The Ways Between Worlds: Peter Cooper

by Larry E. Clarke

  The big storm was only a portent of problems to come. In the next 14 days we'd been turned out dozens of times for work at the treadmill. The salt was too rough in places to be navigated under sail.

  Here and there we spotted rocky shoals the tallest of which were visible for miles. These were no trouble. It was their smaller cousins that were the hazard. Even at our relatively slow pace (usually less than10 kph) a runner or roller would splinter if it hit a rock with the full mass/momentum of the ship behind it. Some rocks were more than a meter high and were easily spotted during daylight. At night the light of the twin moons played tricks with one's vision.

  On the evening of the 91st day of our capture the Threatian mother ship was wrecked beyond repair in a collision with a rocky shoal no more than 1/2 meter high. We were ordered to heave to for the night. We'd sail only in daylight until we reached clear salt again. The loss of the Breaker would have been of great consequence has not her cargo been lost as well. When she struck her blacksmith had been at his forge working to repair an iron strap that helped stabalize the mainmast. The strap had been cracked in the windstorm and he had taken advantage of the calm of the evening to repair it. The sudden jarring stop had sent the burning coals of the forge flying across the deck of the ship. The vessel went up like a long dead Christmas tree tossed into a summer bonfire. The Breaker had sailed through a desert of salt that hadn't seen a drop of rain in perhaps half a century. Hard to imagine how she could have been drier.

  There was ample room for her crew aboard the Dumpling and the other vessels. The disaster lay in losing her cargo and the 16 barrels of water she had carried. A Threatian crew member had been trapped below decks and been badly burned. There was nothing to give her for the pain, nothing to soothe the skin now blistered from the heat, nothing to cover the wounds where flesh had been burned from bone. The commander dealt with this situation as she had with the wounded when the Dumpling was taken. This time she did the job herself. Drawing a curved blade from the scabbard at her side with a single stroke to the neck she ended the life of the woman who lay before her. For a moment I was certain I had seen a tear begin form in the commander's eyes. Later I heard the woman had been her sister.

  By the 105th day we were in real trouble. The winds had been unfavorable for a week. The same wind from the northwest which had facilitated the Threatians voyage east was now keeping them from reaching home. As large cargo vessles the Dumpling, the Weasel, and the Mother were designed for clear salt. They were not very maneuverable and would neither run close to the wind nor tack well into it. There was considerable effort involved in re-rigging for each new tack. Even the briefest use of the treads required tremendous exertion on the part of the crew.

  Though we shivered in the hold each night and huddled together shamelessly for warmth. A few minutes on the treads produced a sweat in even the most chilled. It was moisture we could ill afford to lose. One hundred and seven days out from Princess point all were on half water rations by the commander's order. We still had ample foodstuffs but choking down a dry meal did little for one's appetite. We could not last long at this rate.

  I thought of the old desert adventure movies cranked out by Hollywood studios during the early to mid-twentieth century. Rugged men marched across leagues burning deserts on a few swallows of water and a mouth full of pebbles to suck on. Too bad it didn't work as well in real life. The effect of loosing body fluids was cumulative. Simple arithmetic told the tale. Whether human or alien, if a creature took in less water than they eliminated each day they soon became dehydrated. Alien or human. . . badly dehydrated beings died. Three of our shipmates already had.

  To my surprise, so had one of the Threatians. I'd assumed, incorrectly it now seemed, that our captors had no share in our deprivation. Somehow it was no comfort to have them sharing our misery. On the morning of the 111th day I overheard a guard telling another:

  "I'd like as soon die here of thirst as put in there but the old lady seems to think we can pull it off."

  "Aye" croaked his companion " 'S place I'd not wish on my wife's kin. Still we got our arms and goods to trade for what we're needin'. Appears we have no other real choice."

  CHAPTER 23

  Dawn broke later and more gradually in these northerly latitudes. Even the first glow of the sunrise was a welcomed break from the cold. The crystalline air of this great salt sea was near intoxicating, but I did not regret seeing it warmed. I was on deck serving the morning skavala when one of the Thretians, Jaf-tal, noticed I'd paused at the rail to admire the view.

