Shenili: Chains of Fear, Book 1

by Jacey Jenson

  Occasionally, one of the vadagz slipped over the damaged wall to enjoy the peace and semblance of freedom for an hour or so, before returning to the cruelties of their captors. Always, they returned. The few who had not in the beginning, had been burned alive, while the rest were forced to watch. With nowhere on the entire world of Thali to run to, no one was willing to risk such a painful death.

  Walking through the dusky forest behind and over the hill from the slave compound, Dennis found Gary sitting with his back to the barrel trunk of a nyem tree. Gary was savagely throwing bark chips at a mud puddle three meters beyond his feet. Dennis stood watching, unsure whether to interrupt his friend's meditation. He hesitated a moment longer, then asked, "Need someone to talk to? Or would you rather be alone?"

  Gary looked up, then grinned. The bruise on his cheek when Donna hit him with her elbow was more brown than purple in the tree's shade. "Sit down, Dennis. I'm just thinking."

  "About what?" Dennis collapsed bonelessly beside Gary, then twisted to lean his back to the same tree.

  "I don't know. Everything; nothing."

  Dennis nodded his understanding. He wrapped his sturdy calloused hands in the knee-deep briloa grass, tugged up handfuls, and cast them aside. "Me, too," he said, thinking it odd that briloa could grow beneath the dense forest.

  Deep shadows vied with sunlight in uneven patches as a light breeze stirred sighing branches over their heads. Brick red sand showed through where Dennis pulled up the brittle, brown grass. The smell of autumn perennials wafted past. Inhaling the spicy fragrance, Dennis enjoyed the play of light on the rippling grass.

  He shivered in the chill morning air. For a moment, he envied Gary's inability to feel the full extent of the autumn cold. But only for a moment. Shenili were, if anything, treated with greater cruelty than others among the slaves. Dennis offered Gary a cigarette out of the package he had been issued earlier that morning, then took one for himself.

  Dennis relished the small warmth that radiated from the smoldering tip of his cigarette. Acrid smoke warmed his lungs. Hands cupped around the orange glow, Dennis turned his thoughts to the boy sitting beside him. Boy? he thought with a secretive grin. No shenili slave could be considered a boy. His thoughts wandered back to the day they had met, nine Terra-years past.

  The old lumberyard, smelling of decayed wood, was still clear in his mind. His back bloody, his throat raw with screams, Dennis had watched, uncaring, when the Huntress had shoved another boy into the faded van. Gary had sprawled, unconscious. It was not until later that Dennis learned that the Ladies caught Gary, while he was trying to go for help.

  Dennis took another drag on his cigarette. He was surprised that Gary had never blamed him and the others for his capture. Instead, Gary had been the first to offer comfort. The first to stand up to the older vadagz in the kennel, insisting that they work together, help each other. He had shamed them into it. Dennis owed him a great debt for it. Denny Joe, Dennis' and Sara's newborn son, would not now be alive, had Gary not changed their lives. Dennis counted himself lucky to be Gary's friend.

  Dennis exhaled twin plumes of smoke, and watched it dissipate. The breeze tugged it this way, then that, until it was gone. He moved against the rough bark behind him, scratching an unreachable itch.

  Long, lazy minutes passed, then Gary asked, "Denny Joe okay?"

  “Yeah. Sara, too. Lucy said she'll be up and around tomorrow." Dennis leaned his head back, watched the tiny, indigo mujav busily spinning iridescent webs high in the top of the nyem they were using as a backrest. "How's Donna?"

  "About the same. Wish I knew what to do for her."

  The mujav will have this tree covered with their webs soon, thought Dennis. He knew the tree would die not long after. "That's life." He didn't realize he had spoken aloud until Gary gave him a strange look.

  "It's choit."

  Dennis nodded. “Uh huh.”

  Small blue insects, something of a cross between a cricket and a grasshopper, were humming a discordant tune that was somehow suitable that afternoon. Dennis listened for a while, feeling something he couldn't identify.

  "How do you know," asked Gary, "when you're in love?"

  Dennis was at a loss how to answer. For several years, Gary had been the unofficial leader of the kennel. Even the older ones turned to him for advice and arbitration. It was a position Dennis knew Gary had neither asked for, nor wanted. Still, Gary seldom asked questions; he answered them.

  "You just know, I guess," Dennis finally said.

  Gary sighed, flicked his cigarette butt into the puddle. "Well, then, how do you know when you're not in love?"

