by Jacey Jenson
This, he knew, was as far as she would go. Gary led the others below, where they found themselves knee deep in raw sewage. He eyed his still bleeding knees apprehensively. The Thali immunized slaves against most diseases, but the filth he was standing in worried him, nonetheless.
"Maybe you should ask pardon on this one," said Jeffrey Taylor, second in the chain. "Might not be healthy."
Gary snorted, and twisted to look at Jeff, his expression scornful. "Wouldn't be healthy to ask, either."
"I don't know, Gary." Worry etched Jeff's face. "With your knees cut up like that, there's no telling what kind of infection you might pick up."
Gary broke into the murmured agreements of the chain. "Warder Silera knows. She sent me down here, anyway." He made a face at the outhouse smells, turned, and led them farther into the drains. "Might as well get started," he said, when he located the clogged drains. Jeff tried to reason with Gary again, but Gary shook his head. "Never get through if we don't," he said, as if Jeff hadn't spoken.
Gary glanced up the tunnel, saw Silera watching them. She stood on the first step above the thick sludge the chain stood in. Evidently satisfied, she turned and started back to the surface. As soon as she was out of sight, Gary set the pace for the others, methodically shoveling filth away from the clogged drains, then burning it away with the disruptors. Slow, yet constant, they worked. When Gary judged they had been working for two bells, he suggested a break. The sewage was too deep to sit, and they all knew better than to be caught on the stairs, if Silera returned. After playing the purplish light of the disruptors over the offal covered wall to clean it, the chain leaned against it.
Gary's unconscious stance emphasized his lean, well-muscled body. Dark brown hair strayed toward his eyes. Ice blue at the moment, the color of his eyes changed with the swiftness of his emotions, sometimes gun-metal blue, other times they were an indigo so deep it was almost black. His rugged face held a certain sensuality totally devoid of innocence, yet at the same time, a guiltlessness, as one who had been sinned against, rather than having sinned himself. He wiped his hands on his tunic, then flashed the disruptor beam over his hands briefly to clean them. The chain followed his example, and yelped as the beam stung.
Gary snickered, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Provided as an additional control devise, Keeper Delai believed the threat of denying the cigarettes helped keep the slaves in line. Gary saw no reason to correct her misunderstanding. Very few, chosen by lot, smoked. The extra cigarettes supplied to each kennel were used for bargaining, most often with the sentinel, for medicine and extra blankets. As with any item prohibited to the general population, the cigarettes were valuable on the Street of Many Markets.
Gary shook out a cigarette, then passed the pack around for any others who also smoked. He pinched the plastic cover off the tip. The chemical coating the end reacted with the oxygen in the air, and ignited. Gary inhaled, while puzzling over the emotions that came over him more and more often. Rage and disobedience were not tolerated in vadagz. Those who displayed such traits seldom received a chance to mend their ways.
Yet, Gary found himself barely capable of restraining his anger and frustration. I must get control of myself, he thought. He shook his head, sighed deeply. Striking a Lady was an instant death sentence. Several minutes passed in silence, each of the slaves lost in his own thoughts. Smoke filled the dimly lighted corridor, ignored by the chain.
Jeff coughed, tossed his cigarette butt into the sewage flowing slowly past his buried ankles. "Well?" he asked Gary.
"Well, what?"
"Did Sara have her kid last night?"
Gary flicked the last of his cigarette into the sewer, heard it fizzle out. "Uh huh."
Jeff exchanged annoyed glances with the others.
"Boy or girl?" asked Ricky Phelps, third on the chain.
"Boy."
"She gonna be able to keep him quiet?" asked Bobby Fairley, just beyond Ricky.
Gary shrugged. "I don't know. Hope so."
"Do you ever say more than three or four words at a time, anymore?" demanded Jeff.
"Not if I can help it." Gary yawned, then wished he hadn't. The smell was getting worse. He could even taste it.
"Gary . . .." Jeff's hand curled into a fist.
Gary grinned. "Alright," he said, as he caught Jeff's fist and shoved it away from his face. "What do you want to know?"
