Chapter 33
What you lose in blindness is the space around you, the place where you are, and without that you might not exist. You could be nowhere at all.
- Barbara Kingsolver
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The heat built up like an unresolved tension, crescendoing to a point where something had to give. Either the stagnant air had to shatter or the lives and sanity of the slaves would, and for once, Mother Nature looked with pity on the poor, wretched creatures wasting away in misery. Just when the temperature rose to a point the very earth seemed to pulse like a discordant interval, the heat broke. The rain came. The air moved again and the planet and the people breathed.
Harper stood outside their barrack in the cool air, arms outstretched and taunt in his chains. He tilted his head back, turned his sightless eyes heavenward, and let the drenching rain wash across his face like the tears he no longer had the energy to cry. The water ran in rivers down his head, neck, back. It soaked his clothes, cooling, soothing, cleansing.
Too bad some stains could never wash away.
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"Come on, Harper," Twig tugged gently on his friend's arm. "Please?"
Harper sighed. He was tired and sore, but then he was always tired and sore nowadays.
"Twig, we don't have a ball," he tried to reason with the boy.
"Yes, we do!" Twig said excitedly, putting something in the engineer's hands.
Harper felt it curiously for several minutes before he realized what it was. Twig had rolled his blanket up and tied it so it was a sort-of round, lopsided lump that kind of resembled a ball.
"Please?" Twig begged again, scooting right up next to Harper in his excitement. "I wanna learn to play catch, like you told me."
"Twig," Harper said softly, "I can't see. Not to mention my hands aren't very good or able to move around. What I told you about playing catch; that was from a long time ago, when I still could. I can't do that anymore." He gently pushed the blanket-ball back to the kid.
Twig, however, was just a stubborn. He pushed the round lump right back into Harper's hands. "Yes, you can, Harper. I can help you if you explain it to me. And we don't hafta play for long."
Harper caved. He couldn't believe that after slaving all day, for hours and hours, Twig could still have the energy to want to play, but at the same time, how could he deny the boy the chance to experience even a smidgeon of a normal childhood? Not that Harper could consider himself an expert in the normal childhood department, but still… Besides, it really was amazing that even amidst starvation, death, and horror, children still managed to find ways to be children.
"All right, Twig. But just for a little while. Go tell Dylan I'm going outside with you, okay?"
Twig scurried off with a huge grin on his face to deliver the message to Dylan, who was playing cards with Ethan, Dakin, and Simon in the corner. In mere seconds he was back at Harper's side, literally bouncing with excitement. Harper couldn't help but smile as Twig grabbed his good hand and tugged him outside, guiding him and making sure he didn't back out at the same time.
They didn't go far. Twig knew Harper didn't like to wander from their barrack without Dylan around, and even though it was technically their precious two hours of "free time," the Ubers were never far away. Twig might only be eleven, but he'd spent nearly his whole life as a slave in the camp. No one had to tell him the Nietzscheans had it out for Harper, and he wasn't about to get his friend in trouble.
He led them out of the open doorway and a few feet down along the wall to a spot where Harper could sit with his back against it. That way Harper wouldn't feel like he was adrift in a sea of blackness when he let go.
Twig waited for Harper to settle cross-legged on the ground and arrange his heavy chains before happily handing him the blanket-ball. Then he scooted back a few feet and plopped down in the damp dirt himself, grinning from ear to ear. The recent rains had wet down the dust and washed away some of the filth from the camp, making life a little more bearable. The warm days were back, but they stopped short of the blistering inferno of before, and at least just breathing wasn't a momentous task anymore.
"Okay, now what?" he asked excitedly.
"Now, I toss you the 'ball' and you catch it and toss it back," Harper explained, shaking his head at the boy's palpable enthusiasm. "Only you're gonna have to tell me when you're throwing it, so I can be ready. And be prepared to chase after it; my aim probably really stinks."
"Got it. I'm ready," Twig breathed.
Harper smiled. He couldn't help himself. The boy's excitement was, to make a bad pun, "catching." Awkwardly, his efforts hampered by chains and crippled hands and blindness, Harper tossed the blanket in the direction Twig's voice had come from. A few seconds later he heard a squeal of delight and realized he must not have done too badly.
