War World Discovery

by John F. Carr

  “What if you didn’t have to wait for your freedom?”

  Chuluun wondered if Bataar was a company spy. Their job was to find and report troublemakers. Then again, Chuluun’s ignorance cut both ways. If he could reduce that two-year wait, he would. Any exit from the mines would be welcome, and freeing Tuya from the mines would be a special gift to her.

  “Was your father a miner in Dongbei?” Bataar asked.

  “Yes, he was.”

  “And he died in the mines?”

  Chuluun looked away. “Lung disease.”

  “You have seen what the mines can do. Many die in the mines and leave nothing for their loved ones. On Earth, Anaconda sells hope to the hopeless to bring in recruits. But Haven’s mines are worse than any you have ever seen.”

  Chuluun had observed that already. Back home, he had seen men and women worn down by the mines. The more time he had spent in the rough, narrow tunnels, the more he had loved the freedom of riding a strong horse along the grasslands under an open sky. “People work the mines to survive.”

  “Plainly spoken. Because I have talked with many people, I know you are no company spy. And because I know women who have spoken to Tuya.” He waited, knowing the shock effect this would have.

  Chuluun straightened, his pulse pounding. “Is she all right?”

  “My friends protect her. She misses you. I learned about you two by talking to others. You are both liked and respected.”

  The favor Chuluun had intended to ask was for Bataar to learn something about Tuya. With their long daily hours, he had not been able to see her before lockdown in the flimsy wooden barracks each night. Bataar, in his way, had already given him this favor.

  “You have been very kind,” Chuluun said respectfully. “I would like to know why.”

  “If you had asked me this too soon, I would have talked in circles. But now I’m ready. So answer my question.”

  Chuluun understood. He had not answered Bataar’s question about early freedom. “If I could leave Anaconda early, I could prospect on my own right away.”

  “What if you lived by the old ways of our people?”

  “Old ways?”

  “Even before your ship left Earth, I heard it was coming. I’ve been making plans and deals ever since. And I’ve been looking for a leader. You are young and energetic. You have the skills. Now you must lead us to freedom.”

  “Lead?” Chuluun demanded. “I just got here. Are you insane?”

  “Insane? Yes, maybe. Or just old.” Bataar hunched forward. He pulled a steel box from his shirt, hanging on a heavy chain around his neck. It was big for something hanging around his neck; it more than filled his fist. He waved Chuluun even closer.

  Chuluun bent down. When Bataar opened the steel box a tiny crack, he revealed a shimmer stone larger than a hen’s egg. Chuluun drew in a breath of amazement.

  “Don’t ask,” Bataar whispered. “I have been here a long time. I know many people and I know how to barter favors. I first came to Haven as a CoDominium officer. That’s all you need to know.”

  For Bataar to show the shimmer stone to Chuluun was an act of trust beyond comprehension. It made Bataar wealthy beyond belief, yet he just carried it around his neck. Chuluun knew many of the men here would kill them both right now for the stone. He himself was not such a man, and maybe Bataar had judged that for himself.

  The stone seemed to pulse in its own rhythm, picking up hints of color and light. Only a real shimmer stone could pulse.

  “Everything is ready,” Bataar whispered in his ear. “I’ve been looking only for the right person to lead. A few other Mongols have come here from time to time. Some work in town, not the mines. I have sought out all of them. I have spread the word among the new arrivals and many will go. But this is a rabble. We have different ethnicities here. In the mines, no one cares. On the steppes to the north, they will become one tribe, a new tribe, that will exist only on Haven.”

  “A breakout?” Chuluun could barely speak. “Anaconda’s men will track us down. How could we escape? Where would we go?”

  The stone seemed to swell and recede as it pulsed. For him, its hypnotic effect stopped time. He simply stared.

