Shenili: Chains of Fear, Book 1

by Jacey Jenson

  The sentinel, easy to spot in their bright red uniforms, walked the parapet of the compound walls. Lasers in their holsters, they kept constant watch over the Terrans. In the southwest corner, the Keeper's office and quarters commanded a sinister view of the entire compound. A large, dark tinted picture windows dominated the wall of the Keeper's office facing the center of the compound. The announcer screen was mounted on the solid wall beside the office door.

  Groups of little ones were playing stone chase in the center of the courtyard, using the splintery whipping post as home base. Somehow, Jeff couldn't believe the game was very interesting to the participants, since they had to keep their youthful cries and shouts low enough not to be heard by the Sentinel walking the wall. Jeff frowned, and wished he could give them back the freedom of youthful exuberance. They will grow up too soon, too, he thought, with a wry grimace.

  He directed a look of sheer hatred toward the Keeper's office. Almost wishing Keeper Delai had noticed, he turned to wait for Ricky. As he turned, he saw Maggie washing her hair in one of the bathing troughs that were in front of the kennel in the northwest corner. He shivered as she bent over the trough and poured frigid water over long, dark hair to rinse it.

  The cage, barely 10 feet square with a permacrete floor and metal bars, was half way between the troughs and the Keeper's office. Sunlight glinted off the bars facing the center of the courtyard, reflected into Jeff's eyes. "Where did you say we're going?" he asked, squinting as Ricky stopped before him.

  "I didn't." Ricky's green eyes glittered at Jeff. "You'll pay for that, you know."

  "Uh huh. Figured I would." Jeff grinned. His calm seemed to annoy Ricky. "Would it help to say I'm sorry?"

  "No."

  Jeff shrugged. "Then, I won't." He nodded toward the announcer screen. "Let's see how much blood Lady Dracula wants now."

  "Don't call the Keeper that, Jeff. If she hears it, she won't rest until she knows what it means. Then . . .. "

  "You worry too much," Jeff told him. As they walked, Jeff watched Warder Brezlah walk around the corner of the office, move to the announcer screen, unlock the nodule, and start keying in the latest news. When she finished, she relocked it. Her gaze briefly swept across the compound, before she entered the office.

  "You'd think she was Keeper," commented Ricky.

  Jeff made a noncommittal grunt. A small crowd of slaves gathered at the screen, waiting for Jeff and Ricky. Their soft murmurs were unintelligible from more than a few paces away. Someone in the crowd called, "Hey, Jeff, you and Ricky come read this for us."

  Jeff nodded. "Looks like we get the honors.” His outward calm showed nothing of the sudden anger he felt. He resented the fact that he had been forced to learn to read Thali. Conversely, he resented even more that most of the others were not permitted to learn. He glanced at the faces around him, and felt a touch of shame. Someone had to be able to repair the few antiquated machines the Ladies permitted the slaves to use. It was certain none of the Thali would condescend to repair vadagz equipment.

  At his shoulder, a bass voice spoke up. "Well, what does it say?"

  Jeff glanced up at Jim Dawson's sullen eyes, then looked at the screen. Paraphrasing the formal Thali, Jeff read, "Starting tomorrow, all the guys over nine years old start training for the arena. Doesn't say what kind of training. Let's see . . . Khideonna Kaerra ordered another half day of free time each nine-day for all vadagz, subject to obedience, and work quality." A pleased murmur rippled through the crowd. "Ummm, winter weight clothes will be issued at the end of the nine-day. Kennels with four-, five-, and six-year-olds will be given seeta-core heaters at the same time."

  "What about the rest of us?" asked Jim Dawson.

  Jeff looked at the man. At twenty-seven, Jim was the oldest Terran in the Waelni City Compound, thirteen years Jeff's senior. When Jeff didn't speak immediately, Ricky answered for him. "Says here," he said, pointing about midway down the screen, "those kennels with seven=-year-olds and up can survive with what heat the cook units provide."

  Jim shook his head wearily, and walked away, head bent, shoulders slumped. Jeff frowned at the screen. He stared at it, while cursing the Ladies' cruelty beneath his breath. Someone jogged his elbow. "Finish reading it, Jeff."