"How's Sara? How's Dennis feel about being a dad? Who does the kid look like?" Jeff raised a finger for each question he asked.
"I don’t know who the kid looks like. I haven't seen him, yet. Lucy said Sara's okay, just tired. Dennis . . .." Gary stopped to consider his answer. "Well, Dennis is different. Right now, he's either worried sick, or bouncing off the walls."
"Choit," interrupted Ricky. "Dennis doesn't worry about anything."
"He does now." Gary pushed himself off the wall. "He said if the Ladies find the baby, they'll have to kill him to get to the kid."
"Are his chains twisted?" asked Jeff and Ricky simultaneously.
"If they are, mine are, too," said Gary quietly.
"You'd die to protect someone else's kid?" Jeff shook his head. "Why?"
“Because . . .." Gary retrieved his shovel from the stack. "Because Dennis and Sara are my friends." As he went back to work, Gary glanced at the disbelieving faces behind him. He meant what he had said, though. Dennis was the best friend he had ever had.
“Gary?”
"What?" Gary didn't look at Jeff.
"Maybe I'm a little twisted myself."
Surprised, Gary looked over his shoulder.
"Me, too," said Ricky, the lop-sided grin he usually wore absent. One by one, each of the others chimed in.
Gary's chest grew tight, and he swallowed with difficulty. "Thanks. Dennis and Sara will be glad to hear it." Gary almost smiled at the embarrassment on Jeff's face.
Jeff cleared his throat. "Well, if we want to live long enough to die for the kid, we better get back to work."
When they finally got all the drains cleared, they cleaned and replaced the tools in the closet. Gary led the chain detail up the stairs. The chains locked on their ankles chaffed their skin while they jingled and clanked through the underground passage.
Gary's eyes felt gritty. His vision blurred. You’ve got to get some sleep, said a voice at the back of his mind, You’re no good to anyone, if you can’t stay awake. He shoved open the substation gate. I’ll get some rest tonight, he answered the voice, silently. A cold, short-lived gust of wind swept over him, temporarily blowing away the stink of the filth they had worked in. Gary took a deep breath, then almost choked as the wind died down, and the odor returned.
The drizzle had stopped. The sun shimmered through patches of lingering clouds. Gary shivered and wished the air would warm up. As he glanced around to locate Warder Silera, she stepped from the building next to the substation. A buxom serving girl followed her outside. Silera stopped to give the girl a hug. Gary wondered again why the Thali Council had initiated the shenili program. Most of the Thali women he'd met preferred other women. It didn't make sense to him.
Healer Olimra had told him long ago that the cost of the shenili surgery was well over what the average Thali woman made in five years. He often wondered why the Ladies didn't make vadagza shenili instead of vadagz, but that was one of the forbidden questions. The only slave he had ever heard ask it, died soon after. Silera stopped six paces from Gary. Her nose wrinkled. She beckoned them to follow and turned away, foregoing the leash.
On the return trip, they were unhampered by the crowd. Most Ladies they met stepped into the nearest shop doors until they passed. Gary hardly noticed. His eyes kept blurring, then clearing, then blurring again. It took all his concentration to stay the required distance behind the warder. He kept his gaze fixed on the back of Silera's cinnamon colored jacket, and tried to ignore the gentle sway of her hips, the swish of her jade skirt as it swirled about her shapely calves. Shenili though he was,
he refused to be aroused by one of the Thali when he didn't have to be.
Before he realized it, they were inside the compound gates. Little ones were being herded to the class rooms behind the warehouse. White collars circled their necks. Later, Gary knew, the colors of their collars would reflect their training. Several hundred children shuffled noiselessly past without looking up. A little girl at the end of the line walked with her head down, lagging behind the rest. Silera cuffed her, then took the quirt dangling from her belt, and gave the terrified child a vicious blow.
“Get out of the way," Silera shouted.
As the girl screamed, Gary's hands curled into fists. He took a step toward Silera. Hands caught him from behind, pulled him to a stop. For a moment, he struggled, then relaxed as common sense filtered through his anger. Breathing deep, he fought to regain control. He glanced over his shoulder at Jeff and Ricky. Jeff shook his head in warning.
