Chapter 18

David walked into the valley
With a stone clutched in his hand.
He was only a boy, but he knew
Someone must take a stand.

There will always be a valley,
Always mountains one must scale.
There will always be perilous waters
Which someone must sail!

. . .

Into darkness, into danger,
Into storms that rip the night!
Don't give in, don't give up,
But give thanks for the glorious fight!

. . .

Let the lightning strike!
Let the flash of it shock you!
Choke your fears away –
Pull as tight as a wire.
Let the fever spike!
Let the force of it rock you!
We will have our day,
Sailing into the fire!

- Nan Knighton, The Scarlet Pimpernel

00000

"Hey, Boss?"

There had been silence for a long, long time. Harper's sobs had gradually died out, and the cell was quiet as he finally mourned his loss and then slowly regained his composure. Dylan's thoughts had also been a thousand miles away. He was just starting to realize what a monumental task it was going to be keeping them both alive in the mines. And not just alive, but optimistic. He would now have to be the eyes for both of them, not something he'd ever in a million years considered, and something he was sure the Nietzscheans would make as difficult as possible.

"Yeah, Harper?" he answered, remembering the engineer had spoken. He glanced over at his friend. The kid really did look awful. Even though the tears had stopped some time ago, their tracks were still clearly visible through the grime and blood on his abused face, and he was shaking lightly from the pain of his injuries and the fever that refused to break.

"Were you telling me the truth when you said he didn't hurt you?" he questioned.

"Yes, Harper. Unfair I know, but he didn't do anything to me other than give me a pretty little earring to match yours."

"Ah, you got one of those, too?" Harper said and attempted a smile. Dylan could tell he was trying to slip back on his mask of cocky, flippant, funny Harper and, as much as it hurt to see, Dylan decided to play along. Perhaps now that he'd cried, Harper desperately needed to laugh again.

"Yeah, although I'm not sure I like the style. Think I could get a refund?"

"I highly doubt it. Ubers are so unimaginative. They have no fashion sense; the design hasn't changed for years."

"I'm betting we can't just take them off, right?" Dylan asked.

"Not unless you want to send massive electrical shocks coursing through your body. Take my word for it, it ain't fun."

They were silent for a minute more then Harper spoke again. "So, did you get the added accoutrements as well?" He wiggled his feet, causing the chains to clank on the metal deck plating.

"Ah, no," Dylan said, again feeling guilty. Harper was blind and had so many injuries he could hardly move, and yet Felix felt it necessary to keep him in chains? While he was healthy and fit and free to move about? Dylan sighed.

"Hey, don't feel bad!" Harper hurried to assure him. "I wouldn't wish them on ya!"

"Yeah, but it's still not fair," Dylan told him.

"Dylan, we're slaves. Nothing is fair anymore."

The words had no sooner left his lips than the door to the cell clicked open. Dylan watched as their three faithful boneheads marched in, but Harper simply bowed his head with a tired sigh.

"On your feet, slaves!"

Dylan stood up to avoid more trouble, but before he could turn and help Harper to his feet, the head Uber decided the boy wasn't responding fast enough and grabbed the chain joining his wrists, yanking him up. Harper screamed in agony and surprise as his broken hands were jerked harshly.

"Hey!" Dylan started to object but, Harper cut him off with a hissed "Sh, Boss!" through his labored breathing.

Other than a little laughter at Harper's expense, the Nietzscheans ignored the whole exchange.

"We'll be at the planet in less than an hour and Commander Felix has ordered that you be ready," the guard growled. He clicked a button on his belt and the shackles binding Harper's wrists and ankles released, allowing one of the other guards to gather them up. Harper's face registered his shock and confusion as he desperately tried to follow what was happening.

"Put these on; we'll be back in twenty minutes to inspect you and take you to the airlock."

A bundle was tossed harshly at each of them. Dylan caught his, perplexed, but Harper's bounced off his chest and fell to the ground as the Ubers turned and stalked out of the cell yet again.

"What are we putting on?" Harper asked wearily.

Dylan shook open his bundle and found that he was holding new clothes. Although clothes was a rather generous term. They looked more like ugly, old rejects from a pajama factory. The pants were dark brown and completely plain, made out of a heavy material and simply fastening with a draw string. The shirt was a lighter brown, wrinkled, and though long-sleeved, very thin. It was made to pull over one's head and had a number painted on the front and the back: 6557.

He glanced at Harper's bundle and saw the same thing, only his shirt was decorated with a 6558.

This day just keeps getting better and better, he thought.

"Looks like we get new clothes," he told the young engineer, picking up his bundle as well. "Apparently, Felix doesn't like our duds."

"Ah, slave clothes. I should have guessed. Just peachy," Harper muttered, rolling his sightless eyes. "Well, hand them over. I'd just as soon not give the guards any reason to be upset when they come back."

Dylan glanced at his friend and hesitated. The chains might be gone for now, but his hands were still pretty useless and he was rather shaky on his feet, not to mention the fact that he couldn't see anything.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help you?" he asked.

"Boss, I'm blind, not an idiot. I can still dress myself," Harper snapped.

"I know!" Dylan said hastily, "I was just worried about your hands and all…"

"I'll be fine. Now give me the clothes and turn around."

