It seemed Grey's warning had gone through; they were expecting me.
I cleared another large obstacle, and my eyes and the coordinates confirmed my arrival.
The asteroid which housed the colony appeared miles long, massive and appearing immobile against the consistent scattering of its smaller brothers. Tiny structures dotted some of the rocky surface, mostly metallic plates, and I suspected most of its infrastructure would be inside.
Warnings resounded in my cockpit as several defense mechanisms targeted my position. A precaution, I hoped.
The landing continued without any vaporization, but I wondered if a loud argument in the control center debated the pros and cons of such an action. Sets of heavy steel docking bay doors opened in one of the regions of the asteroid. They directed me to it and allowed my entrance, the doors sealing shut behind me. Dim lighting was strung around the area, and a short walkway led to a building. Not an inch of rock was seen; the whole interior section appeared to be encased in metal.
Once my ship touched down, a door opened in the structure, and several people carrying weaponry and clad in light ballistic armor spilled out. My instruments shone green for atmosphere, so I slipped out of my seat and opened the hatch.
No one spoke a word as I set foot on the docking platform. Fourteen individuals appearing as soldiers trained weaponry upon me. The deck had an inconsistent vibration, not quite a tremor, as the smaller asteroids outside occasionally nudged the larger one.
I stood, waiting with my arms folded.
Out of the building walked a man dressed in similar ballistic armor with various symbols and insignias etched upon it. A stern expression and sharp features gave the unmistakable air of authority, and he was flanked by two additional guards, these more heavily armed and armored.
"I am Security Chief Pallum Bethel." The man spoke with a hard edge. "I am also the acting governor of Vapaus Colony." He pointed at me. "You are Archivist Sid, and you are not entirely welcome in this place."
I said nothing, keeping my arms folded and favoring the leader with a blank expression.
"It is only by the request of a very important individual that I grant you sanctuary in this place. However, your leash will be extremely short, and any action construed as against the well being of Vapaus Colony will see you locked in a very dark place for a very long time. Your business here will be brief, and all records of our location will be purged from your navigation systems once this debacle is finished." He leveled his gaze at me. "Do I make myself clear?"
I still didn't speak, restraining myself from rolling my eyes and diving deep into condescension.
"You will answer me, Archivist, or you'll be sent on your way without hesitation."
Sighing, I swept my hat off and replied, "Let's move beyond the tired posturing. I represent very little threat to your miserable way of existence. I'm here for a specific purpose, and once done, I have no further need to remain."
Glaring angrily, he opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand. "Very obviously, I've been granted particular courtesies you are not fond of. Your threats are hollow because someone higher than you wishes this to occur. I hold no particular ill toward you or this place, but I will provide you with similar courtesy should you decide to continue this foolish hostile attitude."
I absolutely love being a guest of importance. The less I have to deal with the careful wordplay associated with causing no offense, the better. A frank attitude is nearly always more efficient.
Chief Bethel tightened the thin line of his lips. I could see he wanted to cause issue in some fashion by yelling, sending me away, or locking me up. Marvel of marvels, he turned on his heel. He gave a sharp hand motion. "Follow me."
Flanked by and trailing the entourage of armed individuals, I obeyed. For fifteen minutes, we crossed through numerous bland corridors. The acting Governor and Security Chief moved in silence, irritation fixed upon his features.
We stopped moving in a long hallway lined with heavy-security doors. Bethel turned to me. "Your assessment, though arrogant and flippant, was correct." He raised his chin. "If it were up to me, I'd have you and your ship harvested for useable parts before discarding the rest. We take care of our own here, and only one person has received the freedom to come and go as he pleases."
I had an inkling toward who it might have been, but I sensed my new friend would be upset if I interrupted him. His self-important air annoyed me, but I didn't feel like having him shout at me for several minutes before the conversation progressed.
Seeing no reaction from me, Bethel continued. "However, others are hoping, foolishly in my opinion, that you will not bring death from the galaxy upon us. They believe you should be happy, merry, cheerful, and able to gallivant about without a care as to how it may affect our way of life."
He grit his teeth. "What we arrived at was a fair compromise. You are about to embark upon a mandatory tour of this facility, our prison-turned-home. They are hoping you will gather an appreciation for it. A sympathy. I have my doubts, but I also retain no ability to prevent your stay and meeting with our important individual."
"However," Bethel held up a finger. "If you should give me the slightest reason to mistrust or dislike you, I can make absolutely certain that all conversation takes place under the least comfortable circumstances. Do you understand me?"
If only for the sake of expedience, I nodded.
Bethel made a hand motion, and all of the soldiers save his pair of guards departed. He turned to me. "You may consider our current way of life to be one of misery and lack of civilization, but I assure you: it is infinitely better than the degradation and horror of our lives as forced laborers."
"You have my greatest sympathy," I replied. With a wary eye, he searched my expression for any sign of sarcasm or irony, but he discovered none. I didn't gush, but there was at least a little sincerity behind my statement.
