Even as the men and their guards trouped down the passageway toward it, the machine began to whine and the drill heads began to turn. In thirty seconds the whine turned to a roar as the heads spun up to full speed. Then, unbidden by anyone or anything that O’Keefe could see, it moved slowly forward on its treads, and began to dig into the rock, spewing fragments ranging from igneous slivers all the way to ragged, hundred pound chunks of stone from the back of its belts. The noise it created was colossal, and caused the dogs to quickly retreat back up the corridor. It was an earsplitting explosion of cleaving rock and grinding metal amidst the roar of a steady stream of debris flying through metal chutes, down conveyor belts, and tumbling out over the stone floor.
O’Keefe was thankful for the warning he and Lindy had received from Steenini. At his bidding both of them had fashioned crude ear plugs from bits of straw and fabric taken from the mattresses of empty beds. But even with that modicum of protection, the din was very nearly physically painful. Fortunately the machine did not operate for long periods. It chewed through the rock much more quickly than its human servants could be expected to clear away the debris.
As the borer did its work O’Keefe turned to see a small, unmanned electric locomotive arrive towing a long line of wheeled, open topped hopper cars with another, identical locomotive attached at the rear. The cars contained only shovels and sledge hammers. The men were ordered to grab up the tools and soon all of them were hard at work either breaking up the rubble or shoveling it into the waiting mine train. O’Keefe worked steadily, but as instructed by Steenini, as slowly as he dared.
His mouth quickly became dry and dusty, and his arms burned from exertion. The work was brutal, and it went on without pause. Even as the last car was filled and the little locomotive at the rear of the line pulled the train away, another train of empty cars rolled into view and took its place. The computer minds of Ashawzut’s machine workers were exceptionally good at keeping the men at their grind, and there was never a time that their labor was interrupted by slovenly planning or human carelessness. There were always empty cars to be filled and always piles of rock to fill them with.
After about two hours of punishing labor, the men were finally given a break. Several kitchen workers arrived pushing two carts. One was filled with brownish, tainted water, served to the men in bowls like the ones used for dinner the previous evening, while the other was piled high with sandwiches, or something on that order. The word sandwich was a rather generous description of the fare availed to the men, but O’Keefe could think of nothing else to call what they received. The victuals consisted of two pieces of hard, black bread-like slices of blandness with a meager portion of cold, vaguely vegetable tasting paste smeared between them. The paste had the consistency of hardening papier-mache. It was a barely edible, somewhat sickening meal, but O’Keefe wolfed it down eagerly. It was clear he would need all the nourishment he could get if he was to survive.
Lindy ate more slowly, carefully chewing every bite as if trying to make the meal last as long as possible. Steenini was quick to admonish him. “Eat as fast as you can, Willet,” he warned. “When the guards say it is time to go back to work, they mean it, and they mean without food. And they will always order us back to work before everyone is finished, if only to add slightly to our torment.” Lindy nodded and shoved as much of the sandwich into his mouth as he could in one bite. In less than a minute his food was gone.
Only moments afterward the gravelly voice of a guard rose over the murmuring of the men. “Meal over,” it growled. “Work now.” All of the more experienced men along with Lindy and O’Keefe were up and moving immediately, picking up their hammers and shovels and heading back to the piles of rubble. Some of the new inmates were slower, and one tried to take part of a sandwich back by the food cart without returning it.
“Leave food,” a guard snarled impatiently. The man balked for a moment, long enough for a whip to tear one side of his tank top nearly in half and leave a bloody laceration across his back. He screamed and dropped the food he held, letting it fall to the floor. That affront served only to infuriate the guard, and it whipped the prisoner mercilessly until the man was able to dash by the creature and out of reach. Others who had been lined up behind the unfortunate wretch used the diversion to try and stuff the last bits of their own food down their throats before they reached the food cart, acts of defiance which resulted in more scourgings from both guards.