Gary swallowed, then nodded. Slowly, they released him, their eyes dark with worry. Gary closed his eyes and bent his head, tried to think of something to concentrate on. Anything to block out the little Terran girl's screams. By the time he realized where his thoughts were taking him, it was too late to try to block the memories.
On his way to a friend's house, Gary had taken a short cut through the old lumber yard. His father had warned him to stay away from the decaying, condemned buildings, but he, ten years old at the time, savored the added adventure of sneaking past the haunted warehouse. He had almost made it to the back fence, when he heard a ragged scream. Gary froze. After several seconds, he managed to thaw out his legs enough to turn around. He looked around the deserted property. Just as he decided he hadn't heard anything after all, he heard the scream again, then again.
He whirled, ran to the fence, and dove under the rotting boards, scraping his arm and back. On the other side, he leaned against the fence, barely feeling the splinters in his flesh. He gasped for breath, heart beating wildly. If it was a ghost, he was safe now, but . . .. What if there was someone hurt in there? What if someone needed help?
Gary stood up, torn between the desire to run away and forget the screams, and the concern that someone might need his help. He swallowed hard, squared his shoulders, and then slipped back into the lumber yard. Cautiously, he crept into brush lining the fence, and scanned the area. Seeing no one, he tip-toed to the main building.
It took only a moment to climb up on a stack of weathered two-by-fours, and look through the dirt-grimed window. Inside, he saw a group of children, some a bit older than he, some younger. As he watched, they were pushed into a faded blue delivery van by two women who were wearing some sort of red uniform. Two other women, wearing the same uniforms, watched. One of the oldest boys had to be carried by the other children. The shirt across his back was ripped. Blood dripped from slashes that crisscrossed his back.
Gary drew back from the window. He had to get home. He had to tell his father about this. As he turned to jump from the rotting woodpile, he moved too quickly. Two-by-fours clashed and clattered to the ground. His support shifting, Gary lost his balance. With a startled yelp, he sprawled on top of the haphazard woodpile. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Gasping, he sat up, then scrambled off the wood. He took four running steps, before he saw the two women in front of him. With the agility that only a child has, he turned to run in the opposite direction, scarcely slowing his momentum. And came to an abrupt stop. The other two women had come up behind him. They caught his arms. He twisted, kicked and jerked, but couldn't get away. He heard the first two women come up behind him. One of them said something he couldn't understand. The woman holding his left arm laughed, then she hit him. Pain shot through his skull. Bright lights sizzled before his eyes, and blackness settled around him.
Gary jumped, startled back to the present by the jab in his back. His eyes flew open. “. . . into the trough," Silera was saying. The girl Silera had been beating was nowhere in sight.
Teeth clenched, Gary walked to the bench beside the trough. The shuffle clink of the chain followed him. With his left foot on the bench, Gary waited for the manacle to be unlocked. After the detail was released from the chain, he helped put the chain in the trough. He stripped off his soiled clothes, tossed them into the disposal chute located near the trough, then stepped into the cold water. Instantly, his teeth began to chatter. As tired as he was, the strong current that replenished clean water almost pushed him off his feet. Gary staggered a bit, caught his balance, and helped the others rinse the chain and set it on the ground outside the trough.
Silera shouted a command. A slave girl brought several squares of soap. Cheeks flushed red, she tossed soap to Gary, then the others. Gary peered at her face. He didn't know her. With Silera present, he dared not speak to her, but the questioning glances he and the chain threw at her seemed to fluster her as much as anything they might have said. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, before Silera judged them clean enough to get out.
The slave girl ducked her head, stared at her feet. Gary shook his head. She was embarrassed! How could she be embarrassed at her age? he wondered. While the chain stood shivering in the cold autumn air, Silera turned to give the girl leave to go. Gary moaned aloud when he saw Silera's raised eyebrow. She, too, had noticed the slave girl's embarrassment.
