Chapter 37

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King's horses and all the King's men,
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

- Nursery Rhyme

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Summer on Rellim reached its peak and turned over, starting to slide down toward autumn. The days grew shorter. The slaves had always started their days in darkness but now they emerged from the mines to find twilight already approaching as well. The temperatures during the day stayed hot and high, but most of the slaves spent their daylight hours deep underground where it was always cold and damp so this mattered little. At night, however, the warmth of high summer began to fade and give way. The air cooled and chill breezes crept in. Sleeping on their filthy straw next to the open doorway, Dylan and Harper found it harder to keep warm at night, their blankets hardly up to the task. Both tried not to think about what it would be like when winter hit…

In the meantime, the antibiotics did their job; Harper's fever disappeared. Deciding Harper's feet needed all the help they could get, Dylan had wrapped not just the injured one but both feet tightly in the bandages, then pulled the thick socks on over top. For the first time since his boots had been taken away on Felix's ship, Harper's feet were protected somewhat from the filth and the grime of the camp as well as the sharpness of the ground, and they finally began to really heal. The engineer lost most of the hobble he'd walked with constantly for the last several months as the cuts and bruises and scrapes closed and mended.

Mindful that his lovely socks wouldn't last forever without shoes, Harper took to rotating them around. Every day he turned them about two inches to the left. It felt pretty funny but spread the wear and tear around and hopefully extended the life of his gift.

And a gift it really was, apparently, as time passed and Marcus never demanded any form of payment. Neither Dylan nor Harper knew what to think of that, but as there was nothing they could do, they pushed it to the backs of their minds.

While Harper's feet healed, Simon, however, got a little worse each day. He tried to pretend he was just fine but even Harper with his blind eyes could tell the man was losing. No one said it out loud, but they all knew it was only a matter of time…

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Dylan walked slowly, his head bowed slightly and his eyes cast down. He did his best to look nonchalant, like he was simply taking the long way to the latrines or trying to kill time by wandering their prison. Still, he was careful to keep his chains still; the sound of clanking chains always grabbed the Nietzscheans' attention no matter what he was doing. It was as bad as having a darn cattle bell hanging around his neck with those things jangling with his every move.

He reached the back of the camp and leaned against the barrack there, feigning weariness. The truth was he didn't have to pretend very hard; these days he usually was tired to the bone. As he rested there, pretending to catch his breath, he gazed subtlety around. Several days ago he'd noticed that the wires near the back gate in the fence seemed looser than usual, like something big had bumped into them and they hadn't been fixed quite right. It wasn't much, but any little thing that could give them an edge in escaping this place was worth checking out. Besides, he was tired of being a Niet slave! He'd spent too much time adjusting and not enough time doing something about their situation. He was not a man who'd ever found it easy to sit by and accept fate, so he'd taken to wandering the camp lately, in the evenings after their supper. Knowing it would not only draw attention but also further tire the engineer out, he'd left Harper to tell his stories to Twig, trusting the little boy to keep the young man out of trouble. But he couldn't sit and do nothing anymore. If they were ever going to get out of here, it was up to him. Harper had wracked his brilliant brain trying to come up with a solution but in the end even his formidable brain cells couldn't make up for the fact that he simply couldn't see. There were too many variables to the equation that he didn't have and too many unknowns he couldn't account for. Escape was in the captain's hands for now.

Carefully, Dylan studied the camp. It was almost dark now, but curfew was still at least half an hour away. Guards roamed the area and patrolled the perimeter but they were few and bored looking, counting the minutes until they could lock the slaves safely in their prisons for the night and retreat to their own warm rooms and hot coffee.

Dylan looked back at the fence. Climbing would be a problem. Not only was Harper hardly in any shape to climb over one barbed-wire fence let alone three, but they were both weighed down with cumbersome chains that were loud and awkward. That's why he'd always dismissed this plan before, but here, for the first time, the wires looked loose enough that perhaps they could go under instead of over. If they were quick enough, quiet enough, and timed it just right, maybe, just maybe they could get out.