"I caught it, Harper! Look, I caught it!"
"Awesome, Twig!" Harper laughed, letting the faux pas slide. "Score one for the little guy. Now toss it back, and remember this ain't the Major Leagues."
"Huh?" Twig's gaunt face twisted up in confusion. Sometimes the things Harper said just didn't make any sense.
"Never mind. Just toss the ball back to me," Harper told him with another laugh.
"All right," Twig giggled, "here it comes."
Harper raised his hands and waited but nothing happened. Then he heard a distinct thump against the wall a few feet to his right.
"Oops," Twig giggled again and scrambled over to fetch their makeshift ball. "I'm not very good."
"Naw, you just need practice," Harper told him. He'd realized something, to his amazement. Being blind hadn't erased years of ingrained habits and abilities. Even blind he could still aim better than a kid that had never had the chance to learn how to toss a ball. He wasn't sure if that meant anything, or had any real importance, but somehow it still made him feel better. "Just go back and try again. You'll get it after a while," Harper encouraged.
"Right," Twig agreed, happily crawling back to his spot in the dirt, blanket-ball under his arm. "Okay, here it comes again…"
Dylan stood in the doorway, silently watching his friend; or watching over his friend, if you wanted to be more specific. When Twig had told him they were going outside, Dylan left the others to their cards and moved to the doorway to stand guard. There was no way he was letting his engineer out of his sight any more than he had to in this evil place.
The captain laughed slightly as he watched the game of catch. Curious, several of the youngest boys from other barracks had wandered over and joined in the sport. As they laughed and giggled, Harper gradually withdrew from the game, letting Twig go at it with those his own age, until he was left just listening as they played. His ruined hands rested limply in his lap and he leaned his head back against the wall, letting his eyes drift shut, his mask slipping to let the constant pain and weariness show through again.
"He's not doing so well, is he?"
Dylan turned to find Simon standing next to him, gazing at Harper sadly.
"But then," Simon reached out and gently pushed the manacles up Dylan's arms to reveal the ugly, inflamed skin and open wounds underneath, "neither are you."
Dylan flinched. Simon's words were uncomfortably true. Harper's wounds from his ordeal with Felix might have faded to just more scars now, but that didn't mean he was getting better. He was wasting away in this place, emotionally and physically, and Dylan had to admit he was starting to feel it as well. His heavy-gravity genes gave him a decided edge in the battle for health and survival in this camp, but even that wasn't enough against constant starvation and back-breaking work. He could feel his energy slipping away, like suds down the shower drain. Not that he would ever admit that. Here, attitude was everything.
"We'll make it," Dylan told the other man firmly, pulling his hands away and looking back at Harper. "We aren't beat yet. We're doing just fine, just like you're doing fine despite your cough, or your aching knees," Dylan said knowingly.
"Ah, yes," Simon smiled, "ever the observant one. You have me there." They were silent for a moment more then Simon spoke again. "Seamus is a gift from the Divine for that child you know. You, as well. I know it's small comfort, considering everything else, but Twig has never been so happy. Before you two came, I'm not even sure he remembered how to smile."
"Why is Twig here, anyway?" Dylan looked right at Simon and asked. "Where's his family? Why was he sent here so young? What possible good did it do?"
"I don't know," Simon answered honestly. "He was already here when I came, although he was quite a tiny, little child back then. They had him working the kitchens until he was big enough to be sent out here. Poor thing, the only life he knows is this camp. And because of that, I can't answer your questions. The only ones who could ever answer them are Twig, and he doesn't remember, or Adoniram, and he doesn't care. Another of the deplorable results of slavery; it not only steals the lives and souls of those who are enslaved, it destroys the Nietzscheans' as well. And that's why slavery is so evil."
"I don't care what it does to the Nietzscheans, that's still no excuse. Twig shouldn't be here."
"Neither should any of us," Simon responded meaningfully. He squeezed Dylan's shoulder before moving off to meditate on his bunk.
Dylan stood in the doorway a moment more then went over and sat down against the outside wall next to Harper.
"Hey, Dylan," Harper greeted without moving or turning his head.
"You're getting good at that, you know," Dylan acknowledged with a smile.
"It's not that hard. You sorta clank."
