Chapter 40

Insanity – a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world.

- R.D. Lang

00000

"There you are!" Dylan said, finding his engineer in an out of the way corner at last. The young man was fully dressed again, the skin on his face red and raw as it always was after a forced shave. "I was getting really worried, and we're gonna be late for the mines if you don't…" He trailed off as he saw the kid's expression. "Harper, what's wrong?"

"How was your turn?" Harper asked quietly, referring to what they'd both just come from.

"Dehumanizing, as usual. Why?"

"Did you get anything…um…extra in the package today?"

"No…" Dylan said, worry skyrocketing. "Why, did you?"

"Um…yeah…I think so."

"You think so?" Dylan panicked, grabbing the engineer gently by the arm and turning the boy to face him, looking him over thoroughly. "What happened!"

"I got a shot, an injection of some kind. I don't know what…" Harper sounded scared.

"Where?" Dylan asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"My arm," Harper replied in a small voice, holding it out for his captain to see.

Dylan took his friend's arm and pushed up the sleeve, studying it closely. He noted the small hole that was still leaking just a bit of red blood, but it didn't look swollen or inflamed.

"Perhaps it was more medicine?" he suggested desperately. "Or vitamins?"

"Boss, she told me she was sorry," the young man whispered, terror showing in his voice.

Dylan closed his eyes briefly, his insides churning from his helplessness. "Do you feel sick? Are you in extra pain?"

Slowly, as if pondering it, Harper shook his head.

"Could you tell if anyone else –"

"Hey, you over there!" a loud, authoritative voice yelled at them. Dylan turned around swiftly as Harper raised his head. "Get a move – Oh, it's you two…" It was their old friend Javan. He looked positively gleeful at catching them shirking, his fingers stroking the whip coiled on his belt.

Instinctively, Dylan moved in front of Harper.

"Thought you'd take the day off, little slaves?" Javan sneered.

"No, Master," Harper spoke up quietly, anticipating that they were in trouble and trying to move past Dylan. "We were on our way."

"I was just getting him," Dylan added, gently pushing Harper back again, "to help him find his way there."

"Ah, yes," Javan smiled condescendingly, reaching out and pulling Harper away from Dylan. "The poor, wee slave that can't see…" he laughed, clicking his tongue. "Such a shame…" Harper lowered his head as he was plucked away from Dylan, waiting for some form of punishment. There was always punishment.

Dylan gritted his teeth. Couldn't they give Harper a break? He'd just been injected with who knows what, he didn't need this as well. "Please, Master," he ground out, "let him go. It's not his fault he's blind and he had to wait for me."

Javan ignored him. "I have so missed the fun we used to have," he purred to Harper, grabbing the boy's chin and roughly turning his face toward him.

"Hm, that's strange, 'cause at some point I downloaded a dictionary into my brain and I don't seem to recall the words pain and humiliation anywhere in the definition of fun. But then, you Ubers do seem to use a different dictionary than the rest of us folks." Harper's mouth spat the words before his brain could stop it. Inwardly he groaned. So much for all his lectures to Dylan on how to survive as a slave…

The force of the backhand knocked him to his hands and knees at Javan's feet. In an even slightly fair universe he would have seen stars.

"Stupid, brainless Kludge," Javan growled. "I thought for sure this place would have beaten that disrespect out of you by now, but apparently you need more lessons still."

Harper pushed himself up off the ground to his knees. "Or maybe you Niets just aren't very good teachers," he muttered under his breath. He knew he shouldn't, but he really couldn't help himself. Besides, he already had it coming, might as well make the most of it.

This time it was the whip that struck him, catching him in the front and slicing across his arms and chest. He braced himself for more.

"Get up," the guard ordered coldly. Harper clamped his lips shut before they could dig him even farther into his grave and struggled to his feet, the whip nipping at his ankles. The moment he was upright, hands shoved him roughly and he landed several feet away in a heap in the dirt. He groaned as the air was knocked from his lungs.

"I said get up."

Again, Harper found his feet and again they were knocked out from under him and he tasted dirt.

Dylan watched the "entertainment" with fury growing inside until it reached a point where he knew he couldn't contain it. No matter what the consequences, he wouldn't stand by and watch this anymore. He balled up his fists and was about to step forward when two arms grabbed him and held him back.

"Don't," a firm voice whispered in his ear while the hands restrained him tightly. He recognized the voice as Marcus, their barrack guard. "It will only make it worse. There's nothing you can do. And if you try, I will be forced to punish you as well."

Furious, Dylan looked away, unable to watch Harper get shoved to the ground for a third time as he stood helplessly by.

"Get up!" Javan ordered again, but this time Harper didn't move. His hands were in agony from catching his weight and he was tired, tired of playing this game. He was also slightly lightheaded, and he didn't know if it was from the blows or the injection. Whatever it was from, his head was spinning. The whip bit at his legs and feet but he didn't care. He just ducked his head and lay there groveling at the Nietzschean's boots, waiting for it to end.

"Pathetic," he heard Javan mutter, and then it was silent. He was just starting to wonder if the Uber had left when he felt something warm and wet hit him, and he didn't need eyes to recognize fresh urine; his nose worked just fine. He blushed with shame and disgust.

"A more pathetic beast I have never seen," Javan continued, leaning down low to make sure Harper heard his words. "You aren't even fun to play with anymore! You're fit for nothing but the mines, and barely that." He spat in the prone engineer's face and then straightened up. "Now, go to work and thank whatever you believe in that we have let you live!" He kicked him in the ribs for good measure and then walked away in disgust.