  "Tis beautiful" he said, more thinking aloud than speaking to me in particular.

  "Yes beautiful" I responded in Threatian without thinking.

  His off hand comment had exposed the secret that less that a hap-van ago a threat of death had not evoked. He said nothing, only smiled, looked a bit surprised, and drew his cloak about him before turning to greet a fellow sentry.

  At noon that day lookouts spotted a dark grey mass rising from the otherwise featureless salt. Eripa Calix gave orders and the ragtag flotilla steered slightly to port on course for the object. By mid afternoon even from the decks our destination, an enormous outcropping of black rock, could be clearly seen. It rose from the salt-- a land locked Gibraltar.

  Estimating the remaining distance was difficult. I considered that we had a following breeze, had been making good headway three hours, and had noted only a slight increase in its apparent size. The thing had to be enormous. Although still largely “flat” it seemed to me that the surface sloped almost imperceptibly “down” toward it.

  When it came time to dole out the crumbs, which now passed as evening rations, I carried the portion to the lookouts aloft. This was not a favorite part of my duties. I usually called from the deck for them to come down and collect them, claiming that I could not go aloft without spilling something. The memory of Sledat and of Kettes' hanging dead in the upper rigging still lingered. Today curiosity and a desire to have a better look at our destination, overrode my aversion. Tucking the basket and containers of hot liquid under my arm I began the assent, climbing the oiled rope rigging briskly so as to leave little time to consider what a slip and fall to the deck would mean.

  The Threatian lookouts seemed surprised to see me but focused their attention on the meal that awaited them. Thus distracted, they said nothing as I lingered a few moments to take in the view. Ahead and slightly to port was the rock, features lost in the glare of the sunset behind it. I could see more clearly now that it rose not from the flat salt as had all other outcroppings but from an enormous shallow bowl. This Grandfather rock sat like a stopper in the middle of a basin last filled eons ago by the dregs of the disappearing sea.

  The salt around the bowl had ripples formed by the wind. It was rotten in places where the crust could not bear the weight of the runners without crumbling, but there were no real hills or valleys of salt just as there are none on the surface of the waters. Here some of the last water from the flat sea had collected and ultimately evaporated over a geologically brief period of time.

  Left behind was the black mountain "Voquira" surrounded by a sort of shallow dry moat. Though the slope to the lowest point was quite gentle I doubted if a laden vessel could ever call there and be drawn back to the level salt above. The place was sheltered from winds. Concentric rings of discolored salt circled it like rings around a bullseye growing ever smaller as they neared the bottom of the bowl (still unseen below the rim). These rings appeared rough, like salty coral reefs blocking the way to the bottom. Only one approach could be seen. A rocky spine stretched outward to the northeast of the mountain. Along this spine the salt sloped more gently down. A vessel could make its way on treads along the spine and reach the rock itself. There, just where it should be, I could discern a small fortified town and the docks. Before these sat a seven or eight ragged craft the size of the Dumpling and perhaps twice that many smaller vessels rigged in the Threatian fashion.

  We were into the grynth (m
idnight) watch. The sun had set long before the flagship signaled "all stop". In the morning a party would approach the town. Those inside would see the strength of our numbers without feeling we were closing for attack.

  When the breeze was right we could smell the fires of the town mixed with odors that abused the nostrils of human and non-humans alike. Voquira smelled of sweat, of death, of disease. Any being capable of olfaction should be counted lucky if they managed to remain up wind.

  "I have an uneasy feeling about this Pe-tar." Lady Camille lowed sofly as I arrived with some vegetables too rotten to interest the crew. She didn't seem to mind that they squished in to a putrid mass as she chewed. It was not the meal but the port call in Vorquira that left the bad taste in her mouth. "The Threatian crew know of this place. I hear them talking among themselves. It is a sort of (untranslateable) that some would say they would rather die than approach."