The bloodletting drove the lizards into a frenzy. They both roared incoherently from their abrasive vocal cords and flailed away at anyone within reach, even those innocent of trying to sneak an extra bite, intent on making sure that none of the offenders slipped by unpunished. When at last all the men were back at the pile of rubble and at work, the guards slowly calmed before throwing back their heads and sharing a gruesome, reptilian guffaw. One brandished a harpoon toward the group. “Work little men,” it said ominously. “I want not spear dirty with blood. Your blood!” The two laughed heartily again, revving their engines as if threatening the men still further.
Behind them the kitchen help retreated a short way up the corridor to set out several large, clean bowls filled with steaming stew beef for the dogs. The canines trotted down the passageway to where the bowls had been placed and were soon carelessly pulling large chucks of gravy covered beef from them and gulping them down in full view of the prisoners. Even through the diesel fumes, the aroma was enough to make O’Keefe salivate. Resentment surged through his body, clenching his muscles and locking his jaw until his teeth ground together audibly in his head.
But despite his envy over the treatment the dogs received, he reserved most of his ire for the guards. His enmity for the reptiles had grown by leaps and bounds just in the few hours since the men had been rousted from their beds. The one desire burning hotly in his mind was to attack the nearest lizard, and to separate its head from its long scaly neck using nothing more than his shovel. He imagined the beast squealing in pain, writhing in its death throes. But he forced the fantasy from his mind, instead channeling his anger into scooping more rubble from the pile of broken rocks before him.
Deal with it, he told himself as he hocked phlegm and spat a muddy gob of it to the floor; the dirty spittle an unpleasant side effect of constantly breathing the dusty air around the robot tunneler. You’ve got to have patience if you are to survive, he told himself. Don’t let your emotions be your undoing.
Behind him the dogs were just finishing their succulent repast, and not a moment too soon. The mighty drill heads of the tunneler were already whining, beginning their run-up to operating speed. The dogs again retreated farther up the corridor before the noise reached debilitating levels.
And so the day progressed. For several hours O’Keefe maintained a steady rhythm; scoop, carry, toss, return; scoop, carry, toss, return. When he felt as if he would soon not be able to go on, not be able to walk another step nor scoop another shovel-full from the rocky pile that never seemed to shrink; when his shovel felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and his boots were like anvils tied to his feet; the men were finally given time to rest as the kitchen help returned, bringing with them fare as tasteless as what they had served on their first visit of the day. This time it was a small portion of brown chunks, nourishment of indeterminate origin, which clogged the throats of the men as they greedily shoved the substance into their mouths. O’Keefe took the malodorous water that the food carts had also provided and poured some of it past his lips, mixing enough of it with the desiccated blocks of vile sustenance to enable him to swallow. When he had at last ingested the mixture he turned to Steenini. “When do the guards eat?” he asked.
The Akadean struggled to swallow before he could reply. “They don’t,” he managed to say, nearly choking. “Their teeth are just for show, just for intimidation. They have on-board nutrient tanks to provide nourishment. I understand they are filled at the fuel depot.”
“Good,” said O’Keefe. “At least we won’t have to wa
tch the bastards be served up steak while we eat this crap. Those dogs really got to me this morning.”
“Yeah? Well, get over it, mate. They serve Elorak, and for their loyalty they are rewarded with better food. As I have tried to impress upon you, that is how things work here. The dogs are no different from her favorites,” Steenini said harshly. “Dwelling on it will only unhinge your mind. I’ve seen men killed for making a move toward the dogs’ rations.”
O’Keefe grunted nonspecifically in reply but knew that his friend was right. Things were as they were, and he needed to accept it—at least for the time being. It was abundantly clear that before they got out of Ashawzut, there would be a great many more indignities, probably much worse ones, to endure.