  "Point of view, maybe?"

  "What?"

  "Well, do you care because she needs you, or because you need her?"

  Gary frowned. "What about both?"

  Dennis scuffed the sand with his heel, carefully avoided Gary's gaze. "Could be love." He pretended not to see the grimace Gary cast at him.

  A violet winged songbird soared through the air, landed on a low branch. The branch bobbed and swayed beneath its weight. Dennis picked up a grub, and tossed it to the bird. It flew away. "You love Donna?"

  "I don't know. Maybe. I don't think so."

  Dennis took a deep breath. "You've only known her a few nine-days. Give it time."

  Gary's lips pressed into a hard line. He tossed another chip of bark at the puddle, missed, tried again with another. "I hate what I did to her."

  "Yeah, only it wasn't you, Gary. It was Keeper Delai, and that tarvitch, Tedai."

  Gary shrugged, his face shuttered. Dennis studied Gary's expression for several breaths, then said, "Something else has your chain tangled."

  Again, Gary shrugged.

  "Share it, Gary. You're the one who taught us not to keep things inside until we exploded."

  Gary muttered a curse under his breath. "Leave it, Dennis. You have troubles enough without adding mine."

  "What's good for the chain, is good for the link, remember? You're not a link, though, Gary. You're the lock that holds the rest of us together." Stunned by the despair in Gary's blue eyes, Dennis put his hand on Gary's knee, and squeezed. "What is it? Let me help."

  Gary swallowed, and shook his head. "You can't. There's nothing you can do."

  "I can listen, Gary."

  Gary glanced at Dennis' face, hesitated, then nodded. "Alright." He cleared his throat. "Remember the day I met Donna I went to the infirmary?"

  Dennis nodded. "I remember."

  "While I was in the infirmary, my med-file was left on the table. It was open, so I . . .." He cleared his throat gain. "I read it." His grin was sickly. "Healer Olimra must have forgotten that I can read."

  Dennis felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle. "And?"

  "They're going to kill me, Dennis."

  The words were so quiet, Dennis thought he must have misheard Gary. "Did you say 'kill'?"

  Head bowed, Gary nodded.

  "But, why?"

  "Because I'm shenili."

  Dennis found that he was breathing hard. "That doesn't make sense, Gary. Shenili surgery is expensive. What exactly did it say?"

  "Exactly?" Gary shut his eyes. "It said, `Caution: Shenili are to be considered dangerous. Due to the inability to feel pain, discipline often fails to prevent the assertion of individualistic tendencies. Often difficult to control, shenili must be destroyed at once should they become violent. Statistics indicate extermination after five years.'" There was no humor in Gary's laugh. "I've been shenili for four years, Dennis."

  Dennis didn't doubt Gary's memory. Shenili were required, on top of everything else, to know several epic poems by heart, in case one of the Ladies had a taste for romance. Unable to think of anything he thought would be of help, Dennis sat quietly.

  Gary lunged to his feet, stared toward the compound hidden by the curve of the hill. "Someday, I'm going to burn that place to the ground!"

  Startled, Dennis watched Gary. With a sharp sense of loss, he sudde
nly knew what life would be like if the Thali did, indeed, murder his friend. He hadn't known how much he valued Gary's friendship. Or his leadership. "Want some help?" he asked, surprised that he meant the offer.

  "Maybe. When I'm ready."

  "Just let me know." Dennis rolled to his feet. He locked glances with Gary, recognizing for the first time that he would follow Gary's lead, gladly facing the weapons of the Thali, should Gary ask it of him. Disconcerted by the rush of his emotions, Dennis looked away, wondering if Gary could read his feelings in his expression.

  He stretched, reached for the branches overhead, and yawned. "I have to go. Sara still needs as much rest as she can get. I have to watch Denny Joe, this afternoon." Dennis closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at Gary. "I can't help but think what's going to happen to him and Sara if they find him." He took a deep breath, then admitted, "I'm terrified half the time."

  Gary's hand gripped Dennis' shoulder, and squeezed. Dennis struggled to keep from adding more to Gary's worries, then sighed. "Everyone thinks I'm so tough." A bitter laugh forced its way past his aching throat. "Right now, I don't feel tough. Just scared!"

  Gary's grip tightened for a moment. "It's okay to be scared, Dennis. We all are."

  Dennis stared at the briloa brushing his knees, shamed for putting this burden on Gary when he already carried so much. "We better get back," he said abruptly, and walked out from under Gary's hand.