Dylan glanced at his chains and laughed wearily. "Yeah, I guess I do." They fell silent and the captain went back to watching the little game of catch. "They're having fun, all things considered," he told Harper after a bit.
"Sounds like it."
"We should petition the Niets to start up a Little League team," Dylan joked. "Coach Harper has a nice ring to it."
Harper laughed and finally lifted his head. "Oh yeah, I'm sure that would go over real well. What would we call the team? The Small Slave Sluggers? Or how about the Rellim No-Socks? And somehow I just don't think the Ubers would embrace the idea of away games," he teased back.
"Well, maybe someday…" Dylan said, his thoughts far away as the joke lost its humor. "But at any rate, it was nice of you to teach Twig how."
"I just showed him how to throw around a tied up blanket, Dylan. It's not quite rocket science," Harper said tiredly, closing his eyes again. The squeals and shouts of the little slaves rose in intensity around them and Harper's face wrinkled in worry. "The Ubers, they aren't getting bugged by this, are they? For all we know, laughing or playing could be against the rules, too."
Dylan scanned the area but the few Nietzscheans he saw could care less about a handful of ragged slave kids tossing around a blanket in the dirt, so far.
"The kids are fine for now, but I'll keep an eye out and stop the game if any of the guards start our way."
Harper nodded his thanks. He kept his eyes closed and let his head sink back against the wall again. "You know, I've been thinking."
"I'd be worried if you ever quit," Dylan told him with a grin.
Harper laughed. "Now you appreciate my brain cells. Oh, the irony…"
"I always appreciated your brain cells," Dylan defended. "I just didn't always appreciate the mess you made when you used them. Anyway, what have you been thinking about?"
"This place: the planet, the slave camp, what we're doing here…"
"Last I checked, I thought we were mining…"
"Yes," Harper agreed, sitting up straight and turning to Dylan with that look he got whenever he was about to wax technical, "but what are we mining?"
"I don't know; coal, minerals, uranium?" Dylan guessed, not sure why it mattered what they were being forced to give their sweat and blood to. Whatever it was, the point was it was killing them.
"Try none of the above. I have no idea what it's called, whatever we're digging up, but I'm convinced it's not anything you'd normally think of, even the rare stuff."
Dylan really was intrigued now, and had to admit that once again his engineer had managed to catch him off guard. He was ashamed but he'd sort of assumed that when his friend's eyes stopped working his brain did too, or at least became preoccupied. He should have realized that even locked in his dark world, that brilliant brain was still going full throttle, taking in new information and trying to make sense of it; solving problems, finding answers.
"Think about it," Harper continued, his voice gaining life as he spoke. "Nothing on this planet makes sense. You said it looks like a paradise world, all green and clean and fresh. That alone is completely insane. Every slave world I've ever seen or heard of has been reduced by the Dragans to ashes, filth, and grime within fifty years of occupation. Why not this one? And why make us walk all the way here? I mean, I'll be the first to admit it makes great torture, and the Niets pretty much have the market cornered on torture, but they also aren't big on needless inconvenience. Taking three weeks to drag a couple of slaves and some supplies across a planet by horse and wagon is definitely an inconvenience. Why not use a glider, or a hovercraft, or even a good old-fashioned truck?"
Harper was really on a roll now, sounding very much like his old self. His words were rapid and he kept trying to accentuate them with his hands, annoyance crossing his face when the chains abruptly halted his motions.
"And then there's this camp itself," Harper said, gesturing vaguely to the unseen place around him. "Why are we mining with picks and shovels and dynamite? Why am I playing pack-mule for fourteen hours a day? Torture issues aside once again, wouldn't a few dozen mining bots and a cargo ship do the job better than a couple hundred, half-dead slaves?"
"Well, you did tell me that this was the most feared camp in the Dragan empire," Dylan offered. "Is it possible this place is only for punishment and the Dragans could care less about profit or productivity?"
"Maybe, but that still leaves too many unanswered questions. If this camp is just a place to punish and work to death unruly slaves, trouble-makers, and people the Dragans don't like, why is it so primitive? From what I can tell there's not an electronic lock in the place. Even these chains we're modeling have conventional locks, mind you they're microscopic and too small to pick, but they're still basic mechanics. The fences aren't even electrified! Then there are these nice, little slave tags we're all sporting. You know as well as I do they pack a nasty punch, but have the Ubers even used them once since we got here?"