  “I love our people,” whispered Bataar. “Yet how many of them labor all their lives for nothing? Life deserves the freedom of the steppe. Is this stone your dream? Many dream of it. Most will die without coming close. But you will lead our people to the steppes to the north, where each day they live in the open air will be a gem. Then this stone will be yours.”

  Lead them, Chuluun thought, and the stone will be his.

  “This rabble must rally around a man who cannot be a company spy. A man they already know. A young man who knows the old ways will lead. You will lead.”

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke. “I will lead,” said Chuluun, lost in the tiny pulses of light.

  *

  *

  *

  During the next few days and nights, word spread. Chuluun realized his new role in the quick nods and grave eye contact from others as they labored in the day and as they ate in the mess hall. No one spoke of it, but many of the men gave him a tight smile as they passed, or even a handshake without a word spoken.

  Bataar had, by fiat, given him a title: Chuluun Khan. The title khan had variously meant tribal chiefs, governors, even rulers. The miners were descended from different ethnic groups, but all of them desired a leader. For their own reasons, they chose to acknowledge the title with hope and rebellion in their hearts. The name was whispered, sometimes, especially at night: Chuluun Khan.

  At the same time, wily old Bataar had not told him the route from this region to the steppes. He had kept that knowledge a secret. Chuluun understood: Bataar had made himself as indispensable to the breakout as Chuluun. With a stony respect, Chuluun accepted this. He liked the fact that Bataar had not trusted him fully. This made Chuluun trust Bataar more.

  Each time he slept, Chuluun dreamed of the shimmer stone. The memory of the pulsing light lit up his days in the mine. For one egg-sized, life-changing stone, he would play the role Bataar wanted. He would have his freedom and he would have a shimmer stone for his own—and to share untold wealth with Tuya for their new life together.

  Chuluun’s role, he found, was much like taking part in the re-enactment celebrations. Bataar had set up the rebellion among his Mongol friends in Redemption and wanted to use the sheer numbers of the recent transportees to make it work. His tireless personal effort had brought the plan to the brink. Now he was spreading the word that Chuluun was the leader—the Khan—for whom they had all been waiting, as though Bataar had known about him all along.

  As he labored in the mines, Chuluun focused his thoughts on how to play the role. Knowing he was truly no leader dogged his thoughts. He was just a miner. When guilt nagged at him for faking this part, he reminded himself that once his people were free, no one would care that Bataar was the true rebel and that Chuluun was just playing a role. So he returned the nods and wordless eye contact, and accepted the handshakes as though he expected them.

  Hour by hour, he stood up taller and grew more into the role of khan. During his hike out to the mine to start each shift, and during the weary trudge back, he looked at the mining camp and the surrounding terrain, where the forest grew thicker leading toward rugged hills in the north. Somewhere out there, his future waited.

  The mining camp was about one square kilometer in area, though the shape was irregular. A fence of crisscrossed barbed wire six meters high stood at the perimeter, held by steel poles sunk deep into the ground. The guard towers, however, stood in a rough circle near the center of the camp, over the barracks, stables, mess hall, store, and warehouses. The buildings were constructed of wood, like the guard towers. The facilities had not been expanded, even though a thousand miners now crammed the camp built for half that number.

  Bataar had explained to him that Anaconda had a number of camps in this area of similar size. They were spread out i
n part because the mines had been dug to follow the best ore, but also because smaller numbers of miners were easier to control. The armed guards at Redemption 4 numbered several hundred, with a third of them on duty during each of three eight-hour shifts. They wore plain, dark blue uniforms that separated them at a glance from the miners.

  While four guards watched from each tower, the others rode patrol on horses and muskylopes. Some watched the perimeter, while others were assigned to the area around the buildings and still more to accompany the miners from the main gate to the mine and back. Other patrols escorted the wagons going into Redemption for supplies.

  During the day, the barracks were open for people to come and go in their sparse free time. However, lockdown came two hours after dinner in the mess hall. At that time, the barracks became a prison. The guard towers lit the entire area with spotlights during the long Haven nights and armed guards looked down for any movement that would break their crushing boredom.