  Chapter 4

  Jeffrey Taylor pulled his blanket over his head, trying to shut out the chain's murmuring voices. Brilliant mid-morning light speared through a small window, touching his face with its glow. He wasn't ready to wake up. Dreams of food, pancakes with butter and syrup, bacon and eggs, hot biscuits smothered in gravy, toast and jam, all brought a rumble of hunger from his stomach. He snatched at wisps of the sumptuous dream, then moaned as his tenuous hold slipped.

  He woke to the smell of boiled grain, unappetizing at best. He heard the soft pad of footsteps come toward him, stop beside his pallet. Hoping whoever it was would go away, he kept his eyes shut, pretending sleep. A toe dug painfully into his shoulder, and shook him.

  "Get up, sloff."

  Jeff groaned. He batted at the offending foot without opening his eyes. "Go away, Ricky."

  "You going to sleep away all your free time?"

  "Uh huh. Go away." Jeff burrowed deeper into the warmth of his blanket.

  "Lucy's cleaning up," warned Ricky. "You want to eat, you better get up."

  "Trihe choit," said Jeff, irritably. He sat up and glared at Ricky, but Ricky shrugged off the curse. An annoying, lop-sided grin, too cheerful for early morning, Jeff thought, was matched by the amusement in Ricky's green eyes. "Don't you ever sleep in?" asked Jeff.

  Ricky shook his head, causing a curl of his red hair to fall forward over his forehead. "Nope. Can't sleep after the bells ring."

  Jeff sighed with the unpleasant realization that Ricky wouldn't go away until he himself got up. He stretched, fisted hands at his shoulders, elbows askew. A yawn caverned his mouth for a long moment. Sleepily, he reeled to his feet, shoved Ricky to one side, and made his morning trip to the sancube, his eyes blinking against the daylight shining through the small kennel windows. A few minutes later, he emerged feeling somewhat better.

  Against the far wall, he saw Lucy dipping bowls and utensils in the sonic washer, then stacking them neatly to one side, ready to be replaced in the proper cupboard. It was later than he had thought. The breakfast line was nonexistent. Jeff hurried across the large room to the cook unit. He just had time to scrape out the last portion of gruel, before Lucy snatched the pot from him.

  "If you don't hurry," she threatened, while beginning to wash the pot, "you'll have to wash your own dishes."

  Jeff nodded, then returned to his pallet. He sat with his legs crossed beneath him. He began eating, his shoulders hunched forward against the cold. The almost tasteless gruel soon cooled in the chill air, metamorphosing into congealed glop. Jeff lifted a spoonful, turned the spoon over, and snorted in disgust. No matter how hard he shook the spoon, or rapped it against the edge of the bowl, the gruel refused to leave the spoon. He decided he just wasn't hungry enough to finish it. He wished he had something fit to eat, and set the bowl off to one side. Thoughts of the food in his dream haunted him. He had no trouble visualizing the sumptuous breakfast, but couldn't remember which taste went with which food. It had been six years since he had had a decent breakfast. Or a decent meal of any kind.

  "You awake, yet?"

  Jeff let out a forceful sigh, looked up. "You want something?"

  "You always wake up in such a good mood?" countered Ricky.

  "Always. Go away."

  A group of girls, about ten years old, moved into Jeff’s view. Whispering and giggling among themselves, they were sneaking up behind Ricky. Jeff considered warning Ricky, then decided to play along. He hid his amused grin beneath a fierce scowl. "Don't you have anything to do?"

  Ricky waved a hand at the untidy clump of blankets at Jeff's side. "You don't get that straight, Lucy's going to list you."

  "So she lists me," said Jeff with a shrug. His gaze flicked toward the girls stalking Ricky, then glanced at the glop in his bowl. "Skipping a few meals won't bother me. It might even be a blessing."

  "Depends on how hungry you are." Ricky shifted his weight impatiently. "Got any plans for free time?"

  "Uh huh. I'm going back to bed." Contrary to his words, Jeff slid off his pallet. He made it up, quick and neat. "Why?"

  "Thought I might see what I could pilf. Want to come?" Ricky must have heard the girls. He stepped closer to Jeff to clear the narrow path between Jeff's pallet and the one next to it.

