by Rayner Ye
“How long would I stay?”
Maria gave a half shrug, then called to her colleague, who was smoking out front. “Arif? We need you!”
He squinted through the window, blew out a cloud of smoke, stamped on his cigarette, and walked back in.
“Aedre says she can’t borrow money and wants to know how long she’ll be in labour camp before she can earn enough to buy a ticket to Nerthus.”
Arif whistled. “Seriously, lady. You don’t wanna work in a labour camp. Surely you can get money from a relative. Nerthus is rich. You should at least try.”
Maria nodded.
Arif pulled up his chair and straddled it. “Better hide as an illegal immigrant than go to a labour camp.”
Maria gasped. “How could you suggest such a thing to this young lady? A labour camp will issue a work permit that gives her the legal right to remain on Kuanja while under contract.”
“Come on, Maria. Do you think I should tell her to go to work in a labour camp? Many don’t see it out of those places.”
Aedre raised her eyebrows. “They die?”
“What d’you think? Look, lady. You wanna go hide now, I’ll turn a blind eye.”
“Would the police look for me?”
“Don’t think so. But if you had to show your passport, they might be notified.”
“Will I stay in Inarmuzza for good?”
Arif rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All depends on friends, money, bribery, that kinda thing.”
Maria sighed. “That sounds dangerous, Aedre. I think you’d better be honest and carry things out properly.”
Arif laughed at Maria. “You’re crazy if you do.”
Aedre eyed her mosquito drone. Only a trained eye would notice its inorganic body. Would that gangster tell the police she’d run away? Would they tell them where she was hiding? They cooperated with them.
Conflict tumbled in her belly. She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled. “I think I’ll try my dad. But there aren’t any airSpheres.”
Arif narrowed his eyes and nodded. “There are at the Embassy. You must turn yourself in, though, and if your dad doesn’t have any money, you won’t have a chance to escape. One-way tickets to Nerthus cost five billion Inarmuzzan dollars—”
“How many wondees is that?” Aedre asked
“Five thousand,” Maria said. “Multiply by a million.”
Aedre’s eyes widened, and Maria’s fan blew them dry.
Maria reached over to Aedre and touched her forearm. “Go to the and call home.”
“Okay.”
Maria stood. “Come here.”
Aedre took two steps and accepted her embrace. “May Sahas protect you.”
***
Aedre rushed home and packed. Mosh was teaching so she wouldn’t get to say goodbye. She wrote him a letter and left it on the coffee table. She wrote another letter to Nabi.
Dear Nabi,
I had to quit my job. Bhaltair made me so angry. I’m so sorry. I told him I knew about him hurting you. I didn’t say I knew he raped you, but I implied it. I kind of said I’d get him fired and let all your neighbours know. I won’t, though. I hope he doesn’t hurt you more for this. I wish you could get some money and escape.
Bhaltair wouldn’t give me my return ticket because I didn’t finish my contract. I’m broke, so I will be asking my dad for money to return to Nerthus. Otherwise, I’ll work in a labour camp to make money. Don’t tell Bhaltair I wrote you this letter. I want him to think I bought a ticket to Nerthus. Don’t tell him I’m broke. Also, remember you can’t tell anyone what happened to my money. They’re still watching us.
Aedre stopped writing and touched her lip. Would it be better if Bhaltair thought she was in a labour camp? Then he’d know she couldn’t harm his career and reputation. He’d be happier, and Nabi might be safer.
She stuffed her letter in an envelope addressed to Nabi, and added a note to Mosh’s message, telling him to give Nabi her letter secretly and make sure she ripped it up and threw it in a public bin or burn it.
One hour later, Aedre sat in an airSphere at the Nerthus Embassy.
She called Dad’s work, and his colleague answered. “Oh, hi. Aedre, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Is my dad there?”
“Why, no. You haven’t heard?”
“No. What?”
The man narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Well, you could’ve contacted him earlier. He’s in a mental hospital.”