With a sigh, Dylan obeyed, handing over the garments and turning around to dress himself. He had to admit the temptation was great to just turn back and see what else Felix had done to his friend, but that felt sneaky and backhanded, especially since he would be taking advantage of Harper's blindness. So instead, he just dressed quickly and tried to ignore the harsh breathing and muffled gasps of pain that came from behind him as Harper struggled into his own new set of clothes.

Dylan was done in minutes, and he glanced at his new clothes with distaste. They were loose and baggy and made him feel like a clown. The pants were almost too short to be called pants, stopping mid calf. His boots made up the difference and covered his skin, but Harper had no boots. They'd been taken away the very first day and no replacements had been brought.

"Harper," he called without turning around. "Would you like my boots? You need to protect your feet so they don't get more cut up."

"Boss," he heard Harper's nasal voice and it almost sounded like he was grinning, even though he was still breathing hard. "What size boot do you wear?"

"Twelve. Why?"

Harper actually laughed. "I'm gonna be tripping over my feet enough as it is; I don't need five-size-too-big shoes helping me out! Thanks, but no thanks. You keep 'em. Besides, I didn't get my first pair of shoes until I was seventeen. My feet will get used to being barefoot again really quick."

"We could ask for your boots back."

Harper snorted. "You just don't get this slave thing yet, do you…" His voice trailed off as he resumed his struggle to get dressed. Finally, he told Dylan he could turn around.

Dylan liked seeing Harper in the baggy slave clothes even less than he did himself. On the engineer, they hung loosely off his bony frame and stopped several inches short of his ankles, exposing the makeshift bandages Dylan had wrapped around his shins. They somehow made him look at least ten years younger, which struck Dylan as really not such a good thing in a slave camp. Harper paid them no mind, however. He was struggling with something on his old clothes, hissing in pain and swearing strongly in frustration.

"What's wrong, Harper?" Dylan asked, moving to his side. It was strange to see Harper working on something and yet see his eyes wandering aimlessly.

"Your new duds have pockets?" Harper asked by way of answering.

"No, why?"

Then Dylan saw what he was struggling with: his lucky rabbit's foot. He was trying to unhook it from his old belt loop with fingers that didn't work anymore. The captain couldn't ever remember a time when he'd seen the engineer without it. He had no idea where Harper had got it, but it must be important to him. Of course the boy wouldn't want to leave it behind now.

"Here, let me get it, Harper. You have any string or wire in your old clothes? We could tie it around your neck and keep it hidden under your shirt."

"Got a bit of synthetic cording that might work," Harper mumbled thoughtfully. "Try the left pocket."

Dylan found the cording and tied the rabbit's foot to it, creating an impromptu necklace.

He went to put in over Harper's head, but the engineer stopped him. "Would you keep it for me?" he asked in a quiet voice, reminding the captain of exactly how close his friend still was to a complete breakdown.

"Harper, why?"

"Because I…well…let's just say the way slave discipline runs, there's a pretty good chance they'd find it on me, but I get the feeling they might not get quite so rough with you."

"But-"

"Boss, please, just take it?" Harper begged, gesturing with his head to the sound of approaching feet.

"Okay."

Dylan placed the cord around his neck and tucked the precious item under his shirt as the door opened yet again and their three favorite people in all the universe strode back in.

"Punctual…" Harper murmured and then winced as a small shock ran through him from his slave tag. He really needed to remember that Nietzscheans weren't bred for sarcasm.

"Keep your mouth shut, slave," one guard said. He walked up to Harper and roughly grabbed his hands, clapping the manacles around his bruised wrists once more. Dylan watched as Harper physically bit on his lip to keep from crying out.

"Is that really necessary?" Dylan demanded, stepping toward Harper. He was stopped by a light shock from his own slave tag.

"I said mouths shut!" the Uber growled.

It rankled, but Dylan obeyed, for his and especially Harper's sake. As long at the guard held the device that activated their slave tags, Dylan would have to bite his tongue. Fuming, he watched as shackles were reattached to his friend's ankles as well. These chains were a bit longer than the last set Harper had been given, indicating that they expected the boy to move more, but also sadly showing that they were intended to be rather permanent. It was just another way for Felix to show who was really in control.

"Don't look so disappointed, Captain," one of the guards laughed. "We've got a set for you, too."

True enough, Dylan was soon sporting his very own, shiny pair of shackles.

"And one last thing before we're ready to go," the guard said, sounding way, way too chipper as he approached Harper once more.

From inside his jacket he produced a flat, round, metal collar which he clicked into place around Harper's neck, locking it with the same control pad that their slave tags were tied to. It was loose enough to move around but too small to slide over the engineer's head.

"A special present from Commander Felix for the little one, to help him stay where he belongs this time," the Uber laughed. As Harper was shoved toward him, Dylan realized there were words etched into the collar. Blood boiling, he read them.

I am a runaway slave. If found, return to Gaius Felix.

If it wasn't happening to Harper, Dylan would have rolled his eyes. Talk about overkill. Unfortunately, Felix's love of theatrics meant Harper was now saddled with an embarrassing and rather heavy looking piece of metal around his neck, one that looked like it was supposed to be a permanent fixture.

Harper, however, saved him the trouble and rolled his own eyes. "Slavery stinks, don't it," he muttered.

Dylan snorted softly in agreement. What else needed to be said?

Then the two were shoved roughly from the cell and into the corridor beyond, Harper wincing with each step and Dylan doing his best to help guide him along the way.