  Jeff stood up in time to see Ricky's eyes pop open in surprise, as one of the girls made an obscene suggestion, and pinched Ricky's left buttock. Jeff laughed aloud at Ricky's comical expression. He caught Ricky's wrist in time to keep the flat of Ricky's palm from connecting with her behind. She squealed, dodged away, then followed the rest at a run, repeating her offer over her shoulder.

  Ricky turned to give chase, but was jerked to a stop by Jeff's grip on his wrist. "Leave 'em alone, Rick."

  "Choit, Jeff, they're too young to start that."

  "It's just a game. Leave 'em alone."

  "But . . .."

  "Chain it, Ricky. You were just as bad, when you were their age."

  Jeff grinned at Ricky's glare. The familiar lop-sided grin took form on Ricky's lips after a tense moment. "Yeah, I was, wasn't I?"

  "Even worse." Jeff bent to pick up his bowl. A mischievous light touched his eyes. "Remember the time you followed Warder Tacar into the . . .. "

  "I remember," Ricky interrupted. He quickly changed the subject. "Are you going with me, or not?"

  Jeff laughed at the dull red blush that climbed Ricky's neck. "Yeah. I'll go. What are we looking for?" He walked to the sonic washer with Ricky close on his heels.

  "Anything and everything."

  Lucy was gone, so Jeff washed his dishes and put them away. "That's what I like about you, Rick. You're so specific.”

  "Twist it, Jeff. I thought we might see if we could pilf some parts for the sonic washer in kennel nine, or maybe find something we could use to make the parts we need."

  Jeff turned to face Ricky. He and Ricky had requisitioned the parts for kennel nine's sonic washer three different times, but Keeper Delai didn't seem to think slaves needed to worry about clean dishes. Lips pursed, he studied Ricky's narrowed eyes and solemn expression. When did we get so serious, he wondered, I don’t even remember not having to worry about something.

  Vaguely, he remembered his twin brothers. The last time he had seen them, they were about the same age he and Ricky were now. They hadn't been so serious, had they? He didn't think so, but then, they hadn't been slaves, either. Suddenly, the urge to recapture a fleeting glimpse of himself and Ricky as they had been long ago, or as they might have been had fate been kinder, was too strong to
resist.

  Jeff gasped. His eyes focused on Ricky's shoulder. "Don't move, Rick!"

  "Why? What . . .?"

  "You've got a sting crawler on you. Be still. I'll try to get it off." Jeff almost ruined the prank by grinning, but managed to control his lips by the simple means of biting the lower one. While Ricky held still, scarcely breathing, Jeff slowly reached for Ricky's shoulder, feigning reluctance to risk a painful sting. At the last moment, Jeff changed the direction of his hand. His fingers jumped at Ricky's collar, lightly pressed the small button set almost flush with the surface, then jerked his hand back. Shouting with rage and pain, Ricky grabbed at his collar with both hands.

  "Meet you at the announcer screen," said Jeff, no longer hiding his laugh. He dodged past Ricky and ran for the door. He heard Ricky charge after him, wondered if maybe he had gone too far. The obedience enhancer hurt worse than the sting of the crawler Jeff had lied about. Ricky would be out for blood. As Ricky's curses gained on him, Jeff strained to increase his speed. If he could get outside before Ricky caught him, there was nothing Ricky could do to retaliate. The sentinel wouldn't permit a fight in the courtyard.

  Jeff practically flew out the door, jerked to a stop, then walked on at a sedate pace. Breathing hard, the cold air stabbing into his lungs, he glanced over his shoulder. Ricky, too, had slowed down so as not to draw the attention of the sentinel or warders. There was a dangerous gleam in Ricky's eyes. He scowled at Jeff's reckless grin. Jeff looked around, tried to decide if the announcer screen was where he wanted to go.

  Bright sunlight emphasized the drab appearance of the kennels, and belied the cold weather. Nine of the twelve slave kennels were lined up in neat rows across the north end of the Waelni City Slave Compound. They reminded Jeff of the Marine barracks he had seen on a TV show when he was very young.

  The kennels were long, low buildings with few windows, and those too small to crawl out of, even if they hadn’t been barred. Narrow alleys separated the kennels. Wind often moaned through the alleys, especially at night. In the northeast corner, a huge warehouse stored food, clothing, and what few necessities and luxuries the warders doled out so seldom that Jeff rarely saw anything brought out, unless a new shipment of slaves arrived. Three additional kennels were neatly lined up between the warehouse and the sentinel barracks, which occupied the southeast corner.