But should they try?

If they were caught he had no doubt the consequences would be horrific. Felix seemed to have given orders that they be kept alive for now, but that didn't mean much. Harper with his crippled hands and broken eyes was proof enough that there were things worse than death. If they were caught trying to escape, Dylan knew they would suffer terribly and probably never have another chance to run. Should they risk it? Or should they wait for a better opportunity? Would there ever be a better one? Surely Beka and the others were looking for them, but he knew they would have found them long ago if they could. Waiting for a rescue would most likely mean waiting forever, and Harper didn't have that long. Truthfully, Dylan admitted he probably didn't either.

And there were other issues to consider, too. What if they did decide to risk it? What about the others? The men who'd helped them, become their friends? Did they just leave them behind to their fates? And what about Twig? The others would probably understand and urge them to go if they could, but Twig wouldn't. He'd feel abandoned and betrayed. Could he just leave the boy behind, to live the rest of his short life as a slave? He didn't want to and he could guess Harper wouldn't either, but he also didn't know if he could get them both out. It would be hard enough with a blind friend but to have a little kid along as well…

Dylan blew out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and put his head in his hands. There was just too much to think about. The odds were so slim, the risks so great, the responsibility completely on his shoulders and he was already so tired just trying to survive from day to day. He was too exhausted to think about it more tonight, though. He knew he'd have to make a decision soon, but he needed to rest. He'd think more on it tomorrow.

Sighing quietly, he pushed himself away from the wall and began to slowly make his way back to his own barrack, his mind and heart heavy and worried.

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"So anyway, once he got rid of the giant Uber, Jack became pretty famous. Folks all over started asking him to come to their parties or give speeches at their shin-digs. He made enough money to buy his mom a nice, new cottage, with a white picket fence and pretty flowers planted all around it. It was in a good neighborhood, too, where there were no Ubers…"

Harper paused for breath as he started the next installment of the on-going saga of Jack and the Beanstalk. He didn't need eyes to know Twig was hanging on his every word. The boy was practically sitting on him, arms wrapped tightly around his spindly little legs, breathing excitedly. A stray thought crossed Harper's mind and he wished he knew what the kid looked like. Did he have blue eyes or brown? Freckles? Was he pale or dark? Out of curiosity he'd asked Twig what he looked like once. There'd been a moment of confused silence and then the boy had replied "dirty." And that was that. Apparently Twig had never even seen his own reflection. Maybe Harper could get Dylan to describe him later, if the captain felt like talking.

"What happened next, Harper?" Twig urged when he waited too long before speaking again.

"Well, after a while, Jack began to get bored," Harper answered distractedly.

They were alone tonight, the others playing cards or resting, and Dylan had gone off walking again. Harper knew the captain was troubled and worried but didn't know how to help him. He had felt the older man withdrawing lately. He no longer joined in the stories at night as often, and he spent much more time alone. Harper hoped he wasn't losing him, but it wouldn't be the first time slavery had driven a strong man over the edge. He was worried and didn't know what to do.

"Harper?" Twig's hands tugged on his sleeve. "Keep going, please!"

"Sorry, Twig," Harper said with an apologetic smile. "Sometimes my brain just runs away for a minute. Where were we?"

"You said Jack got bored."

"Right. Jack was bored," Harper said, shifting to try and get a little more comfortable on the straw, not that he even remembered what comfort was. "So, Jack decided he needed a new adventure one day. Came home, told his mom, and packed up his stuff. He decided it was time to go off and see the world. Of course, his mom was not very happy about that, but Jack was stubborn and did it anyway.

"So he set out walking. And he walked, and walked, and walked, for days and days. After a couple of weeks of walking he really started to wish he hadn't sold that hover-board after all…

"Anyway, eventually he came to this place called Hamblin."

As he was speaking, Harper heard the metallic sound of chains clanking and knew Dylan was back. He listened to the captain settle down on the straw next to Twig but kept going with his story.

