The Empty Warrior (61 page)

“And just how do you plan to accomplish all that?” asked Steenini, incredulous. “Trying to capture Elorak is tantamount to suicide. Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?”

Lindy’s eyes suddenly focused, and he and broke into the conversation. “I don’t care,” he said.

“Don’t care about what?” asked Steenini.

“I don’t care if it is suicide. I’ve been ready to die ever since those monsters killed Cyanne. It’s better to die fighting now than to eke out a few more years of life groveling before these murderers.”

“Willet!” O’Keefe exclaimed in mock surprise. “Damn, I didn’t think you had it in you.” He reached over and slapped the man on the back then hugged him by the shoulders. “But let’s not go getting ourselves killed prematurely. The first thing we need to do is gain any and all reliable intelligence about this place over and above what Bart already knows. Once that is done we put together a plan, and then we implement the plan. That’s when we’ll all get blown to bloody bits.”

“Well, count me in too then,” Steenini said wearily from where he lay. “I’ll be swinging a pick here until my heart bursts. If I’m going to die I might as well make it count for something, even if it is in a near hopeless fight.” He managed a wan smile up at his new comrades before continuing.

“But there are other dangers to consider. I advise that we keep any plans to ourselves as much as possible, at least until we can make an educated guess as to who we can trust. Let me explain how things work here. Right now, we are on the lowest rung of the ladder. I will stay on that rung no matter what; but most everyone else can work their way up if they serve with obedience and enthusiasm. Tomorrow, the guards will come for us and we will be taken to break rocks. There are machines here to tunnel and drill in the mines, but we break up the rubble and load it on mine trains to be taken to the automated refineries. If a man works hard enough and long enough without complaint, and without taunting the beasties,” he looked pointedly at O’Keefe, “that man may be able to move up a step.

“That would put him in a more favored position, with more and better food, and with an easier job—something like emptying the barracks latrines or swabbing out cargo containers from the supply ships. From there one could work his way up to the laundry or the kitchen, then to Elorak’s lackeys or even to a position off this accursed world.

“But there are also other, faster ways to move up. The Vazileks demand obedience, but they treasure loyalty. And you will find that there is no shortage of men among our ranks who will be happy to attempt to prove their loyalty by turning in their own comrades for even the slightest infraction. Those who do so almost always move up a step, and word gets around quickly among the new people that reporting others can not only hasten one’s climb to an easier life, it can literally be the difference between survival and death. Revealing a plot against Elorak herself could easily propel a man from rock breaking straight into the kitchens, putting him only one step away from leaving Ashawzut behind. It would be quite a temptation. The only thing that stops a lot of the men from snitching is the fact that some of the more obvious traitors die mysteriously in the night. That notwithstanding, if the wrong people were to find out what you are now proposing, the rewards of turning you in would more than outweigh the inherent risks of doing so. So be careful who you approach with this.”

O’Keefe nodded in agreement. “That sounds like wise counsel. But as of now, no one appears to be paying any attention to us.” He glanced around the room, and the men they had arrived with were still either sitting about the floor clustered in little groups like their own or were busy picking out bunks for themselves. All were far enough away to be out of earshot. “Tell us everything you know about Elorak,” O’Keefe asked. “Where does she sleep? What kind of security arrangements does she have? Is she vulnerable at any time? Anything you can think of might be helpful.”

Steenini scowled at the thought of the woman. “As you have seen,” he began, “she is vain and cruel. She will kill on a whim, with no provocation at all. She seems to enjoy it. Often she will descend to the arena floor just to finish some poor bastard off, after the guards have had their fun. You’ll find out about the arena soon enough. We will all be required to witness punishment. But despite her brutality she would seem to be possessed of a somewhat formidable intelligence. She speaks our language with exceptional fluency, a fluency that remains impressive despite the fact that I am quite sure she has implanted, cybernetic assistance.

“As to her quarters, I could not tell you how to get there from here, but there is a hatch from which she emerges somewhere in the vicinity of the hangar area. I have seen it in passing on several occasions. She resides on the surface in an environmental dome, or so it is rumored. The hatch leads to the elevator that runs between our caverns and her rooms. It is heavily guarded at all times. If she is on the surface, the normal contingent of guards is joined by her assault bot, which waits for her outside the elevator door. What security measures lay beyond the guards at the hatch, no one can say. What few men have ever gone in have never come out. Whether they are killed or shipped off world is uncertain. It has been whispered that she picks a favorite from her lackeys, takes him in to satisfy her sexual appetites, and then kills the man when she grows tired of him. If the sexual part of the story is indeed true, there may be times when she is vulnerable to attack by the victim of her lust, but I tend to doubt the veracity of such tales. Elorak’s hatred for our kind is so complete and so overpowering that I find it hard to believe she could ever take any pleasure from the company of an Akadean.