Soon they were ordered back to work. The remaining hours dragged by as if the day was eternal. Scoop, carry, toss, return. Scoop, carry, toss, return. Over and over, O’Keefe and the rest of the men performed their mind-numbing and body-wasting motions until some could simply do no more. Only the threat of the whips kept most of them in motion. But others, men too far gone physically, began to collapse one by one. The more fortunate were pulled erect by companions, the others either scrambled upright immediately upon the approach of a guard or were lashed by one of the lizards until the pain pushed them to resume their labors.
Finally one man could not find the will to continue. He was set on his feet three times by nearby comrades, and each time he crumpled into a heap when they released him. After the third collapse, the helping hands of his peers were dispersed by the flailings of the guards and the fallen man’s skin was systematically ripped from his back, to no effect. He simply had not the strength left to rise from the floor. A harpoon pierced him. The lizard that had thrown it reeled the man in, then shook his body off the end of the spear and on to the top of one of the rock filled hopper cars. O’Keefe guessed that the man’s corpse would be dumped on the surface of Ashawzut with the other refuse, to be eventually buried by garbage and the scoria left over from the refining processes. His body would become that of just one more anonymous man, buried in the detritus of a dead planet, with no marker or remembrance among the living that he had ever existed at all. That thought leached endurance into O’Keefe’s weary arms as he prayed in earnest for the strength to carry on. Miraculously his entreaties were answered. Whether it was divine assistance or just a second wind, he couldn’t say, but somehow his body reached equilibrium. He was near exhaustion to be sure, but despite the duress his strength eroded no further and the shovel became no heavier.
At last the boring machine shut down for the day. The guards continued to bellow orders and abuse the men, who in turn continued to break and shovel rock until the tunnel was free of debris. When the last of it was tossed into the mine train, they were instructed to throw their tools in as well and the train rolled away, up the tunnel and out of sight.
The men were then marched back to their quarters. Only this time it was uphill, and their strength was depleted. Along the way another Akadean, too spent to keep the pace, was brutally killed by the guards. Back in the barracks the near catatonic rock breakers were fed the same slop they had received the night before, and then all collapsed into their bunks.
As O’Keefe and Lindy lay despondently limp atop their mattresses, Steenini was kind enough to explain to them both that it had been an easy day to merely shovel behind the boring machine. They had not been forced to swing picks or drive wedges. But he assured them that type of work would come soon enough. Some of the smaller passages, such as the ventilation shafts used to whisk away the omnipresent fumes produced by the guards, were dug by hand.
When the lights went down, the occasional rumble of a guard patrolling the passageway was not nearly enough to keep O’Keefe from sleep. His body craved it and could not find it fast enough, as it desperately needed rest to try and undo the damage wreaked upon it during the day. He slept the sleep of the dead, and morning came much too soon.
The next day began, passed, and ended as had the day before, and as would the days ahead. That was the men’s routine, day after day after mindnumbing, back-breaking day. Some days were spent in the mines, others passed as the men tunneled with hand tools in a new air-handling shaft. Still others were spent swinging picks to hollow out more barracks for the ever increasing numbers of men that were being funneled into Ashawzut. But it was all variations on the same theme. Their lives revolved around the breaking, hewing, and carrying of the rock that had become their prison.
And then one day it all stopped. In the middle of the afternoon work shift, the lizards suddenly ordered the men to throw down the picks they were using and marched them away through the corridors. Whispered rumors flew between the men, but the more experienced of them, including Steenini, assured the rest that they were headed for the arena. O’Keefe had heard Steenini mention the place many times, but he had never elaborated on it, telling O’Keefe and Lindy only that it was a place for ghastly public punishments.
They were marched slowly through the corridors as the guards were in no apparent hurry to get to whatever specific point it was that they were headed for. As the men bunched up between the slowly moving armored hulls of the lizards, O’Keefe leaned over and spoke loudly into Steenini’s ear lest the diesels drown him out. “What’s with the walk, Bart? The guards have made us double time it everywhere we have been ever since we got here, and now all of a sudden this is a leisurely stroll. Please tell me there is nothing ominous about this.”