  Without looking around to identify who it was, Jeff opened his mouth to read on, but snapped it shut when a loud click sounded off to his left. With the others, Jeff turned to face the office door. Warder Brezlah stood watching him. "You," she said, and pointed at Jeff, "come here."

  The small amount of gruel Jeff had eaten suddenly felt like a massive lump in his middle. Jeff strove to control his unease as he walked to her.

  "You can read, vadagz?"

  "Yes, my Lady."

  "Are there others here capable of reading?"

  Resentment turned the lump in Jeff's stomach to acid. We’re all capable of reading, he wanted to say, you tarvitches just won’t teach us all. Aloud, he said, "One other, my lady."

  At her questioning look, Jeff jerked his thumb toward Ricky. Brezlah turned her arrogant gaze on Ricky, then nodded. "Report to the Keeper. Both of you."

  *****

  Ship's Mistress Madira ground her teeth together. The stupidity of landbound Ladies seldom bothered her, but then, she seldom had to deal with them. She willed her tight muscles to relax, and smiled down at Keeper Delai. Palms flat on the top of Delai's desk, Madira leaned toward the woman sitting behind it. "Come, now, Keeper. Surely you don't mean to refuse an order from the Scarlet Council." Her voice was deceptively light.

  Delai blanched. "No, of course not, Mistress. I just don't believe the vadagz are capable of such learning. It could be dangerous to teach them such things, in any case."

  Madira's lips thinned into a straight line. "That is not relevant. If they are capable of learning star navigation, or piloting, they will not live long enough to be a danger to us." She straightened her back, and turned to look out one of the two picture windows at the slaves in the compound. "I must have at least two. Preferably, two who have a sound basis in ki-trig."

  "None of the vadagz have such learning, Mistress." Delai sounded tired. Madira didn't take her gaze off the compound. "Higher learning is forbidden them by the Council," continued Delai.

  Madira fervently wished she had time to go to another city, perhaps Quaiela, to find the two slaves she needed. While searching her mind for a way to fulfill her orders, Madira idly studied the compound grounds.

  Groups of small vadagz were playing some sort of game, kicking and chasing small stones. The bathing troughs were surrounded by vadagza, many of them bending over the icy water to wash their hair, others washing the white trousers, tunics, and frocks that constituted slave clothing. In two's and three's, slaves walked across the sand. Delai had told her that the Waelni City Compound quartered over three thousand Terran slaves. Some of them must have been hired out for the day, though. Madira could only see about half that many moving about the grounds. Madira frowned, leaned close enough to the window that her breath fogged against it. I must have two, or my mission fails, she thought.

  She started to turn back to Delai, but stopped when one of the kennel doors burst open, shoved from the inside. A slave charged outside as if he had found a lemprad curled in his blankets. Almost immediately, his pace changed to a slow walk. Intrigued, Madira noted the glance he threw over his shoulder. Another vadagz had followed him outside. The second one seemed angry. Madira's eyes grew wide, her palms moist. The second vadagz was prettier of face than most women!

  Madira was vaguely aware that one of the warder's came around the corner of the Keeper's office, and stood at the announcement screen outside the window. A few slaves gathered to watch her post the news. Why bother? Madira thought. They can’t read it, anyway. Annoyed, she turned her attention back to the two vadagz. She ignored Delai's impatient sigh.

  "Mistress, I don't think . . .."

  "Silence!" Delai's startled gasp brought a cruel smile to Madira's lips. Newly promoted
to First Mistress of the Thali Fleet, Madira far outranked Delai.

  Outside, the warder completed her task. As she walked into the office, her long, blond, club-like braid swinging behind her, Madira didn't turn around. She watched someone in the crowd speak to the two vadagz as they came close. With a nod, the first began reading the announcements.

  He can read! Madira licked her lips, then leaned against the window sill. Unused to the high gravity of Thali, she was beginning to tire. She considered the slave reading to the others. Maybe Delai was right. Maybe they weren't capable of learning ki-trig, but learning to read showed some ability.

  As these thoughts flickered through her mind, the pretty one pointed at the screen. Was he reading, or asking a question? Her mind made up, Madira spun to face Delai. "I want that one," she said, gesturing toward the window. "The ugly one. If the pretty one can read, I want him, too. Have them brought to me."

