by King, Sara
Beside Magali, Joel raised his hand. Impervious to the Director’s scowl, the smuggler said, “You might want to tell them that the concentration of Yolk is much higher in the ones that have a purplish tinge.”
“Shut up, Runaway.”
Joel gave the Director an elegant, naked bow.
Without missing a beat, the Director said. “Everybody gets a collection sack. If you didn’t bring one, raise your hand and we will provide one for you. Here’s the deal: You fill up your sack until you can’t get another nodule in, you get me? You come to the front gate and there’s extra room in the top of your sack, one of my men is going to confiscate it and give you a new one to fill. So it’s in your best interest to make sure it’s full.” She paused, frowning. “What do you want, Runaway?”
Joel lowered his hand. “Do you have any bright red beach balls?”
The Director stared at him for a moment, then shook herself and returned her attention to the eggers. “Each egger will be required to bring back one full sack from the mounds by the end of Harvest. The sacks are the same size for everybody, so no quibbling about that. If you do have issues with your sack, you can request a new one now.”
Joel flicked a tadfly off of his bloody wrist, looking utterly unconcerned with the Director or the black row of Coalition Nephyrs surrounding the eggers. Loudly, as if they were in the midst of an utterly boring town-hall meeting, he interrupted with, “It’s really helpful to bring a few bright red beach-balls along for a harvest. Hell, anything red will work. Red attracts Shriekers during Harvest day like gunfire attracts Nephyrs. Motherly instinct and all that. Get enough red in one corner of the mounds and they’ll eventually congregate around it, leaving you free run of the rest of the hatching chambers.”
Absolute silence followed his words.
The Director returned her attention to Joel again, and Magali could feel the pressure of her gaze like the titanium tracks of a tank. Despite herself, she eased herself away from the smuggler, who, for his part, seemed completely unaffected.
Bored, she thought, amazed.
“Ferris?” the Director said.
“Yes, Director?” said three of the gray-uniformed men wandering through the eggers, handing out collection sacks. All three stopped what they were doing and immediately turned to face her.
They’re all robots? Magali thought, stunned. The only robots she had ever seen had been bulky, commercial-grade mining bots that spent as much time in the maintenance shed as they did hauling silver up and down the mineshaft. These machines had been so lifelike she hadn’t even realized they weren’t people. A new sense of unease began to creep along her spine. If the Coalition was so far advanced it had realistic AIs, how could the colonists—most of whom were still scrabbling in the dirt just for their very survival—even have a prayer of defeating them?
Anna, Magali thought, Wherever you are, I hope to God you know what you’re doing.
She got a mental image of a tiny grave dug out in the bog pits, hastily filled in with wet peat. Scrunching her eyes against the guilt, Magali told herself, She can take care of herself. She hasn’t needed me for years.
But could Anna stand up to Nephyrs? To being helpless while glittering monsters—some of whom were likely as intelligent as Anna was—interrogated her? It would be the Shrieker mounds all over again…
Not my problem, Magali told herself.
Up on the podium, the Director was still holding Joel’s gaze like a Coalition tank. To the robots, she said, “Those strawberry soda cartons are red, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Director,” the Ferrises said at precisely the same moment. It gave Magali chills. One of them had only been standing three feet away, and she hadn’t even realized it wasn’t human.
“The cartons would work,” Joel agreed.
“If you’re trying to earn your freedom or some bullshit…” the Director began.
Joel snorted. “Freedom? No, I just want to make sure you have a good Yolk Harvest.”
“Like hell,” the Director said.
Joel just smiled. He was missing two front teeth.
After another long moment of bulldozing Joel with her gaze, the Nephyr took a deep breath and said, “Ferris, I want you to go collect some empty soda cartons once you finish passing out collection sacks.” She then turned back to face the rest of the gathering.
“One more thing,” Joel said.
“What?” the Director snapped, the circuitry around her eyes glittering in the blue-white LED floodlights.
“If you have any tear gas—”
“I am not giving you tear gas,” the Director snarled.