Silera beckoned for her to approach. "Come here, vadagza."
Fear sparked in the girl's gray eyes as she obeyed. "What is your name?"
"Donna Tate, if you permit, my Lady," she said, her voice fragile and trembling. Donna's slender shoulders slumped, flinched from the threatening smile on Silera's lips.
"Donna will do. How old are you?"
"Eighteen, Terra-year, my lady."
Gary caught his lower lip in his teeth, struggling to keep his expression passive.
"Why have I not seen you before?" asked Silera.
"I was transferred here from Quaiela this morning, my Lady."
Silera considered the frightened girl for a moment, then laughed harshly. "These vadagz have worked hard today, girl. Lady Tedai needs entertainment tonight. You will reward these slaves for their hard work, and provide the entertainment in so doing." Silera snapped her fingers. "Wrists."
Donna's eyes grew wide. Her already pale face blanched. "No," she whispered. She shivered violently, more from fear, Gary thought, than from the bitter cold. "Please, my Lady, no . . .."
Silera slapped Donna, left her handprint on Donna's face. Again, Gary felt the hands of his friends restrain him. He shook himself, forced his fists to uncurl. "You will obey!" Silera told Donna.
Helplessly, Donna shook her head no. Silera's hand struck with the swiftness of a winged viper. Her index finger pressed the button set almost flush with the collar's surface. Donna's scream echoed through the compound as pain engulfed her. She clutched her collar with both hands, fell to her knees, sobbing. Silera released the button. After a moment, she snapped her fingers again. "Wrists!"
Gary saw the agony in Donna's soft gray eyes as she offered her crossed wrists, and was bound to the leash. After testing the knot, Silera retied the other end to Gary's collar. With a firm grip at the center of the narrow strap, she led them across the compound grounds to Gary's kennel. Still wet from his bath, miserable in the cold wind that moaned through the alleys between the kennels, Gary fought the anger building in him. Donna's stifled sobs made that battle even harder.
Gary kept his head down, his eyes averted. Rage for the abusive reward promised to him and the others in the detail choked him so he could hardly breathe. The chain lined up at the bench outside the kennel. Donna knelt at his side. From the corner of his eye, he could see the tenseness of Donna’s body.
Heedless of the cutting wind, Warder Silera left them waiting there and went to the Keeper's office. She spent several minutes inside the office, arranging the entertainment, Gary was sure, then returned. Each given afternoon duty, then excused upon his release, the other vadagz hurried into the kennel to dress, then left to a
ttend their assignments. As Silera removed the leash from Gary’s collar and Donna’s wrists, he saw Keeper Delai leave her office and cross the compound to stand behind Silera.
Displeasure in every inch of her stiff posture, the Keeper gazed at Gary's knees with narrowed eyes. "Warder, was this one damaged before entering the substation?"
Delai's frown deepened when Silera cast a guilty glance at Gary's injured knees. Uneasily, Silera answered affirmative. "He has had his inoculations, Keeper. I saw no harm."
Gary looked down. His breath caught in his chest. The irritated flesh had swollen redly, oozed blood and pus. Gary had been too preoccupied with the reward Silera promised to notice the stiffness in the joints of his knees. Delai ordered Gary to stand on the bench, then bent to get a better look at his torn knees. Her lips thinned with anger. She straightened and faced Silera. "Did you not see by his collar he is shenili?"
Silera turned her gaze to the collar circling Gary's neck. A thin stripe of white enamel was centered horizontally on his azure collar. "Yes, Keeper, but . . .."
"Remove your warder's band, Silera, and return to the temple. You must learn to be more careful of shenili before you are permitted to ward vadagz. In the future, if you must be careless, see that you choose one less expensive to replace!"
"My Lady Keeper, I . . .."
"Do not annoy me further, Silera. With your record, you could easily be reduced to slave."
Silera jerked the beaded warder's band from her forehead, and presented it to Delai. Gary's lips twitched as he noted the fine tremors in Silera's fingers.
“Do not return to my kennels, Silera. You would make a pretty slave for the entertainments. Go!"