"Apparently, Hamblin had a little problem. They were overrun with rats! Big nasty ones with red eyes and long teeth." Harper made a face and used his right hand to mime pointy teeth. Twig laughed. "The mayor of the town, who had just had his very best hat eaten by rats, offered Jack a thousand thrones if he could get rid of them. To Jack, that sounded like a pretty sweet deal! He was a smart guy, how hard could it be to get rid of a bunch of pesky rodents? So he agreed. Besides, he had just the right idea. He'd brought along his tin whistle and his mom always used to tell him that music soothed the savage beast. So Jack got out his whistle and started to play a nice little jig and those old rats started coming out of everywhere. They were following him, swaying back and forth like a bunch of drunken Nightsiders…"

"Um, Harper," Dylan's voice cut into the story. "I think you're crossing your fairytales again," the captain said slyly.

"Boss, would you just stay out of this?" Harper returned as Twig giggled. "Haven't you ever heard of creative license?"

"Well, there's creative license and then there's outright mutilation…" Dylan teased.

Harper stuck his tongue out at him.

"So Jack played his song and the rats followed him away?" Twig asked, interrupting their little power struggle.

"Yep, pretty much, Kiddo," Harper said, reaching out to pat him clumsily on the knees.

"Well, maybe we could do that here!" Twig exclaimed excitedly. "Maybe if we were loud enough the rats would go away and stop eating on my toes at night!"

Harper laughed sadly. "Probably not, Twig," he said. "I think that only works in stories. If we started making lots of noise here we'd probably just make the Ubers mad and we all know how fun that is." He heard Twig sigh. "Hey, it was a good idea, though," he added quickly. "Now how 'bout you go on off to bed? You need to sleep more or you'll get sick, and then I won't be able to tell you the rest of the story."

Twig complained but eventually agreed and scampered off to join Ethan and Peter in their bunk.

"You're getting pretty parental there, Mama Harper," Dylan's voice broke the silence after a minute.

"Oh, bite me," Harper grumbled, embarrassed. "Besides, someone's gotta look after the kid, keep him out of trouble, and it's not like I'm good for anything else."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Dylan said quickly. "I was just saying you're good with him. I never realized you were a natural with kids is all."

Memories shot through Harper so fast they sucked his breath out, and he turned his face away to hide the naked emotions he was sure were playing across it. "I guess," he mumbled. "Hadn't thought much about it," he lied quietly. He took a few more moments to compose himself before daring to face the captain again.

"So, you wanna tell me what's bugging you, Boss?" he asked, careful to keep his voice even and controlled as he changed the subject.

"What makes you think something's bothering me?" Dylan countered. Harper didn't dignify that with a response; he simply rolled his eyes.

"I'm just thinking," Dylan finally replied.

"Wanna think out loud?" Harper pushed, fishing for more. "I hear it's good for the brain cells…"

"Not yet, Mr. Harper. Not yet."

Harper knew that tone of voice. The discussion was over. Dylan was in full captain mode and the engineer knew he'd never get more out of him in that state of mind.

"Fine, suit yourself, Boss. Just don't keep me in the dark for too long, okay? I get enough of that as it is."

With nothing else to do, Harper left Dylan to his worries and gave in to his weary body. He curled up under his thin blanket and let sleep take him away. Maybe tonight, he could dream of surfing…

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Cautiously, Dylan approached the shadowed corner of the camp once again. He'd stayed away for two evenings trying to get his thoughts in order and really, truly examine his plans. The lure of freedom had called loudly but the threat of reality was even louder. He did not want to do something rash! Finally, he'd decided it was a chance they couldn't pass up, though. He'd gone over and over it in his mind, watched the guards, memorized their movements and routines. He'd even worked out what to say to the others and how to bring Twig along. Tonight he would scope it out one last time and then explain everything to Harper. If all went well they'd be on the run by darkness the next night. And if it didn't? Well then he'd probably have Twig's death on his hands and spend the next conceivable amount of time listening to Harper's screams…

He shook his head. Thoughts like that were not productive at all. He really needed to focus here. Freedom was so close he could almost taste it. He needed to concentrate.