Joel sighed. “Or hot peppers or cayenne powder, you can build a small fire in the central hatching chamber and throw it on the flames. It’ll make your lungs burn, but it’ll also make the Shriekers’ eyes gum up so bad they won’t be able to see you. Makes the harvest go a lot faster if you’re not dancing from cave to cave, trying to keep out of sight. Lot less people die, too.”
The Director gave Joel another long look, then said, “Ferris, when you’re done passing out sacks and have found those boxes, get the foremen each some cayenne powder and some campstoves.” Then the Director gestured grandly at Joel. “Anything else you want to add, Runaway?”
“Nope, that’s about it,” Joel said.
The Nephyr grunted, then turned back to address the gathering. “Unless we have another resident expert in the thieving and smuggling of Coalition Shrieker nodules, perhaps I will be able to finish this speech before they all hatch.”
Joel laughed loud enough to make the Director twitch, though there was no amusement in his face. The rest of the formation remained in utter, uncomfortable silence.
When no one else opened their mouths, the Director said, “All right. Foremen, get with the smuggler and coordinate your efforts. The rest of you, I want to make one thing clear: There is to be no fighting in the mounds. Anyone caught stealing another egger’s sack will be shot. I am damn serious about this. Work together, keep it civil, and when Harvest is over, you’ll get a week to relax. With that in mind—” The Camp Director pulled a clipboard out from under her arm and held it up. “We’ll be keeping tally of Yolk extraction. The ten eggers that produce the most Yolk this Harvest will get to go home, their service complete. So, if any of you would like to take extra bags into the mines, you’re free to do so.”
Beside Magali, Joel stiffened. “There’s no need for that,” he said. “You’re making enough off every sack to—”
“Shut up, Runaway,” the Director said. “Ferris, he’s done talking for now.”
But the smuggler looked furious. “But we both know you’re just going to—” Joel continued, until his words cut off abruptly. Instantly, the smuggler’s body tightened and he let out a low groan as he doubled forward.
“What’s wrong?” Magali asked, grabbing him to keep him from falling.
Joel grimaced and shook his head. In doing so, Magali got her first look at the small area of his skull against his neck that had been shorn, and the stitches that were still embedded in skin that was red and inflamed.
They chipped him, she thought, instantly repulsed. Even the mere thought of those wiry government monstrosities creeping along the spine of somebody she knew, penetrating his brain, sending and receiving signals as he went on oblivious, left her physically ill. She had to fight the urge to step into line somewhere else in formation, as if standing beside Joel too long would mean they’d chip her, too.
Joel straightened back up and gave the Director a black stare.
“Now,” the Director said, as if Joel had ceased to exist, “Unless there are any questions, you’re free to go to the mines.”
A little boy raised his hand.
“What?” the Director asked.
“I’m little,” the little boy said.
The Director gave him a blank stare. “So?”
“So what if I don’t fill my sack?” he asked, hefting the huge thing the robots had given h
im. The thick, tamper-proof, knife-resistant canvas material was heavy enough to make his scrawny arms struggle to keep it off the ground, and the unfurled sack was obviously bigger than he was. They can’t plan to make the kids harvest, too, Magali thought, appalled.
“Get someone else to help you,” the Director said.
“My daddy got the Wide,” the boy whimpered. “I’m all alone now.” He looked all alone, too. The other eggers seemed to have their attention focused elsewhere, avoiding looking at him altogether. They obviously weren’t going to help him.
“Get someone else to help you,” the Director repeated. “There’s plenty of nodules down there for everyone. Any egger who hasn’t brought a full sack out of the mounds by the end of Harvest is going to get shot.” She held the boy’s gaze. “Even if you’re a cute little kid.”
The kid cringed, all but disappearing into the pile of canvas in his arms.
Magali felt a familiar twinge watching the little boy, but fought it down. She had to worry about herself, now. She’d be lucky to get out of the mounds with one sack, let alone an extra for the kid. She supposed she should consider herself blessed she didn’t have to fill Anna’s, as well. Though she was reasonably sure Anna would have helped, her seven-year-old body didn’t have the weight necessary to pry the nodules from the floor.