  *****

  Jeff stood beside Ricky, his head inclined respectfully, while waiting for Delai to speak. After the bright sunlight outside, the office was gloomy. He could almost feel, and smell, the accumulation of fear permeating the walls and carpets. Keeper Delai sat behind her massive fruitwood desk, her face without expression. Jeff peeked at the Thali woman standing at the window. He didn't know her, but she was studying him as if he were strapped to an anatomy board, and she was the student who would soon cut him apart to learn how his body worked. He swallowed nervously. His stomach lurched.

  "You read Thali," said the unknown woman.

  "Yes, my lady," answered Jeff.

  "And you as well?" Her gaze moved to Ricky's face. Jeff groaned inwardly, when he identified the expression on her face, the glint in her eyes. Ricky was, as Maggie put it, too pretty to be handsome. As a result, Ricky had had more than his share of entertainment and service duty. Jeff often wondered why the Thali hadn't made Ricky shenili. The thought faded as he saw the glint in her eyes turn to a feral gleam. A shiver twisted icily down Jeff's spine.

  Her gaze returned to Jeff. She took several quick steps toward him, caught his chin in her hand. She turned his face one way, then the other. "You're not as pretty as the other one," she said. Choit, he thought, tell me something I don’t know. His face, he knew, was too narrow, his chin and nose too sharp, to be called handsome except as a kindness, much less pretty. The Lady tilted his chin up to see his collar, then glanced at Ricky's. Both were enameled emerald green. Narrow white stripes ran around them vertically.

  "Your training is?" she asked.

  "Technician, Class II, Level III Trainee," answered Jeff.

  She gave a single nod, released Jeff's chin, and faced Delai. "These will do. Have them delivered immediately to the Midnight Queen at the Waelni Launch Yard."

  Waelni Launch Yard? thought Jeff, dazed. Then he remembered where he had seen the woman's uniform. She was a starship mistress! What would she want with vadagz? Maybe they’ve come up with a new way to torture us. Another shiver skittered down his spine. Suddenly, he didn't want to know.

  ****

  Shifting his feet in the blood red sand, a premonition of disaster rolled over Gary Stetson as Lady Cheala dispersed three squads of armed Sentinel to guard positions around the stone arena's perimeter. The Sentinel turned to face the Terran slaves, their laser pistols in their hands.

  Why the pistols? Gary wondered. It’s not like unarmed vadagz are dangerous. Confused, he looked around. In the center of the arena, blackly ominous in the chill morning twilight, he saw a stout whipping post. Gary shuddered, turned his gaze to the stone benches above the high stone wall surrounding the arena. They reminded him of the stands in a football stadium, but the arena itself reminded him of something he'd once seen in a movie. An uneasy thought hovered at the back of his mind, but eluded him when he tried to catch it.

  Lady Cheala's harsh contralto voice began to call roll. Gary hugged himself for warmth, only half listened. Sullen, cloud-heavy skies seemed to glower at him when he looked up. It was cold, he realized, when his teeth started chattering, but he couldn't tell how cold. The brain surgery that had made him shenili impaired his ability to feel extreme cold or heat. Only when his teeth chattered, did he know his body needed warmth.

  Silently, Gary counted the number of sentinel. Not a little frightened, Gary answered when his name was called. What is going . . .? His thought was left incomplete. His head jerked up. His gaze settled on Cheala. She had skipped Ricky's name. Gary knew Ricky hadn't returned last night before lights out, but hadn't realized he was still missing the next morning. Worried about Ricky, he watched Cheala run her finger down the list while calling roll. She skipped Jeff's name, too.

  Gary chewed his lower lip, and watched Cheala through narrow-lidded eyes. He briefly considered asking the Lady about them, but decided not to. Speaking to a Lady without permission meant a beating. Though he wouldn't feel it, Cheala's beatings were severe enough to warrant caution.

  "The Scarlet Council has decided," Cheala folded the papers she held, tucked them inside her red uniform jacket, then continued, "that the lower class, for reasons which do not concern you, need a new form of entertainment. You will be happy to know," her lips curled into a sadistic smile, "that we have taken the form of this entertainment from the history of your home world. Ancient Rome."