The moment he was out of sight, Marcus released Dylan. The captain rushed to the engineer's side not caring if Marcus stuck around or not.

"Harper, are you all right?" he asked gently.

Slowly, the young man pushed himself back up to his knees, his crippled arm wrapped around his ribs. "Need a bath," he muttered, scrunching up his nose in repulsion. He felt the spittle running down his face and used his sleeve to wipe it off.

"I'm sorry," Dylan said helplessly. "They wouldn't let me help you."

"I know," Harper replied. "It's okay. Just forget about it and get me up, okay? I'm not feeling too great, and I just wanna get this day over with." He remembered the sensation of the injection pushing through his veins and the slave girl's whispered words. He shivered slightly in fear, trying not to let it show and couldn't help wondering if he would even live through the day.

Dylan pulled the boy to his feet and steadied him, worried by his admission.

"Thanks," Harper said. He wrinkled his face again. "Ugh, I reek! As if it wasn't bad enough before. Sorry you have to smell me," he offered as he took the captain's arm.

"Not your fault," Dylan replied sadly.

"Yeah, whatever. Just take us to the mines. Maybe I can sweat it off.

00000

When Harper came out of the mines he was singing again.

Loudly.

And he wouldn't stop.

Dylan shepherded the young man to their spot in roll-call, begging him to be quite, but Harper hardly seemed to hear him. If he'd had to guess, Dylan would have pegged him as stone drunk. Finally, using his best no-nonsense captain's voice, he ordered the engineer to shut up so they wouldn't both get killed. It worked…

…for a while.

They made it through roll-call, Harper fidgeting like a five-year-old and Dylan praying for the Ubers not to care, because there was no way on earth they could fail to notice.

Dinner was disgusting, but it didn't really matter as most of Harper's ended up down his front and most of Dylan's on the ground.

"Harper!" Dylan snapped sharply, "Sit still and eat! You need all the food you can get."

"Can't," Harper replied distractedly, drumming his hands on his bouncing knees as he sat cross-legged in the dirt. "Can't stop. Gotta keep moving, working…" His voice trailed off and he swung his head around as if looking for something only he could see.

Frustrated, Dylan reached out and physically stilled the boy's limbs. "Harper, eat!" he ordered, pushing what was left of the pathetic food into his hands.

Recognizing the tone of voice, Harper tried to do as he was told, and Dylan watched, consumed with worry. He was almost one hundred percent certain he was seeing the affects of whatever the Nietzscheans had injected into the boy, and he had no idea what to expect. It terrified him.

Harper's stillness lasted for all of two minutes before the restlessness started up again. The dish of watery soup tipped over in his lap and fell in the dirt, spilling what little remained. Dylan sighed. His own supper had already bit the dust thanks to his blind friend so there was really no point in them sitting there any longer.

"Harper" Dylan said loudly, forcing the boy to turn towards him. "Listen to me. I'm going to go wash our dishes and then I'll be right back for you. Stay here! I repeat, stay here and don't move, okay!"

"Okie dokie, Bosserokie!" Harper said as he gave the captain a sloppy thumbs-up, a horribly lopsided grin on his thin face.

Dylan didn't return the smile. There was nothing even remotely funny about this. He got wearily to his feet and hurried to the barrels of stale, putrid water to "wash" their mess-kits. He didn't dare leave Harper alone for long when the kid was acting like this, but he wasn't sure he could manage the dishes and the wacked-out engineer at the same time.

"…water, water…gotta go get more water…can't find the water!..."

A small, scared voice interrupted his thoughts on his way back from rinsing their kits. He stopped and turned around, trying to find the source. It was coming from just behind the first barrack on his right.

He walked over and turned the corner. Twig was there, pacing round and round in a tight circle, tears streaming down his pale cheeks as sobs wracked his small body.

"…can't find the water!...gonna be so mad!...gotta get more water…can't stop…" His arms squeezed his body tightly and his voice hiccupped.

Dylan's heart broke.

"Hey," he said softly, tucking the dishes under one arm. Twig jumped and gazed at him with terror-filled eyes. "Sh," he soothed, "it's okay. It's just me, Dylan," urged the captain, putting a gentle hand on the boy's shaking shoulder.

"I can't find the water," Twig whispered. "I lost my bucket! They're gonna hurt me…"

"No, you didn't lose it," Dylan reassured. "They aren't gonna hurt you. It's just time to stop for the night."

"But the water? I gotta go get more water…" Twig insisted.

"No, you don't. Not right now. Right now I want you to come walk with me, okay?" The boy didn't say anything, just continued to stare at the captain with fever-bright eyes. "Come on," Dylan said, gently pulling the child along with him. "Let's go find Harper and go inside for the night." Inside, where he couldkeep an eye on both of his suddenly crazy charges. Apparently, Harper wasn't the only one who got the extra shave-day special. Why though? What was the point of all this? To drive the slaves mad? To make them sick? Was it a poison? Were the Niets thinning the slave population? Weeding out the weak? Or were they just getting some sick entertainment? Dylan didn't know, and that was the worst part.

"Hey, Rommie! I said to freakin' turn on the lights! I'm trying to work here!"

Dylan sighed as he heard the voice yelling loudly from the commons. He could tell it was going to be a long night…