“What? Why?”
“Had a breakdown. Thought you were dead. Can’t believe you’re getting in touch for the first time now. How long have you been gone?”
“Two and a half Nerthus years.” Sweat beaded her forehead, and a shiver ran up her spine. “How long’s he been in there?”
“A few Nerthus months.”
“Is he getting better?”
“Not while he thinks you’re dead. He’s suicidal.”
Tears stung her eyes, and she gasped for breath. “What did he try to do?”
“Hang himself. Luckily, Soozan returned to collect her wallet.”
“Shit. Please tell him I’m alive and well in Inarmuzza’s capital.”
“The hospital’s not accepting visitors outside the family. It’s high security.”
“Please tell Soozan, then. She’s not answering her airSphere.”
His lips made a grim line. “I’ll pop a note through your door on my way home. Any other messages?”
“Tell him I’m well and still teaching in Rajka.”
She hung her head low and wiped a few tears away.
Arif had said labour camps could be deadly. She shrugged fearlessly. She deserved to go to a labour camp for being a selfish bitch. Even if she were a
Bogan instead of a pagan, she wouldn’t try to repent her sins. She’d accept her karma however bad it was.
Shard of Swords
Aedre hunched over naked. Pain stabbed her shoulders as she ducked from the sweltering cavern into the tunnel’s mouth.
Panicking could mean death. A careless move during a mining mission usually did. During the last six months, she’d accepted stinging wounds, bloodied elbows and knees, and aching muscles. As long as she controlled her breathing, she’d live to see another day.
A guard tied large pads to the front of her torso and forehead.
In union, she would use her breathing technique—a six-second inhalation and a six-second exhalation. But mining changed all that, requiring slow, long breaths.
Too many captives died at this depth below Inarmuzza’s crust, above the volcano’s magma chamber. With low oxygen levels, high temperatures and humidity, captives suffocated every day—the lost and forgotten, unable to travel home, unable to say goodbye. An android or robot could work quickly pain-free. But these captive’s lives were cheaper.
The tunnel narrowed to half a metre. She inhaled slowly until her rib cage expanded to its maximum capacity and her spine, neck, and head were in a straight line—twelve seconds.
Six seconds out, she crouched then flattened, face down. Half a Nerthus year working in the planet’s depths had strengthened her considerably. Nothing like the weakling she once was.
Forehead and torso pads in place, she brought her arms out in front and rested her entire body, forehead heavy on the ground.
A whimpering drifted from the tunnel.
Aedre called, “Hurry, I need to get through.”
But the whimpering changed to gasping. A tightening throat. Not enough oxygen.
“Get out of there!” Aedre called more urgently. “You’ll get oxygen on the other side.”
From behind, a guard’s voice cracked like a whip. “Go push her out, number eighteen.”
“But—”
“Wanna die now?”
Deep breathing didn’t keep her heart from racing. Smooth lining covering the tunnel’s floor kept friction to a minimum for gliding. Shame the rest of its inner surface wasn’t coated. Rocks fell and caught between her pads and the ground,
increasing friction.
She felt for grooves, found them, and on her out-breath, pulled herself through. Who would have thought breath control she’d learned from daily union practice would one day save her life?
She bumped into a pair of feet and squeezed them. Motionless. She fought to keep her breath. Dust made it even harder.
How could she push this body out? Call for help? Captives were dispensable. Replacements filed in by the hundreds every day.
Instead, she clambered up the body, grabbing legs and boney hips as she went. “Wake up,” she panted in the captive’s ear, “I’m gonna get you out.”
No response.
She might die on top of her if she didn’t get more air.
She had to be strong, use what little oxygen remained. She hitched her feet under the captive’s armpits. With taut, straightened legs, she mustered all her strength to pull the captive out the other end and into the shaft of swords.
Her brain buzzed, sweat became cold, and lamp-light blurred. She collapsed to her knees, gasped, and waited. Using oxygen was unwise, but she needed to try. “Help her!” she called, barely able to breathe herself.