  "I've heard much the same myself" I said scratching behind her ears as I knew she liked. “A den for slavers, convicts and the dregs of half the cultures on the western rim."

  Shortly after first dawn next morning a small party boarded a skiff from the Mother, caught the light morning breeze in their canvas and sailed to the gates of Vorquira. All day in the blazing sun they waited before the town. At first they shouted and blew the Vembeth horn. Yet, no face appeared atop the wall. No voice responded to their hail. At sunset they sailed back. Two more died that night. The next morning the mission was repeated. The main gates had never moved but at mid afternoon a lone figure appeared from an unseen quarter. The party returned to the Mother to report.

  The intra ship grapevine spread the news: Tarkus Rhat the "One who speaks for the People" would gladly supply the water we needed to complete our voyage . . . in exchange for all cargo of value and half of our weapons. The exchange to take place at noon the following day or not at all.

  Inspectors from the One's palace would come aboard at dawn to conduct a thorough search making make certain that nothing had been withheld. Tarkus in his benevolence would include some dried meat into the bargain.

  If more was desired we had the remaining half of the arms to deal with. He also offered an exchange of food and water for each healthy slave delivered.

  Eripa had rejected this offer to the great relief of all those on board already in chains. The Threatians were our captors, they had killed many a shipmate, but in other ways they had treated us fairly, sharing equally both the rations and the hardships of the voyage. .

  The exchange was made and the flotilla began the slow tack against now unfavorable winds to the northwest. With fresh water aboard the sick among captors and crew were heartened.

  "We may yet live to see port. And while we live there is hope for that and more" A Thretan soldier offered after drinking his fill from a large cask set on deck for that purpose.

  No drop was wasted yet all hands and even the rhabat the Versalian tillerman kept wrapped at his wooly throat had its fill.

  "On deck" the lookouts shouted "Two vessels in Vorquira are putting on sail".

  All hands rushed to the rail where indeed it could be seen that the two of the Vorquirian fleet were making sail. Minutes later one of the same lookouts landed on the deck with a sickening thud. I saw two Threatians and several of my mates from the Dumpling slump to the deck. I was also feeling light headed and nauseous. My head began to float away and the figures on deck began to swim before my eyes. "Drugged".....I tried to say to the Threatian next to me.

  I was climbing. . . up, up, from the bottom of a pit of loose salt. For every agonized step forward I slid back two. At the bottom of that pit an ant-lion grown to the size of a garbage truck waited to grind me to pulp. I had to go up, up. . .up.

  "Petar, wake up. You are well. . . Wake".

  My lids opened. Being conscious was not an improvement. I tried to sit and wished I hadn't. My head pounded. Dhars was beside me. This was my first glimpse of him since he’d been taken aboart the Mother. All I could think of though was how wrong he was when he said I was "well". I felt like "hell" not “well”.

  By the dimmest of lights I could see a number of others in a foul chamber. The stench was overpowering. A greasy flame sputtered, smoked, and burned from a wick set in a bowl of oil near the center of the room. And did I mention. . . the stench was overpowering. Two of the Threatian guards sat on low benches at the crude table that held the lamp. The place reeked with sweat, the odor of bodies, or shit and piss, and other smells I’d yet to identify. The stench was over powering.

  "We were worried about you Petar. You were unconscious through two meal periods. The drug clearly affected you more than the others."

  "Where are we?" I murmured. “. . . and what is that stench?”.

  "We are in one of the lower levels of the mines which are under the cesspool they call Tharkus City." He scowled as he spoke. "Jaf-tal, and a few other Threatians decided to drink the last of the old stores of water before refilling the casks from the new supply. They were conscious while the rest of us were being taken. There were not enough of them to run even one vessel and certainly not enough to resist. Tarkus-Rhat's pirates were on us before anything could be done.