Seeing the kid was finished talking, the Director mercilessly scanned the crowd. Raising her voice, the cyborg snapped, “Understand? Everybody fills their sack. Don’t even think of coming out of there until you do. The Coalition isn’t feeding and clothing you for free. Energy isn’t cheap this far into the Outer Bounds. You people need to earn your keep.”
Released from the Director’s gaze, the little boy had slumped to the ground and was sitting on his naked butt, his little shoulders quaking.
“Greedy bitch,” Joel muttered, under his breath. He was watching the whimpering little kid, anger contorting his face.
Instantly, the cyborg’s head swiveled. “You say something there, Runaway?”
There’s no way she heard you, Magali thought, panicking. Just lie.
“I said ‘Greedy bitch,” Joel said, loud enough for the entire camp to hear.
“They’re going to kill you,” Magali hissed, grabbing his arm. “Please, don’t.”
Joel looked her straight in the eye and softly said, “Do I look like I give a damn at this point?”
Magali released him suddenly. In that moment, watching the disinterested lifelessness on his face, Magali recognized Joel’s boredom for what it was. He had given up.
He no longer cares, she thought, horrified. He’s gonna provoke them until they kill him.
Joel flicked another tadfly off of his blood-crusted hand and returned his attention to the Director. Loud enough for the women in the guardtowers to hear, he said, “That kid goes in there and picks you one nodule—just one—and you’ll have enough to pay for his meals—as well as his house, his kids, and his clothes—until he’s ninety-five. So yeah. You’re a goddamn greedy bitch and the rest is bullshit.”
The Director smiled at him, and Magali forgot to breathe under the cruelty she saw there. “Ferris,” the Director said, “he’s already confessed to his crimes, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, Director,” they said, together.
“You beat them out of me, more like,” Joel scoffed, still looking utterly bored. “I didn’t do half those things you accused me of, and you know it.”
The Director smiled at the smuggler, and again Magali felt the urge to step away from him. “Ferris, does a man need to be able to speak in order to harvest Shrieker nodules?”
That made Joel stiffen. His entire wiry body seemed to go statuesque, like it was made of glass. His bored façade cracked, and Magali could see the fear in him.
“No, Director,” the robots said, as one. They continued, “There are three mute eggers in formation as we speak, Director.”
Oh no, Magali thought, glancing at the stitches in Joel’s scalp. Anna had told her of the horrible things that the Coalition could do to citizens with chips.
The smuggler’s entire body remained rigid under the Nephyr’s self-satisfied smile.
“Aside from Runaway, here, all you eggers are dismissed to start the Harvest.” Leisurely, the cyborg left her place in front of the gathering and walked toward them. Eggers hastily got out of the way, clearing a path until the Director was standing in front of Joel. This close, Magali fought the urge to back away. The Director was taller than she appeared at a distance, at least six feet, though even she had to cock her head to see into the smuggler’s face.
Seeing them square off, Magali knew she should leave, that should get in line with the other eggers shuffling toward the mines, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from Joel’s skinny form, standing tall despite the bruises.
“Tell you what, Runaway,” the Director said as the eggers quickly hurried around them to get to the mines. The cyborg reached out and settled her glittering hand upon his skinny arm. Magali saw Joel flinch, his eyes dropping warily to where her inhuman fingers touched him. “I’ll let you beg for your voice, Joel. If you’re convincing enough, I’ll let you keep it.”
Joel reddened and looked away.
“Not going to beg?” the Director asked, after a moment. She sounded delighted.
“Please,” Joel whispered. He flinched as he said it, as if the words had stung his soul. Immediately, his lips tightened with anger.
“Please, what?” the Director mocked. “And get on your knees. I’m finding it irritating looking up at you.”
Joel didn’t move.
The Director tisked. “Ferris?”
“Yes, Director,” the robots asked.
The Director waited, one eyebrow raised, watching Joel with amusement in her eyes.
Joel gave the Director a look of such hatred it made Magali’s disgust for Colonel Steele pale in comparison. Slowly, as if on stilts, Joel got to his knees. Magali saw the shame in his face and felt rising fury at the Director for what she was doing.