A guard strapped an oxygen mask around her face and hastened to haul the second captive out. “You’ve done well, number eighteen,” he said in Inarmuzzan. She gazed his way, blinded by lamplight, but recognised his voice. Mata.
Mask in hand, another guard moved towards the unconscious body as Mata removed Aedre’s perspiration-soaked pads.
The second guard crouched and shook the body. “Dead.”
“Leave it,” Mata said.
Instead, he rolled the body under safety ropes and over the cliff’s edge. The echo of the corpse hitting the bottom never came.
Stooped near Aedre, Mata sucked his teeth. “Whaddaya think ya doing? Can’t push the dead over the edge.”
“Why not?”
“It’ll rot and stink. Corpses are supposed to come out with the rest of us.”
“Come on, man. No smell’s reaching us up here.”
“And what if a thousand rotting corpses were down there? Or a hundred thousand?”
The other guard chuckled and walked away.
“Rules are rules!”
Boiling, yet oxygenated, Aedre straightened. Not shocked at all. They’d conditioned her to bear the sweat and feel icy cold towards her fellow captives. “This is my tenth trip today.”
“Ah. Nearly complete.” Mata cleared his throat, handed her a tool bag, then whispered, “Can’t believe you’ve made it this far.”
Her eyes adjusted to lamplight glowing all around. She gazed at Mata’s, and he nodded to her tool bag.
She walked along a rope bridge, careful not to slip on sweat and blood left from passing captives while running her hands along a rough cord on either side—her security. She passed three vacant lamps next to tower-sized crystal columns, found a space, and went to work.
Reflections of lamps shone off selenite pillars and arches like stars in the darkness. The five closest lights—above, below, and adjoining her, illuminated other naked captives chipping away at giant selenite swords. They looked like insects compared to the crystal.
Half a mile up and down, clinking of a thousand hammers and chisels resonated. Selenite filled buckets hoisted on ropes, and empty buckets lowered for captives to refill. Though her body throbbed, she filled her pail, then tugged on a rope several times till it wound up and away.
She sat on the rope-bridge and hung her head low. It was time to read her secret message from Mata. No one could see it. She kept it folded between her legs, out of light, pretending to rest her head against a crystal tower to get a glimpse.
No way out.
A shudder ran through her, tears welled and spilt over her cheeks. She must stop, for who could afford to waste their water with such thirst? Guards only gave them two small bottles of coconut water each day.
***
After the expedition, in Station Cave with nineteen other naked men and women captives, Aedre waited to be passed a cotton robe. A skeletal woman next to her collapsed. Although other captives looked her way, the guards didn’t budge. When the bus arrived, a guard dragged the corpse out of the cave and heaved it onto a pile of five others.
Aedre gagged and rubbed her parched lips. By morning, the pile would disappear, and a new one started. Who knew what happened to corpses before guards tossed them into Smokey Tower’s incinerator. Some said a group of captives wove blankets from their hair and made jackets from their skin. It was whispered guards sold the coats and blankets on the sly for extra cash.
The captives sat silently on the bus back to their walled labour compound. Three guards had their eyes narrowed, scanning, and fingers on triggers. Once they reached the camp, they gave each captive a paper bag containing their daily meal—a bread roll, a handful of dried fruit, a salty egg, and a bottle of coconut milk. Aedre didn’t eat. She hid it in her robe. After the bus dropped them off, she lumbered to her concrete shack.
Inside, she sat on her bamboo mat and closed her eyes. She retrieved food from her robe and chewed each mouthful a hundred times, eyes rolling upwards in pleasure. Then she gulped up her coconut milk.
She sighed. Rumours told of camps far worse. At least they had this food, private quarters, running water, and bamboo mats. Five hours of sleep wasn’t enough. How could her body replenish? Union was out of the question.