“Not for us mate,” Steenini said distantly, wheezing a bit in the thick exhaust that filled the air. “But it is for some poor bastard. Maybe more than one. It’s policy that we witness it, and it takes a lot of time to get us all into the arena. Even at this pace we’ll probably have to wait in line when we get there.”
Steenini was correct, as always. It wasn’t long before they came up behind another group of men similarly guarded by lizards, and their pace slowed even further until they were shuffling ahead for a few steps, stopping for a moment, and then moving ahead a few more feet. At length they reached an intersection where both the right and left sides of the corridor that crossed their path were blocked by lizard tanks. The guard leading them turned left at the intersection and pivoted on its treads to face outward, while the guard it replaced clanked away in reverse down the passageway. When O’Keefe came abreast of the guards, he peered as best he could around them and could see that on either side the corridor curved away forward in a way that looked like it would have led the men in a great circle had they been allowed to follow it in either direction. But instead the guards, with help from several dogs, herded the men straight ahead. When the guard bringing up the rear reached the intersection, it turned into the right passage, relieving the second lizard, which roared away in the opposite direction that its comrade had gone. The men continued to move slowly and steadily forward.
O’Keefe could see a gated opening ahead and brighter light beyond. When he reached the gate he stepped forward into a gargantuan, bowl shaped, underground stadium. The cavernous arena consisted of a walled, circular floor surrounded by three tiers cut from the stone for spectators, all beneath a great domed ceiling that bristled with glaring, incandescent lights. Each of the three decks were partitioned into sections like any other stadium, but here the sections were separated by thick, chest-high walls and were completely enclosed by heavy gauge chain link fencing, and there were no seats. Steep, curving steps, that spanned the entirety of the section and gave O’Keefe an unsteady, queasy feeling as he looked down over them, were cut into the native rock that formed the stadium. The men carefully stepped down over the rows until the front ones were filled. O’Keefe, with Lindy and Steenini close behind, found a spot about half way down. The dogs continued to drive men past the gate until everyone was packed in tightly enough to be touching, shoulder to shoulder, on every step from the front row to the back. When no more bodies could be crammed inside, a heavy, iron-framed gate clanged shut behind them. Looking back over hi
s shoulder, O’Keefe could see a dog standing guard on the other side of their only exit.
The stands were filling quickly. O’Keefe glanced about from his vantage point. He and his friends were standing in a section of the second level, and he could see men still filing into the arena from nearly a third of the entrances. There was the noise of gates banging shut and locking in place close around them as sections on their side of the bowl were filled. In a short time only the third and uppermost deck had any significant empty space left in it. A steady murmuring of the crowd filled the air.
“There must be fifty thousand of us in here,” Lindy said, obviously awed by the sight.
Steenini, standing between Lindy and O’Keefe, suddenly spoke up. “No one misses punishment,” he said dryly.
“No one at all?” asked O’Keefe, intrigued by that fact.
“No one,” repeated Steenini.
Lindy swallowed and frowned, looking a bit distraught. “Who is to be punished?” he asked.
“Who knows,” Steenini said resignedly. “It could be anyone. Your worship Mada Elorak thinks it is good for discipline for us to observe this barbaric spectacle on a regular basis. Sometimes she roams the colony merely for the purpose of finding a victim to set an example with—a replay of our first day here. It is her aim to routinely reinforce the notion that any defiance of or challenge to Vazilek superiority is useless and will not be tolerated. And apparently she is not alone in this intention. Witnessing punishment seems to be standard operating procedure for all Vazilek facilities.”
“You mean to say that it is like this even on the outside, that this shit goes on even after you’ve impressed them enough to make it out of the colony?” O’Keefe asked. “I would have thought they would lighten up once they had you cowed and brainwashed enough to serve them.”
The Empty Warrior Page 47