  *

  *

  *

  When the appointed night arrived, Chuluun rested in his bunk but lay alert with nervous tension. Four hours after lights out, when the miners were usually in a deep sleep and the guards at their least attentive, a thunderous explosion from somewhere outside the barracks signaled the moment. That was Bataar’s diversion.

  Chuluun leaped from his bunk, landing on the wooden floor with a loud thud.

  “Now!” Chuluun shouted. “To freedom!”

  Trusting that the Anaconda guards outside would turn their attention to the explosion, Chuluun drew a cavalry saber from under his thin mattress. Bataar had brought it to him wrapped in an old blanket. Other men pried up floorboards that had already been loosened, drawing out old pistols, rifles, sonic weapons, and even old hand tools such as pry bars, hoes, and shovels.

  “Chuluun Khan! Chuluun Khan!” The men took up the chant.

  Chuluun strode forward in near darkness, as though acting out a script Bataar had given him. “Battering ram! Battering ram squad, forward!”

  As arranged, a crowd of men were lifting a makeshift battering ram from under the floorboards. It had been made by hammering scrap wood together around rough bags of dirt and rock. No one had weighed the contraption, but it took six strong, young men to lift it.

  “Back away from the door!” Chuluun commanded. “Make way!”

  Another explosion rocked the outside, this one from another direction. Shouts from the camp guards followed, with the sounds of hoofbeats. More of them were going out to patrol the perimeter of the mine.

  “Ready, go!” Chuluun shouted.

  The men with the battering ram smashed it against the wooden door where it was held on the other side by an immense sliding steel bar. The door did not give.

  “Again!” Chuluun yelled.

  The battering ram crashed into the door again, but nothing happened.

  “Forget the door!” Chuluun waved his free arm to move back the crowd. If they could pry up the floorboards, the walls were likely little better. “Here! Hit the wall!”

  The men charged the battering ram forward again. This time it punched through the flimsy wooden slats of the interior wall. When they pulled out the battering ram, chunks of wood pulled out with it.

  “One more time!” Chuluun could see that the only insulation was air; now the outer wooden wall was visible.

  With the next crash, the makeshift battering ram punched outside into the cold night air. One of the men in the front dropped the ram and began ripping out the weak slats until he could force his way through a small hole. More men followed him through.

  Moments later, Chuluun heard the long steel bar sliding away. The men outside drew open the door, letting in light from the towering spotlights that shone down over the mining camp.

  Chuluun stepped up into the doorway with the saber held high, knowing the men still inside would see his silhouette. “Forward!”

  “Chuluun Khan! Chuluun Khan!” The chant grew into a roar.

  Rifle shots cracked from the towers. Bullets whizzed overhead.

  At a run, he led the men toward his right. Bataar had told him what to look for: The stables.

  The women’s barracks stood beyond the stables. With the sword held high, Chuluun took off at a dead run, with the shouting rabble of men behind him.

  Bataar’s explosions, set off by his friends living in Redemption, had drawn away most of the Anaconda guards to protect the perimeter. Now alarms sounded from the guard towers. The tower guards did not bother with verbal warnings. They simply opened fire on the crowd with their rifles.

  Behind Chuluun, rifles and handguns gave covering fire.

  Chuluun saw the stables ahead. Hostlers had already turned out of their beds to help the mounted patrols in response to the explosions. Now Chuluun saw them looking at him and the mob behind him in shock. They turned and ran.

  Many of the horses and muskylopes had been taken out on patrol, but at least a third remained, many of them routinely used for drawing wagons instead of riding. Chuluun saw a saddle nearby but did not dare take the time for it. Instead, he just slipped a bridle on the first horse he reached, a roan mare, and drew her from the box stall. Then he jumped on her bareback.

  “Forward! Go!” Chuluun shouted, clutching the reins with one hand and pointing the saber toward the women’s barracks.