The security chief continued. "Where you are standing right now is one of the many prison wards." He opened one of the doors and gestured. "Laborers in training are kept here, isolated."
The room appeared cramped. A tiny bed, toilet, and sink were in close proximity, and empty floor space was close to nonexistent. A flickering recessed light provided a source of variability, entertainment, or more likely madness. "Countless hours are spent in silence and solitude. Simple meals and constant punishments are found during the period of training."
Without waiting for me to respond, he moved on. Through dozens more hallways very similar, I gathered the facility housed a very large number. Considering the size of the asteroid, the number could have ranged into the tens of thousands, depending upon how much interior was taken up.
He stopped in a different corridor. The doors were the same security style, but they were further apart, each room at least three times as large. "This is a training ward. Every room," he palmed the door, "contains equipment to precisely condition a subject to perform specific menial tasks at peak efficiency."
Inside lay what appeared to be fragile materials and common household items. Cleaning implements were stacked on a shelf, and cameras and monitoring equipment were embedded in the walls. "For cleaners: dust particles, amount of pressure utilized upon various fragile and non-fragile items, amount of cleaning product expended, and numerous other facets are recorded. Requirements of each and being as close to perfection as possible is hammered into every fiber of their being. Each day brings different items and review. Improvement is expected. If there is no improvement, punishment is exacted."
He palmed open another door. "Miners are directed to put forth the exact amount of physical requirement prior to exhaustion and injury. Strike pressure and angles are very important to perfect." A faux rock wall lay with varied mining equipment.
Bethel made a sweeping gesture. "There are twenty-six different types of training rooms, and a full forced-labor staff is kept on site to maintain and prepare them for every session. Each individual in training remains for an average of one
month at ten hours a day. Increasing punishment is exacted upon those who cannot perform adequately or learn too slowly."
I sensed punishment had been a common factor in the existence of the slaves here. I also sensed he was building up to what the punishment actually was. I found his continued description of the facility as if it were still in use odd, but I didn't comment.
Again we progressed. After five minutes of bland hallways, we stopped. The corridor held rooms appearing very similar to the training spaces. "Exercise rooms; self explanatory. Mandatory physical conditioning based upon age and future task. Inadequate performance leads to punishment."
We stopped in another room. "Mess hall," he informed me. It was more of a hallway than a hall. Several stalls lay on one side, appearing to have slots but no windows. "Ten minutes, four times daily," Bethel said. "A prisoner walks to one of the stations, and handprint identification issues a personalized meal from each slot. The food and any vitamin or drug supplements are to be eaten to entirety within the amount of time or..." He stared at me with a stern gaze.
"Punishment," I offered.
The acting governor nodded and moved on. The next area was larger, featuring rooms with several long tables. Countertops and cupboards surrounded the space. Medical implements lay about, and Bethel didn't need to tell me what occurred in this place.
"Medical facility. All new trainees are given a complete physical examination to determine capabilities and needs. There is a minimum level required, and those not capable of any labor tasks are not punished." He paused. "Elderly and ill are those generally considered incapable. Children are kept because they are the most easily trained and can grow into tasks. Those who cannot, simply by virtue of condition, are disposed of."
He led me to a few other locations, but my mind began to wander as the repetition of poorly treated human beings dulled my sympathies. Indeed, I had seldom seen things more terrible, and this place bordered on the level of atrocity. Even with the lingering strain of odd emotional-levels, the intensity of the colony's wrong diminished with each moment I spent on the tour.
Assisting this was my own purpose in being there. Finding this efficient machine, a facility for producing some of the finest in forced labor no matter how horrid the process, was not why I came. We passed through several more areas: showers and recreation, classrooms for laborers which required more than simple hands-on training.
Another corridor held booths filled with scanning equipment. The individuals would be placed within, and all manner of measurements would be taken. "Forced labor is a client-centered business," Bethel said. "These provide specifications of every tiny detail for the use of selling."
He continued, "Most often, we are sold in lots ranging from ten to a hundred. Sometimes more, many more. We are utilized by black market mining operations: those free of government influence and regulation. Some are used in widespread agriculture projects, and others are bought by private citizens. Some remain here to tend the facility."
A few more places flitted by, and it seemed we ended our tour in the same location as we started it. From what I could tell, we traveled a mostly linear path, so we came to what was most likely another series of the same facilities.
"At last we arrive at punishment." This perked my interest and provided an irritating twinge of sympathy. The notion had continued to appear throughout the rest of his presentation, and I admit I was curious as to the methods. He held out his arm, sliding up the sleeve. A tiny scar lay on his wrist, barely perceptible if he hadn't been pointing directly to it.
"Upon our arrival, we are implanted with nerve impulse generators. These travel through the bloodstream and hook into various places in our bodies. A majority of them arrive in the brain."
He gestured at several places. "Upon a command, be it a switch, a word, or any other conceivable trigger including removal attempt, these devices will cause degrees of intense pain. One of the devices," he held up an index finger, "resides within the person's heart. It does not link itself with the others, but it is the final failsafe. If certain conditions are met, such as distant proximity in the event of an escape attempt, the owner's vital signs failing for those assigned as bodyguards, or simply the whim of someone trying to teach a lesson..." He trailed off, clenching his teeth. "A tiny plasma charge will obliterate the laborer's heart. It is brief and excruciating."
