general now stood, preparing to venture farther downward.
“The main shaft is a bit of a walk, sir. I’ll lead the way,” yelled Davis, making sure to be heard over the noise that echoed from below. Davis began a brisk walk across the platform and toward the walkway, stopping just before stepping onto the narrow path that hung from the side of the wall. “Your safety harness, sir,” he said, handing the general a shoulder harness. Once secure, Davis unlatched two thin cables from the railing that hung from the bottom of the control center above, connecting a cable to each harness via a clip behind the neck. Both now secure, the two men began moving along the rickety walkway, the cables above automatically giving slack as they descended down the spiral path. The walkway was too narrow for the men to walk side by side, so they walked in single file, with Davis in front.
After a slow twenty-five-minute walk down the path, moving farther away from the beauty of the planet’s surface, the two men finally arrived at the largest and most active shaft currently being mined. Davis lifted his filter mask and took a deep breath.
“The air is breathable down here,” he said loudly to the general, who had not yet been this far down before. “It isn’t polluted like up on the surface.”
Hesitant at first, the general finally lifted his mask to test the air for himself. Seeming pleasantly surprised, he smiled and nodded at Davis, satisfied that the mask was no longer needed.
“Follow me.” Davis motioned after disconnecting the safety cables and attaching them to the rail. He then turned toward the large opening of the mineshaft and began to enter. As they walked through the short, narrow hallway, it gradually began to open up until they were finally standing in a large open area where over one hundred slaves were busily working, breaking the rock and extracting the meyrite ore.
For several minutes Davis observed in silence as the general took in the busy scene of miners working. Throughout the mine, slaves were hard at work, all boys and men. Armed guards were stationed strategically, there for the sole purpose of maintaining order, to make sure the work was getting done.
“What exactly did you want to see here, General?” Davis finally asked, hoping to end this visit as quickly as possible.
“That’s none of your concern,” General Quinn replied sternly, returning immediately to his observation of the work underway.
Davis shook his head in acknowledgment and stepped back out of the way. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled sarcastically under his breath, the noise in the mine shielding his words from the general’s ears. He could only watch as his unwelcome visitor walked through the mine, inspecting everything in his path until finally he stopped next to an older man, another slave doing nothing wrong except for working slower than the others.
“Get over here, Davis!” he yelled, motioning with his hand t
o convey the urgency of the issue.
As Davis approached, the general grabbed the man by his shirt and pulled him away from the work he had previously been engaged in.
“What is it, sir?” Davis asked, knowing the answer already.
“Here’s another one,” the general replied. “This man is too old to be of use to us any longer.”
“But, sir,” replied Davis, “he’s not any older than either of us. I’m sure I can find something more suitable for him to do.”
“Nonsense. From now on I expect you to dispose of any slave who’s too old to be of use.” The general unholstered his Machada and placed the barrel on the back of the man’s head.
“Sir . . .” Davis interrupted, attempting to save the life of the slave. “Let me take care of it. A public execu—I mean, disposal like this might lower the morale of the rest of the slaves.”
At this point, some of the noise had died down slightly as several slaves had momentarily stopped their work to watch. Even the guards were focused on the general now and not on their own duties.
“No need to waste time worrying about morale,” he said with a big grin on his face. “We’re concerned with motivation. If the fear of death doesn’t motivate these savages to work harder and faster, well . . .” He began to laugh just before pulling the trigger.
The sound of the single gunshot echoed throughout the entire mineshaft. As Davis looked around the mine, bowed heads could be seen, slaves mourning another lost brother.
“Guard!” the general called out, pointing to the first soldier he saw within the reach of his voice. “Just throw the body down the main shaft and get back to work.”
Davis glared with disgust and anger as the general went about this action with such a casual and carefree attitude. While he’d admittedly been a part of this slave mining operation, he never agreed with killing slaves. His conscience had been wearing on him for a while now, but after this final show of inhumanity, Davis began to seriously question his involvement with the general. As much as he’d looked forward to the large payout that had been promised, he was beginning to think the price was just too high. He’d been lying to himself since he arrived, but his conscience wasn’t buying it anymore. He was finally beginning to recognize that he was on the wrong side. It wouldn’t be easy, though, to get out from under the general’s rule. To leave the militia could mean death if he wasn’t careful, but this just wasn’t right, and he knew it to his very core. He just couldn’t keep living a lie, telling himself the final payout would make it all right. It wouldn’t.
The guard dragging the dead slave’s body walked past Davis, who stopped him briefly in an attempt to alter the general’s request.
“Just drag the body down the path a bit farther and I’ll deal with it later,” he said just loud enough for the guard to hear him.
“With respect, sir, the general gave me an order that I’d rather not disobey.” The response came with a slight degree of remorse but was overshadowed by his understandable fear of the general.
It was widely believed among the ranks that the general was invincible. As a soldier, he’d been the sole survivor of an attack, a mission to steal top-secret weapon technology from the Directive. It turned out to be nothing more than a Directive trap, but that didn’t change what people believed about him from then on. It even helped catapult him into his current position.
Understanding the guard’s position, Davis could only watch as the order was carried out, the guard disappearing down the tunnel that led to the walkway. Though he didn’t see the completion of the task, Davis couldn’t help but imagine the guard walking to the rail of the walkway, pulling the body from his shoulder, and pushing it over the edge. Closing his eyes, he could see the lifeless body falling deep into the open pit.