Dylan saw where the young man was going immediately. "Why send your most dangerous prisoners to a camp and not take increased security measures, even if you're just going to work them into the grave, right?"
"Exactly," Harper said triumphantly, his trademark index finger pointed at Dylan, pain momentarily forgotten. "Where are the security cameras, the stun guns, the electric cattle-prods? Trust me when I say Dragan slavers are nuts for those things. And," Harper pointed again to emphasize his words, "if this camp is purely a death camp to punish disobedient slaves, why draw in so many locals from the planet to make sure the workforce is continually stocked?"
"So you think what we're mining is actually valuable to the Dragans?"
"No, I know it's valuable, at least to Felix," Harper said, tapping his dataport meaningfully. "I just wasn't sure why or how it fit in with everything else at first."
Dylan caught the gesture and his curiosity spiked even more. The round, metal disk just behind the boy's ear was still surrounded by an ugly scar, but Dylan had never asked what happened to it. He figured it was just connected with another form of torture Harper had been forced to endure, but now he wondered if there might be more to it. "Your dataport?" he asked carefully. "What does your dataport have to do with what we're mining?"
Harper grimaced slightly. He'd never told Dylan that Felix had completely fried his port out; it kind of got overshadowed by later events. He was sure the captain could tell it was damaged, but they never got around to talking about it. And to be honest, Harper had sort of forgotten about it himself, along the file he'd stolen. He'd had more pressing concerns and the file hadn't made a whole lot of sense. Now, provided his theories were correct, it did.
"Not my port so much as what I learned while using it, what's stored inside it," Harper explained.
"Huh?"
Harper decided he'd better back up a bit. "Felix sent me into his matrix, back when we were on his ship, forced me to fix something. It was just another one of his little power games to remind me I was his, body, mind and soul, and the repairs could have been easily done from the outside, but he's an Uber, so go figure. Anyway, he rigged the matrix so I could only do exactly what he wanted me to, but you know me and rules… I grabbed a couple of files on the way out and stashed them in my port, just to spite him. One was actually pretty important, but I didn't know how or why, and then with the whole crucifixion and dying and coming back to life and blinding stuff going on, it kinda slipped my mind," Harper shrugged, like it was no big deal that he'd just listed off more atrocities done to him than most people could even imagine. He didn't wait long enough for Dylan to comment, either. "I only got one look at it, a nanoseconds worth of time, and it's not like I can go back and look over it again. It's stuck in my port, never actually downloaded it to my memory, and Felix took the precaution of frying my dataport when he was done with me, so it ain't getting out any time soon. But I do remember what I saw, and I've been thinking about it."
Harper's words were rapid and Dylan had to take a moment to grasp everything he'd just learned in that little speech. He focused first on the most alarming item. "So, wait a minute, are you saying he broke your dataport, on top of everything else?" he asked angrily.
"Yeah, fried it right out, just like the old eyes," Harper tried to sound nonchalant.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dylan was upset.
"What good would it have done? It's not like I can use it here, which, by the way, just reaffirms my point, and it's kinda the least of our worries right now?" Harper said firmly. "Which brings us back to the topic of discussion…"
"Okay, but we'll talk more about this later," Dylan answered in a tone that brooked no argument. "So, how is this all connected and why do I get the feeling I won't like what Felix is up to?"
"Because you're stuck in his slave camp, waiting to die?" Harper quipped.
"Ah, well, besides that," Dylan qualified, smiling. For the first time in weeks, they were having what felt like a normal, every-day conversation between captain and engineer. It felt nice, and he could see Harper was relishing it as well.
"Let me ask you a few questions first," Harper parried. "When we were back in that town we first docked in, did you notice much technology?"
Dylan furrowed his brow in thought. It seemed like years ago that he and Harper had been in the docking town. He had noted the conflicting levels of technology but Harper had been in no condition to discuss it, and then the basic struggle to keep them both alive, to just survive, drove it from his mind. "Yeah, there was definitely technology in the town," Dylan told his friend, trying to remember back to what he'd seen. "But nothing like what you'd expect from a space-going planet."