He paused, tapping his chest. "As these are mass-produced, design defects have been noted over the years. In some, the device's detonator can break down over time, which in turn can cause the charge to trigger on its own. Two weeks ago, this happened to our elected Governor. Mercifully, he died in his sleep."
I wondered if Bethel or the cohorts who arranged this tour had encountered many Archivists. Someone had to know that sympathy and empathy were not high on our list of common traits. Few of us would ever be strongly affected by a heart-wrenching tale of shredded human dignity. Even with my strange, malfunctioning emotional state, caused by factors yet unknown, I still kept my outward expression entirely passive.
My rational mind was able to generally disregard the emotional state, which in itself seemed somewhat arbitrary. I assumed the horror of the slaver colony, guilt about Cain's continued violence, and the killing of Dana were simply triggers. I suspected the malfunction would remain regardless of the input.
In either case, the former plight of the freed slaves didn't effect me in any deep or life-changing way. Indeed, a majority of my concern lay in thoughts of why I was experiencing sympathies in the first place rather than the subject of them.
Regardless, the long tour irritated my rational mind and sense of purpose. In other circumstances, I'd have been thrilled to gather every tiny piece of information about this place. If nothing else, it provided an interesting character study on several levels, but I was present there for a different reason.
"You may be wondering why I speak as though the facility remains in operation." Bethel didn't speak this as a question; it seemed as simply another portion of the tour. This element was one of the more curious pieces to his presentation. I assumed it related to some manner of simple psychology or social bonding effect.
My guide folded his arms. "We do not forget. Our children, their children, for a thousand generations will know what happened in this place. We do not forget."
Social bonding it was. I vaguely wondered how much time and effort was expended in the pursuit of remembering the atrocity instead of cultivating the local gardens and fixing maintenance issues. The entire presentation and the simple fact that people still lived in a place where they were abused and tortured begged a question.
It was likely the only real point of curiosity I held in that moment. "Why are you all still here? If the facility was shut down, why didn't you all return home?"
Bethel scowled at me. "Some of us did, but others..." He swept a gesture. "What is there to return to? Many people see their loved ones killed in raids where slaves are taken. Families are brought here and split up, never again to see their spouse, parents, siblings or children and to forever wonder what happened to them." He sighed. "Most of the people who stayed are the career laborers responsible for maintaining this facility. For us and the others... the galaxy forgets us moments after we are captured, so why would we return?"
I asked a frank question. "Is the life here sustainable in the long term? Shipments of supplies and food must have been regular when the facility was in operation, and you certainly can't trust average merchants to assist you in that any longer."
My guide took on a smug air. "We do not need the assistance of any outsiders. We've set up our own means of production. We take care of each other, and we'll be here for a very long time."
I doubted this very much, but I didn't articulate the fact. The acting governor thus far had no reason to make my stay less comfortable, and I didn't believe putting that in jeopardy would be wise.
Silence lapsed for several moments as Bethel continued to size me up. I could practically read his thoug
hts and see the gears grinding in his head: ever fiber of his being wanted to expel me from this sanctuary. However, aside from flippancy early on, nothing I did was remotely antagonistic.
"What is it you're seeking from him?" Bethel asked in a flat tone, and of course we both knew who he was talking about.
I had been expecting a question of my intent for quite a while, but the tour and the attempt to garner my sympathy was extensive and thorough. I replied, "Information."
The acting governor frowned. "Of what nature?"
"Varied."
Bethel's frown deepened into a scowl. "Be specific."
Sighing, I replied, "I have numerous claims regarding his life which, out of personal curiosity, I would like to have validated or denied. Most importantly, I am here to find out everything about his involvement in the Atropos Garden incident. Depending, I may request custody of him or his vessel."
Several subtle emotions crossed the man's face. Confusion, surprise, irritation at my mention of taking Ivan away, all quickly masked as the stern expression returned. "Why the ship?"
I said, "It's possible the vessel holds prominent technology capable of destruction on a massive scale. Only a theory at this point, but one of many reasons why I need to speak with him."
He regarded me with a blank stare for a moment. "Very well. Follow me."
Again we moved through numerous similar corridors. I found it momentarily confusing that we hadn't crossed any other individuals, but I supposed they may have set themselves up nearer to some sort of administration sector. Bethel must have been trying to limit the disturbance my presence represented by keeping me out in the distant and abandoned areas.
He palmed open a doorway, an empty room with a table and a few chairs. I recognized it as one of the psychological profile and evaluation rooms. Bethel had explained it during the tour: the presence of crippling anxiety and depression afflicted most slaves. Like everything else, a measure of counseling at the very least to determine dosage level for medication was mandatory. Personality screening boiled the laborer's disposition down to a simple equation: another element of choice for the clients.
The Legend of Ivan Page 22