This one bothered him more than ever before. He’d watched the general do this kind of thing too many times, but this time was different. He felt remorse unlike anything he’d ever experienced with the loss of a slave, and it made him physically sick to his stomach. No amount of money was worth this, and he’d known it all along. He needed to find a way out. He’d never really been a big supporter of the Militia anyway. Granted, he’d had his issues with the Directive over the years, but deep down, he didn’t really believe in what the Militia was doing. He’d always just convinced himself that the money was worth it, but it was a lie he could no longer listen to.
Once satisfied that things were moving along at a sufficient pace, the general walked back toward the tunnel, stopping next to Davis.
“Well,” he said in a satisfied tone, “things seem to be going well for the most part. Just keep a better eye on the slow ones and get rid of them when they can’t keep up anymore.” He gave Davis a pat on the back, still smiling, then walked past and headed into the tunnel.
Davis followed, the sickness in his stomach growing as he walked behind the general. In that moment, he couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to just push General Quinn and send him over the rail to his death, but before he could act, the general had already reconnected the safety cable to the harness he wore. If Davis acted on his impulse now, the cable would just pull the general straight up to the control center where he’d quickly be able to alert the guards. Davis knew him well enough to know that General Quinn would likely return the gesture, only without the safety cable, and from the top of the platform. But he knew there had to be a way for him to get out of this hole he’d both literally and figuratively dug himself into. Davis believed there must be other soldiers in the ranks that didn’t agree with the general. Someone on this planet had to feel the way he did. For now, though, he would just have to bide his time and wait for the right opportunity to present itself.
The walk back up to the platform took slightly longer than it did to get down to the mineshaft, but fortunately for Davis, the general didn’t talk at all, probably conserving his energy for the upward climb. When they reached the platform, there was no wasted time as the two men hurried to the lift, the general clearly ready to get back to the comfort of his ship.
“Make sure to dispose properly of the piece of garbage you sent to holding earlier,” said General Quinn as he stepped onto the lift. “I’ll have more slaves brought in—younger men who can do the job.”
“Yes, sir,” Davis replied, though he had no intention of obeying.
Davis watched as the general pressed a button on the controls to the lift, initiating the ascent back to the control center above, while he remained behind to deal with the slave he’d sent to the holding cell. He watched the lift and waited until it stopped before heading back to the walkway.
The holding area was in the first shaft, just a few feet off the platform, a shaft that had been mined early on but did not have near the deposits found in the lower shafts. Instead of closing it off, they had built the small holding area for disruptive or problem slaves.
Satisfied that General Quinn was gone, Davis headed into the shaft and toward the holding area. As he entered, the two guards on duty saluted him with a clenched right fist to the left side of the chest. Davis nodded and walked past the guards, entering a hallway of several cubed cells that went deep into the unused mineshaft. Blocks 1 and 2 were in line with each other, following the length of the rocky corridor. Block 3, however, was at the very end of the corridor and to the right, out of the guards’ view. It was rarely used, which was why Davis had ordered the slave brought here.
“Hello?” Davis called out, looking into the first cell. “Do you remember me?” His tone was calm and friendly, but the slave was still hesitant to respond. Davis had recognized the old man from a group that had been brought to the mines shortly after they arrived. While escorting the slaves to the mine, Davis had clumsily tripped near the edge of the open hole. As he’d begun to push himself up from the ground, an outstretched hand had appeared in front of him, the hand of the old man. No words had been spoken that day, but he’d never forgotten that small act of kindness. “I’m not going to hurt you,” wa
s his final entreaty before the old man finally poked his head up to the barred window of the metal door.
“I’m Colban,” came the soft response from the man inside the cell as he peered out at Davis.
“Hello, Colban. I’m Davis,” he said. “Do you remember me?” he asked again.
The old man squinted in the dim light before finally nodding suspiciously. “Yes, you’re one of them who brought me here,” he said as he backed away from the door in fear. “You here to end me?” His voice quivered slightly as he waited for a response.
“No,” replied Davis, “I’m going to get you out of here, but I’ll need your help.” Davis could see the confusion in the slave’s eyes as he opened the door and motioned the man toward him. “But you’re going to have to play dead for me, and we’re gonna need some blood.”
The old man tensed up a bit at the last word out of Davis’ mouth. “Blood?” he asked.
“Slaves don’t walk out of these holding cells.” Davis said, trying to convince the old man to trust him. “I want to get you out of here alive, but you have to look dead.”
“Do you have a blade on you?” Colban asked, now anxious to help.
“Yes,” Davis responded, pulling his utility knife from his belt and handing it to the old man.
Colban promptly raised his shirtsleeve and sliced the blade across his forearm, cutting deep enough to draw blood. He then proceeded to cut a small hole in his shirt over his chest, making it look as though a bullet had entered there. Davis smiled as he watched the old man smear blood from his arm all over the torn area of his shirt, making a very convincing wound from the mess.
“Now for the main event,” said Davis as he pulled a pistol from his side and aimed down the hallway of the cellblock, firing the weapon into the wall of rock and dirt at the end. “That should do it. Now lie down.”
The old man complied, acting as dead as he could, his breathing slow and shallow enough that no one would notice in these low light conditions.