"The town, it was a sea-port, too, wasn't it? Next to the ocean?"
"Yeah," Dylan said, marveling that Harper had picked the sounds of the ocean up when he'd been in agony at the time and so disoriented and afraid. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"I don't know," Harper shrugged, "might be important, might not. Just thinking out loud here. So, you didn't see any signs of modern technology outside of the town, right?"
"No," Dylan answered then paused. "Unless you want to count all the wrecked ships and such that we started to pass after a while…" he added thoughtfully, realizing now how odd that should have struck him. "Where are you going with all this, Mr. Harper?"
The sounds of Twig and the others laughing and playing became suddenly louder and broke into their conversation. Dylan glanced up just in time to narrowly avoid being whacked in the face by the blanket-ball. He smiled and caught it, tossing it back to Twig who grinned sheepishly. When he turned back, Harper was leaning against the barrack wall again with his eyes shut, reminding Dylan how tired the boy probably was.
"On Earth," Harper spoke without moving, trusting that the captain was listening, "we used to talk about Rellim. It really was the most feared place in the Dragan's empire. Mothers used it to make their children obey. You know, 'get into bed this instant or I'll let them send you to the mines on Rellim'…that sort of thing. Some people said it was just one, big, never-ending pit – fire and brimstone, torment and pain. Others would tell you there was no planet called Rellim, it was all just a cover. The Ubers really just took you off and tortured you to death, or sent you to be experimented on. Still others said it was one, huge floating brothel and you can guess on your own what role the slaves played. See, that's why Rellim was so scary. No one really knew what it was or what happened to you there because no one ever came back! Ever! One day you were talking to your neighbor, the next he ticked the Ubers off, and the next you found out he was off to Rellim and you never saw him again. We heard rumors that ships didn't even stop at Rellim; if it weren't for the Niets dragging their slaves there, Rellim would have been a forgotten planet."
Harper paused as if gathering his thoughts, then turned his face toward Dylan. "I bet you never heard of it, right? Not three-hundred years ago and not now; not until you sold yourself for me to get sent here, that is."
Harper's words made Dylan pause as well. It was true. He'd never heard of this planet, and he realized how unusual that was. It was right in the middle of known space, along well-used shipping routes. He should have remembered hearing about it before, known if it was Commonwealth or not, but he hadn't. Until Harper told him they were going there, he'd never even heard the name. "No, I hadn't heard of it," he admitted, puzzled and wondering just how Harper was going to tie all of this together, and if he'd have the energy to keep talking long enough to do it.
"Okay, well here's what I think, and mind you, this is only a theory. I can't exactly run any simulations, plan any tests, heck I can't even look around!" Harper said bitterly. His words now were direct and to the point, his weariness showing in his lack of the usual embellishments or self-congratulations. "I think there's something on this planet –something in the soil or in the crust – that inhibits electricity, or things that use electrical charges and such. That's why the technology is so primitive; nothing works here. Ships can't land and if they try, they crash; hence all the wrecks. The planet is so untouched because it isn't worth the effort for the Ubers to trash it manually. That defeats the point of trashing it. And I'm pretty sure whatever this unknown mineral or component is, that's what we're mining."
Dylan glanced at his engineer, again surprised at the young man. Not for the first time he wondered what made him tick, how such a little, odd, hyper body could house such a brilliant mind. And how said mind could work on, undeterred, amidst such daunting circumstances. He'd always trusted the boy, known he was good at what he did, but he realized now he'd probably sorely underestimated the kid.
"Okay, so if ships crash when they approach the planet, how are the Nietzscheans able to bring their slaves here? How did we land safely? We did come in a ship, Harper."
"I know that, Boss," Harper replied a little huffily. "Don't get your bloomers in a bunch, I'm getting to that."
"Sorry," Dylan backed down with a smile.
"I think, and once again this is all guessing, but somehow the city is protected. I'm not sure if it's because it's shielded somehow or if it's a natural phenomenon, I'd have to get a look at it to know, but something is countering the effects of the mineral there. I'm betting it's natural, though, or at least something natural that Felix has found a way to amplify. Maybe there's something in the water of the ocean that neutralizes the mineral? That's what I'm thinking, anyway. If it weren't natural, how did people ever manage to travel by ship here and survive? Someone sometime had to have discovered that place was a sweet spot; they landed, lived, and built a city. And then Felix found it."