  She went on, describing the training they would be given for the arena. Stunned, Gary stopped listening to the droning speech. Now, he remembered why the arena had bothered him. He looked around him, saw the same stunned expression he knew was on his face, on the faces of many of his friends. Others only looked confused.

  Gladiators. They’re training us to be gladiators! Gary struggled to control the rage sweeping through him. He bowed his head, took deep, even breaths. Someone hissed his name. He glanced up, found Juan Ramirez leaning toward him.

  "Better listen, amigo," Juan whispered.

  Teeth gritted, Gary nodded. Cheala finished her instructions. One of the sentinel issued Gary a razor-sharp knife, almost a short sword, then paired him with Juan. Heedless of the minor cuts and scrapes sustained by the slaves, Cheala put them through their paces under the watchful eyes of the sentinel. Knowing now why the sentinel were there, Gary seethed, muttered to himself sub-vocally.

  Despite the frigid air, the sustained physical exertion soon filmed Gary's body in perspiration. He slumped, when Cheala finally allowed them to take a break. His chest heaved to supply his body with oxygen. His breath rasped in his ears.

  Cheala ordered them to sit in groups, sorted by kennel, then chose several slaves to serve water and meat cakes to the Terrans. Gary dropped the cake Bobby handed to him into his lap, more interested in checking the cuts on his arms, than in eating. Unable to feel pain, he was forced to rely on visual perceptions to judge the severity of his injuries. Satisfied the wounds were minor, he glanced around the arena.

  He studied the cuts of the other slaves. As far as he could tell, no one had been badly hurt.

  "Better eat," sitting on Gary's left, Dennis spoke with his mouth full. "It's better than gruel."

  "I'm not hungry." Gary jumped, startled as a strong brown hand snatched the meat cake from his lap. Eyes narrowed, he glanced at Juan, sitting on his right. Gary nodded toward the meat cake Juan was biting into. "Help yourself."

  Juan grinned, his mouth closed. His brown eyes were bright with hidden laughter. He swallowed, and nodded. "Gracias, I did."

  The stern look Gary strived for melted into an answering grin. He shook his head, when Juan offered what was left of the cake back to him. "Go, ahead, amigo. My stomach's too tight to eat anything, right now."

  Gary saw Dennis swallow what was in his mouth, look at the fragment of meat cake left in his hand, then hand it to Juan, who passed it to the vadagz on his right. "The more I think of all this," said Dennis, while looking around the stadium, "the less hungry I am, too."

  Unwilling to discuss it, afraid he might lose control of the anger roiling through him, Gary only nodded. "How's Denny Joe doing
today?" he asked Dennis.

  Dennis glanced around, checking, Gary knew, to see if any Thali were close enough to hear their conversation. "He's starting to eat gruel, now. Sara said he should be sitting up by himself, soon." He bit his lip, then added, “He's starting to teeth, Gary."

  "Choit! If he starts crying . . .."

  "I know," Dennis whispered, misery reflected in his eyes. "Lucy said she could get some kind of sleeping draught from the clinic to make him sleep, if we have to."

  "Dennis, if she gets caught stealing from the clinic, they'll kill her."

  "I know." Dennis bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at Gary. "But we have to keep him from crying loud enough for someone to hear him. I won't let them kill him, Gary. Or Sara, either."

  Gary cleared his throat, and swallowed his arguments. "Just tell Lucy to be careful!"

  Dennis frowned at the vehemence in Gary's voice. He picked up a handful of red sand, let it trickle through his fingers like dried blood. "Take it easy. We're being as careful as we can."

  Gary nodded. "I know you are, it's just that . . .."

  "It's just that you worry about everything, and everyone," Dennis teased. When Gary didn't grin back at him, Dennis frowned. "What's wrong, Gary? What happened?"

  Sighing, Gary glanced at the Thali, then said, "Cheala didn't call Ricky's name this morning. She skipped Jeff's name, too."

  Dennis gave a low whistle. "So, they're either excused arena training, or something happened to them."

  Gary nodded. "I'll ask around tonight. Maybe someone saw, or heard something."