On his knees, Joel remained silent.
“You may proceed to beg,” the Director reminded him.
For almost a minute, the parade ground was silent except for the distant shuffling of naked eggers and the pounding of Magali’s heart.
Finally, in a voice barely loud enough to be heard, Joel said, “Please don’t take my voice.” He refused to look up, his good fist clenched at his side, the knuckles white, the arm shaking.
“But you’ve already confessed,” the Director said, conversationally. “You’re slated to execution tonight, at the hands of my friends. The only reason I can see to spare that annoying tongue of yours is if you want to entertain us with your screams. Is that what you want, Joel? To entertain us?”
Joel looked at his maimed hand. He took a breath. Held it. For a long time, the smuggler didn’t speak.
Say it, Magali willed him, anguished, You know she’ll do it if you don’t. You know she will.
After several more long moments, the smuggler finally looked up and said, “We both know you’re going to do it anyway, so just hurry up and get it over with, if that’s what your infected pustule of a soul desires.”
The Director laughed. “Get up.”
Joel stood up. The bored expression was back.
Stepping close, the Director said, “I hear another noise out of you before the Harvest is over and I’m going to have Ferris mute you. Permanently.”
Red-faced, the smuggler looked away.
The Director grabbed his chin and forced it back around to face her. “Understand?” she said. The Nephyr’s face glittered in the camp floodlights, her lips twisted in a cruel smirk. “Not a sound.” When Joel didn’t respond, she tapped his cheek with her gold-filigreed index finger and tisked. “Acknowledge me, Runaway, or I might change my mind.”
Spite oozing from his gaze, Joel nodded.
The Director smiled, malice lining her face. “Good.” Still holding his arm, she reached for Joel�
�s wounded hand.
The smuggler jerked it out of reach and stepped back, the broken ends of his metal shackles jingling against the dusty ground. His eyes were riveted on the Director, the bored façade once more stripped away, leaving raw fear in its place.
The Nephyr tisked. “I never said you could step out of formation, Runaway.” She grabbed him and jerked him back into line. Then, even as Joel struggled to resist, the cyborg easily pried his wounded hand from behind his back and took it in her own. Instantly, Joel went utterly still.
For a moment, the Director held the smuggler’s maimed hand gently, like she were cradling something fragile. Joel’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he panted through his nose, but he kept his teeth tightly gritted.
Stop it, Magali thought, her heart beginning to pound in her ears. She can’t do this.
“You’re so quiet,” the Director said, ignoring everything but Joel. “That’s so unlike you.” She tenderly stroked his hand with her circuit-covered fingertips. Finally, she smiled, and it left a cold spot against Magali’s spine. “Infected pustule, eh, Runaway? Is that what you think?”
Joel shook his head, eyes glistening in the floodlights. He was breathing too fast, like a terrified horse.
Magali opened her mouth to say something, but fear choked it off. Without Anna, she was just another frightened egger. What could she do against a Nephyr?
“I asked you a question, Runaway.”
Joel clamped his eyes shut.
A moment later, the Director chuckled. Then she squeezed. Standing as close as she was, Magali heard his delicate finger-bones crack and pop. Even though he never opened his mouth, Magali heard Joel scream as he fought the Nephyr’s grip. He crumpled over the Director’s arm, hitting it, sobbing through his nose, eyes squeezed shut against tears.
The Nephyr continued to hold him, easily supporting his weight with one arm. “Did you say something, Runaway?” Even as the smuggler sobbed into her arm, the Nephyr turned to the nearest robot. “Ferris? Did Runaway Joel just break our verbal contract?”
“He made a noise, Director,” the robot said.
Hearing this, the Director patronizingly shook her head at Joel. “And I thought we had an understanding.” She took her victim by the chin again and lifted his face to hers. “Now I’ll just have to get Ferris to mute you.” Her inhuman fingers tightened on his jaw, until the skin under his three-day-old beard was white, and she smiled again as Joel whimpered. “Or, on second thought, maybe I’ll just do it myself.”