Was it true there was no way out? Surely not. Out of hundreds of guards who worked on the wall, at least one must be corrupt. The challenge was finding him. If Mata couldn’t find a way out, perhaps someone else could.
Her eyes adapted to darkness, and she slipped off her robe. She stepped into her washroom and ladled water from a gallon-sized bucket, then lathered soap over her skin. The chilly mountain water soothed her throbbing body. “Ah.” She dried herself on her sarong, then lay on the floor and covered herself with the robe.
If only the walled camp were halfway up the mountain instead of in its foothills. If only the air were as fresh as the water.
Cold, like a spring morning in Oxfire, would be better. But waking in Oxfire without her mother and with a suicidal father would be too hard to bear.
As she lay on her back, she interlaced her fingers under her head and looked at her drab ceiling, cracking from corner to corner. Would she ever see home again? Might she develop a disability like other long-term captives?
Or, would she die here?
Union
Aedre waited at the end of the line as other captives boarded a beat-up bus. Asking a guard was the only way out, but she needed to muster her strength. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward. “Excuse me.”
The guard’s eyebrow arched as he gave her a once-over.
“Could I speak to whoever’s in charge?”
He turned and mumbled something to another guard, whirled back. “Who do you think you are?”
She hesitated. “I wanted to ask if I could practice my daily union after my shift before the bus picks us up.”
His eyes widened, and he looked at the other guard. The other guard shrugged.
“You know union?”
Her body stiffened at the question. “Yes.”
“But you’re a Noctar. Are you Indite?”
“No.”
He stared at his shoes. “I’ll talk to the manager, see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
That was an unexpected response for guards who happily piled corpses up to be taken away. Good thing she’d asked. It was difficult finding time to practice union. Long working hours in an extreme environment destroyed the body.
The next day, Aedre sat with other captives in Station Cave, too exhausted to interact. Guards busied themselves, pulling corpses through the tunnel and dragging them through the cave. They piled them outside, in the usual place, ready to be hauled to Smokey Tower.
The guard Aedre had spoken to gestured for her to approach. “I talked to my manager for you. He said you could per
form union on the dirt track before the bus comes.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yes.” His poker face looked into the distance.
She crossed her arms. “I don’t get why you’d help me.”
“Wanna practice union or not? You asked.”
“I don’t have my sarong. It’s dusty.”
“Bring it tomorrow, or practice it naked and use your cotton robe.”
“Did you say union?” a Papsnen woman with straggly peach hair asked.
“Yes.”
Aedre walked to the other side of the cave, not wanting to draw attention.
Too late. The woman stood and hollered, “You gonna perform union before our bus comes?”
“No. Not today, no mat.”
“Aw, can you teach me?”
“Um. It’d be uncomfortable to lay in the dust.”
“Ha! Uncomfortable?” The Papsnen limped over and sat by her. “Come on, girl. After what we go through every day, you think we worry over some dirt?”
“I’d love to learn union,” said a gaunt man with dark brown skin. “My body would love a stretch, I’ve got so many knots in my muscles.”
“Me too,” another said. Her friends agreed they’d like to learn too.
“Would you teach us?” the man asked, eyes rounded in desperation.
She bit her lip. “If the guard agrees?”
The guard nodded and waved at Aedre to sit when she half stood. “I don’t see why not. If you can, I guess everyone can.”
A purple-skinned woman from a small group of other captives jumped up. “Who wants to learn union? Aedre said she’d teach us.”
The chattering intensified amongst some. Many captives remained hunched over, possibly already dying.
She’d wanted to practice union on her own. Teaching others wasn’t the same. She couldn’t breathe well while giving spoken instructions. No benefit at all. Faces of multiple ethnicities gazed at her with hope. Aedre stood. “How about tomorrow? Then we can bring sarongs to lie on.”
Nods of approval answered her question. Even the guard smiled before glancing away.
Aedre darted her gaze at the guards in the cave. What was their game? Kindness was so out of character here.