Slowly, he rounded the last corner, still pretending to be walking aimlessly. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the weak section of fencing…

…and stopped dead in his tracks, his breath knocked away as soundly as if he'd been punched in the gut!

The fence was fixed! Mended! Strung tighter than a Persied! Extra wire had even been woven in, leaving gaps too small for even a kitten to crawl through.

The wave of despair that crashed over him was so huge he actually physically staggered and had to lean against the wall of the nearest barrack for support. He felt sick and lost and like crying all at once.

He'd been so close! They could have been out! Free! If only they'd gone yesterday, or last week! Why had he hesitated? Why was he such a weak fool?

Angrily, he wiped his hands across his face, refusing to let the hot tears fall. He was a failure; he didn't need to be a wet blanket as well.

Feeling lower than dust, he dragged his feet back to Barrack 6B. Harper raised his head up when he came in and greeted him with a tired "Hey, Boss," but Dylan ignored him. He couldn't think of anything to say to his young friend tonight. Instead he simply lay down and turned away, unable to face the concern and confusion on the boy's face.

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Dylan's dreams turned sour. Sometimes he was watching from afar as the Andromeda was overrun with Magog, his friends and crew slaughtered and himself powerless to help. Sometimes he was on Tarazed, on trial for betraying the Commonwealth at her darkest hour and letting hundreds of worlds fall to the Abyss.

Other dreams were closer to home. He watched as he rallied the slaves to fight against their oppressors, assuring them sheer numbers were enough to be victorious, only to see them be gunned down in waves and fall bleeding and dead before him, their eyes accusing.

He dreamed of escaping, running away, leaving Harper behind. He knew he could do it if he just didn't have the boy to slow him down…

He would awake in a cold sweat to the dark stench of the barrack, his heart racing.

At least he wasn't the only one plagued by nightmares. The longer they stayed the harder it got for Harper to contain his own demons. More often than not, Dylan woke to his muffled screams and cries and had to pull the young man back from whatever monsters were loose in his mind this time. By common consent, they never spoke of their dreams; some things were not meant to be shared.

Dylan's despondency bled over from his dreams, however. He watched Harper struggle from the mines, his back red and bloody with fresh stripes and his guts twisted. He saw Twig slink from the cave, a dark bruise the size of a large, Uber fist marring his tiny, pale face, his eyes turned away to hide the tears he couldn't quite hold back and another jolt of failure shot through the captain's soul.

He saw a curled, crippled hand and remembered his failure to protect his crew.

Blind eyes blinked at him and he recalled broken promises of high dreams and ideals to a friend.

Chains rattled and he clenched his eyes tight, wishing to just shut it all out and fade away.

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"Move!" (Crack!) "Faster, dogs!" (Crack!)

The crack of the guard's whip along with his words just blended into the background of creaks and groans and bangs. They were the same sounds Dylan heard everyday now, and he rarely paid them any mind. The Niet probably didn't even realize he said them anyway.

By the ache in his arms, the captain figured the long day had to be about over. He grabbed the next bucket full of rocks and slung it up, attaching it to the hook on the rope line. It sagged dangerously but held, just like always.

"At least four more coming up," the man partnered with him for the day said.

"Thanks," Dylan muttered.

The faces of two slaves appeared in the hole behind them and pushed forward their buckets. Dylan's partner grabbed the first and attached it to the moving pulley. It groaned like a being in agony.

Dylan reached for his bucket but his chains caught it on the side and tipped it over. Black rocks spilled out and rolled down into the space under the ropes full of swinging buckets.

Dylan swore harshly and moved to scramble down and gather them back up before the Nietzschean could return with his stinging whip.