  They put new crews aboard. They put those who were still conscious in chains and brought all the vessels back to Vorquira. There each of the unconscious captives was placed on litters and carried by two slaves to the entrance of the mines. Those showing signs of awakening were lowered first. The remainder followed. No one has seen sun’s light or drawn a fresh breath since. We have had two meal periods during which we were given slop worse than we had been eating on board the Dumpling. But we were also given water. The slaves who brought the meals assured us the water was not drugged but added that from time to time drugged water was used to allow safe entry to the slave pens by the captors. They said the masters also withheld water from time to time if production of the "Gethera spice" falls, or if the ivory carvers don't meet quotas, or if the flamestone discoveries are slow, of if they just felt like it.”

  "My God it stinks. . . . How are the others?" I mumurred.

  "Most are as well as one could expect of beings pushed beyond their limits. Some sit and stare and have no hope of seeing their home ports again. Others have a healthy anger at Tharkus-Rhat and his treachery. Eripa Calix is a real commander. She has maintained discipline in her troops even in these circumstances. They still look to her to lead them out of this mess. I just hope their faith is justified."

  Time was near meaningless in this underground world without day, without any natural cycle to mark its passage. We all came to speak of events in terms of feeding periods. Events beyond a few dozens of periods were simply lumped as things that took place more "eats" ago than one may count.

  Following the next "eat" slaves who came with food told us we would be assigned to our work teams. I'll die with that smell in my nose, the air dry yet still saturated with odors; too many bodies packed into too little a space, food, excrement, smoke, and other odors I could not identify.

  ---------

  "Petar, Petar" Dhars' voice was calling to me. I struggeled to open my eyes to respond and only managed to moan something.

  "Let me help you sit. Drink this", he said placing a cup of thin warm gruel at my lips. I swallowed. The taste was disagreeable, but my parched throat welcomed the moisture.

  "Where are we this time?"

  "In the slave pens of Thark Rhat's mines. The bastards drugged our water again".

  I nodded an acknowledgment, rubbed my eyes, tried to clear my head, and looked about. Light was flooding in through a heavily barred opening about 15 meters away. With Dhars' help I struggled to my feet and nodded when he asked "Are you ready for the tour". We moved first to the opening. A vast, sheer sided pit, opened before us. Its excavation had surely been the work of centuries.

  "The other slaves told us that the spice and jewels and fossilized bones of sea creatures used to be mined here in an open pit. Animals pulled heavy carts up spiral ramps to
where the salt could be screened and dumped. Eventually the pit became so deep that it was no longer practical to mine in that fashion. The walls of the pit were made sheer and side chambers and tunnels were dug. The dross was removed by hoists placed on the pit rim"

  Across the distance of perhaps 200 meters the opposite wall of the pit was sheer save for occasional barred openings similar to this one. The pit floor was only roughly circular. The walls had been planed down in sections so that the surfaces joined at a slight angle rather than in a smooth arc. Our chamber was situated so as to roughly split the distance between the surface and the floor of the pit.

  "See those" Dhars said gesturing toward 50 or so huge pale shapes on the pit floor.

  "What are they?"

  "Those, my friend Petar, are what make life in this place possible. They are glypton. When they live on the open salt they eat anything plant or animal which passes beneath them. Some say they get some energy directly from sunlight, but I'm no biologist."

  Looking more closely I could perceive that the creatures-- who resembled nothing more than a slime mold the size of a Volkswagon--were moving almost imperceptibly scouring the surface of the sand.

  "Here they eat what is given them. Refuse from the camp, urine and feces from each slave pit; such scraps of food that even slaves cannot eat; the bodies of the dead, are all soon dissolved within them. When fed sufficiently, they themselves divide and are returned as food for slaves. There is a certain equity to it all Petar, all here eat and in turn are eaten by. . . the glypton.”

  The hair on my neck stood erect. Sensing my discomfort Dhars pressed my arm and guided me on saying as we went. . . "There is no place to prepare food here. Fuel is too scarce to waste it on warming food for slaves. Our food and water both arrived each day in the form of the gruel you have already tasted"