Dylan gazed out into the distance, thinking over Harper's ideas. He had to admit it made sense, a lot of sense, and answered quite a few questions he hadn't even realized he had. But, it didn't explain why anyone would want to purposefully mine something that would wreck havoc with their technology. That seemed stupid; very anti-survival, especially for a Nietzschean.
Speaking of Nietzscheans, Dylan was so caught up in the conversation he almost missed the guard that was heading toward them, drawn by the sounds of the little slaves. The boys were totally oblivious as well, caught up in their game that had grown a little wild with excitement.
Harper continued speaking, unaware. "At first the Niets must have seen it as a waste to try and conquer the planet, but Felix's father, or grandfather, or some relative figured–"
"Harper," Dylan cut in quickly, "there's a guard coming and I don't think he should hear this conversation."
The engineer sat up sharply, worry and fear instantly on his face.
"Can you find your own way back inside?" Dylan asked, helping him to his feet. "I need to stop the game and get Twig. This guard looks like he's had a really bad day."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Harper replied quickly, reaching out to touch the barrack wall with his arm. "Go get the kids before they get in trouble!"
Dylan squeezed his shoulder supportively and left. "Twig!" he called, walking swiftly into the game. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Harper guiding himself along the wall toward the open doorway. "Twig," he said again, taking his arm, "I think it's time to stop now. Bedtime," he emphasized pointedly, tilting his head in the direction of the approaching guard. The little boy's eyes widened to saucer size as he followed the movement and the other kids instantly scattered back to their own barracks. Twig grabbed his blanket up off the ground where it had landed just as the Niet stopped in front of them. Dylan pulled the boy protectively behind him, and then properly ducked his head.
"Master?" he asked, hoping he sounded submissive.
"This is wanton destruction of Drago-Kazov property!" the guard growled menacingly, plucking the blanket-ball from Twig's trembling hands. "Where did you learn this?"
Twig cringed but said nothing.
"I showed him how, Master," Dylan replied quickly. He noticed that Harper had stopped in the doorway of the barrack and was listening intently. Afraid the engineer might do something stupid, Dylan hurried on. "I'm sorry, Master, I didn't know it was forbidden and I showed him how. I shouldn't have, and I apologize. The boy didn't know he was doing anything wrong, though, and he'll never do it again." Twig nodded emphatically, not looking up from the dust at the Uber's feet as Dylan begged.
The guard mulled this over, but the first curfew whistle sounded before he could speak. He really didn't have time or the desire to deal with this right now; he was needed on door-duty. Annoyed, he stuffed the blanket in his shirt. "I'll keep this. Until you learn to respect the gifts so graciously given to you by your benefactors, you can do without. Half rations for two days for both of you. Now, get in your barrack!" he spat.
Dylan didn't wait to be told twice. Chains clanking, he grabbed Twig by the shoulder and rushed them both past an approaching Marcus to the doorway where Harper was waiting for them, a scowl on his face.
"Boss, you shouldn't have –"
"Not now, Harper," Dylan told him firmly, steering them all inside and away from Nietzschean eyes. Twig was shaking like a leaf, tears leaking down his cheeks from the fear of what could have happened to them and from shame because he got his friends in trouble. "Yell at me later for lying, but let me help Twig right now, okay," he whispered to the Earther.
Harper closed his mouth and nodded, realizing there were things going on that he couldn't see. He made his way over to their pile of straw and picked up one of their blankets, holding it out to the captain. "Go on, I'll just be here, counting my lice and teaching my fleas new tricks."
"You can make them give me a show when I get back," Dylan smiled as he gently forced Twig to take the offered blanket, knowing Harper felt bad the boy got in trouble for something he taught him. "And we'll finish our conversation as well. I don't think you were quite done hypothesizing."
It took Dylan a while to calm Twig down and get him to keep the blanket and climb into his bunk. By the time he got back to his own "cozy corner," Harper had lost his battle with exhaustion. The young man was out cold where he sat leaning against the wall, waiting for Dylan. The captain moved him carefully onto his side on top of the remaining blanket and then lay down himself. The rest of his questions and answers would just have to wait for another time.