"No, wait." The captain felt a hand on his arm and turned to see the slave who was helping him. "Let me go. Your chains will just slow you down and get in the way. I'll be much faster."

Before he could say anything, the smaller man had slipped down the slope into the pit and was hurriedly picking up loose chunks of mineral.

Suddenly, there was a loud snapping sound from just ahead.

"BREAK!" came the panicked yell. "Break in the line! Fall back!"

In horrified slow motion, Dylan watched the rope curl down, the buckets slide back and drop, the dust billow up as they struck. He didn't have to wait for that dust to clear from the already gloomy light; he knew what he'd see: one broken body lying buried under ten-pound metal buckets and their spilled loads of rocks.

Drunkenly, he staggered to the side and retched what little there was in his stomach. That body, that slave should have been him. It was his clumsiness that tipped the first bucket and put someone in harm's way to begin with! It should have been him!

But it wasn't, and the worst part was he didn't even know the name of the man who'd just died for him.

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"So, Boss, how was your day?"

Harper was sitting on their straw, fidgeting slightly with his frayed blanket. Dylan could tell he longed to have his hands deep in the guts of some mechanical project and was trying to keep his thoughts away from what he couldn't do anymore. Twig was sprawled on the ground nearby, amusing himself with Harper's game of pebbles and sticks.

Dylan looked away and sighed, but didn't answer.

"That bad, huh?" Harper said after a bit. "I heard there was some trouble down in the pits today. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Dylan said softly, leaning back against the barrack wall and bending his legs. His chained hands dangled loosely from his knees.

"Doesn't sound like nothing, Dylan," Harper pressed.

"Just drop it, Harper," Dylan warned.

"Okay," Harper said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. "I get the message."

They sat in silence again, Dylan's thoughts growing darker and more self-repulsive all the time.

"Did you put our dishes away?" Harper asked after a while, trying to make some sort of conversation.

"Yes, Harper, I put the dishes away," Dylan shot back, annoyed for some reason. Why couldn't the boy just shut up and leave him alone? Was it too much to ask for five minutes of solitude without having to play caretaker?

"Grumpy…" Harper muttered, turning away a little.

The quiet lasted for about five minutes this time before Harper broke it again.

"Hey, Boss, I know you just got sat down and all, but I kinda need to go visit the little boy's room before they lock us in. Think we could take a quick field trip?" His voice was purposefully light and joking, trying to avoid upsetting his friend more, but something about it just irked Dylan all the same. The captain snapped.

"Go find it yourself," he spat.

"What?"

"You heard me," Dylan growled. "Go find the darn latrine on your own! You've been there often enough, you should be able to find it by now! I'm getting sick and tired of having to do everything around here for both of us. 'Dylan, can you help me up?' 'Boss, walk me to the barrack…' So you're blind! Buck up and deal with it like a man instead of hanging onto me like an overgrown baby all the time! I'm trying to figure out how to get us out of here alive; I don't need all the added distractions!"

The words tumbled from his lips before he could really stop them. He didn't even realize he was yelling until he quit.

Dead silence filled the barrack, every eye on Dylan. Harper sat in front of him, his face frozen in shock and hurt. Then slowly, so slowly it was painful, the young man got to his feet.

"I'll be back in a while," he said softly. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, held his hands out before him, and felt his way through the open doorway.

Absolute stillness remained behind him. Twig, eyes wide in confusion, glanced from Dylan, to the doorway, back to Dylan again. Then suddenly, he scrambled to his feet and dashed through the door after the engineer.

"Harper, wait!" he called.

His voice shattered the spell that had filled the room. Shame crashed into Dylan and broke through his shock. He let his head sink into his hands.

"That was a rather low blow, mate," Peter growled darkly at him from a few feet away, his eyes flashing slightly.

"I think he knows that, Pete," Ethan said quietly, eyeing the captain pointedly. "Very well."

Dylan closed his eyes and laced his hands behind his head, hunching over. "What have I done?" he breathed, hating himself.