  With the gunfire continuing around him, Chuluun bent low and steered the mare through the crowd. Many of the men were going for the remaining horses. Some of them, shot by the guards, fell with a cry or stumbled forward, wounded but still on their feet.

  The thunder of many horses came from the direction of the front gate. Though still distant, they were coming this way. At least some of the mounted patrols were returning in response to the sounds of the breakout.

  At the women’s barracks, Chuluun leaped to the ground and began to slide the steel bar holding the door shut. Alone, he was forcing it slowly, but in moments other men hurried to his side and helped him run back the bar. The door was pushed outward from the women inside, awakened by the explosions, gunfire, and shouting.

  “Tuya! Tuya, where are you?” Shouting hoarsely, Chuluun found himself swarmed by the women running out of the barracks and the men rushing up behind him.

  A squad of blue-uniformed guards on foot came running around the corner, firing rifles point-blank into the crowd.

  Chuluun slashed his saber down on one man’s arm, severing his wrist. As the guard screamed, and blood spurted from his stump, Chuluun grabbed the man’s rifle with his free hand. The guard fell to his knees, with only moments to live.

  Miners swarmed the other guards, driving them to the ground, and began beating them. They were shot and killed at close range, then their rifles and side arms were ripped away.

  “Chuluun!” Bataar, on foot, shoved his way up close. “More patrols are returning! We have to leave!”

  “Tuya!”

  “Chuluun?” Tuya’s voice came to him in the din, high-pitched and plaintive.

  “Where are you? Tuya?”

  Bataar grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Listen! One of my explosions tore away the fencing at the rear of the compound. You must lead the way!”

  Chuluun tried to pull away, still seeking Tuya in the crowd and through the shadows thrown by the tower’s spotlights.

  The door to the women’s barracks were slammed shut again with a bang. Many of the men were already drawing the women away to escape.

  The reins to the mare were shoved into his hands. “Now!” Bataar yelled. “I will ride with you!”

  Chuluun still could not see Tuya. He shouted for her again and again, but he could not hear her voice. Getting himself shot or taken prisoner would not help him find her. Reluctantly, he pushed the rifle he had taken into Bataar’s hands. Then he leaped on the mare’s back again. Clutching tight with his thighs, he shifted the reins to the hand that also held the saber, and reached down for Bataar.

  When Bataar had swung up behind him, Chu
luun held the saber aloft as he kicked the mare into a trot.

  “Go! Go!” Chuluun shouted as he gave one more look at the crowd for Tuya. Then he was riding away, with gunshots firing and men and women, both mounted and on foot, right behind him.

  “Chuluun Khan! Chuluun Khan!” The chant roared up around him.

  Chuluun, following Bataar’s directions, finally drew up at the edge of a dense forest north of the mining camp. They jumped to the ground and drew together the closest of the excited, breathless miners. Many had been killed in the fighting, and still more had been wounded, but all the men here showed grim satisfaction and sometimes even smiles as they found each other.

  Bataar took a shovel from someone and started digging a deep pit for a fire. Soon others joined in, while still more called out to their comrades to find stragglers and bring everyone to this place.

  Once Bataar had the fire going, it was deep enough to hide most of the light from anyone at a distance, but it provided both warmth and a rallying point for the miners who had lost their way in the breakout.

  Chuluun shouted for Tuya, and asked everyone among them to call her name and bring her to him if she could be found.

  The crowd around them grew, their spirits high. They tended to the wounded and searched for friends and comrades. Far behind them, the mounted patrols secured the mining camp but did not pursue them. They would wait for daylight, Bataar advised Chuluun.

  Worried about Tuya, Chuluun forced himself to accept the cheers and greetings from others, all of them calling out to him as Chuluun Khan. He paced near the fire anxiously, knowing that if Tuya had escaped, she would find him most easily right here.

  He motioned for Bataar, and took a few steps away from the crowd at the fire.