“As for the times when she is inside the colony complex, she is unassailable. Her assault bot follows closely behind her at all times, and she is always shielded. Even a blaster would be useless against her shield, as I have said. Its only effect would be to make her perspire. More primitive weapons might knock her off her feet, but they would do no real harm. Her arms and legs are not protected by the shielding and can be damaged, but only in a mechanical sense. It would not actually injure her person.

“There is only one way, at least that I know of, to inflict any significant injury to her. The shield generator, at her throat, creates a small vortex directly in front of it, a byproduct of the shield emanation that wraps around her body. It is her only weak point. A sharpened shovel handle driven with enough force, or a pick swung with enough strength, directly into that vortex, could conceivably penetrate the shield and maybe, just maybe, pierce the generator, damaging it enough to bring down her shielding. But she would have to stand still long enough for you to do that and somehow miss shooting you with her blaster. And you would have to find a way to get close enough to her. Her robot is programmed to annihilate any threat, real or perceived, within about four or five meters, and I mean all threats. It could blast a spear out of the air or shatter the handle of a swinging pick as easily as you or I might scratch an ear. And that is not rumor. I have seen it and others like it in action on several occasions.” Steenini’s analysis brought back to O’Keefe the memory of the high commissioner and her guard, slain so easily on Sefforia. He involuntarily winced at the recollection.

Steenini paused for a moment to raise both hands to his face and rub his closed eyelids with the tips of his fingers. When he continued his voice was slightly muffled by his palms. “Please do not misunderstand me. There is little here to keep a man alive other than dreaming of freedom and revenge. This being my second visit, I’ve had a great deal of time to ponder murder, mayhem, revolt, and escape; and I will be all in favor of any feasible plan you come up with to accomplish any of those ends. But nevertheless, I must reiterate the fact that I don’t see how it can be done, and I consider myself to be a very intelligent man, if you’ll pardon my immodesty.”

O’Keefe sat silently, waiting for Steenini to lower his hands and open his eyes. When he did so, O’Keefe leaned forward and stared sternly down into his face. “You listen to me, and you listen to me good,” he said. “This can be done. Regardless of all the advantages she has, she is still just one woman. And no security measures, no matter how good, are foolproof. There is always a weakness somewhere, and we are going to find it. And when we do find it we are going to adapt, we are going to improvise, and we are going to overcome. You got that? We are going to get out of here. Maybe not all of us, but some of us are going to leave this place behind.”

Suddenly, just as O’Keefe had finished speaking, the exhausted men who had been sitting or lying about near the entry to the barracks jumped up and fled back toward the bunks with newfound energy. Most climbed the ladders there to gain access to the uppermost beds as if wolves were on their trail. It was not far from the truth.

O’Keefe turned his eyes to the doorway and saw one of the dogs come padding softly into the barracks. It stopped and stood, panting slightly, halfway between the rows of bunks and the entrance through which it had come. The dog seemed to search the room intently until its brown eyes settled directly on O’Keefe, who shot a wondering glance at Steenini. When the Earther raised his eyes back to the dog he found it still staring at him. He pointedly stared back. There was no reaction from the beast. It stood rock still, its only movement the slight throb of its tongue and the repetitive dilation of its big nostrils. It held its tail out in a near straight line from its rump while its head was up and alert. The dog looked like an oversized, shaggy pointer detecting a quail.
Hardly an attack posture
, O’Keefe thought.

He stood up, walked slowly out from between the bunks, and turned to face the beast, about twenty feet separating him from the animal’s muzzle. Even standing erect with his chest thrust out and his shoulders back, O’Keefe’s eye level was only inches higher than that of the dog’s. Man and beast stared at each other for a full half minute before the dog blinked and looked away. Nevertheless, it immediately returned its gaze to O’Keefe and bared its teeth slightly, just enough to show off a set of sharp, curving canines as large as a man’s thumb. Then it turned and inexplicably exited the room.

O’Keefe returned to sit beside Lindy. “You shouldn’t do that,” lectured Steenini. “Antagonizing the beasties is bad enough, but they’re solitary by nature. Insulting one is only going to make that particular individual hate you. But I’m telling you, there’s something about those dogs. Offending one of them might be the same thing as offending them all, and I have already seen you go out of your way to irritate one of their number three times since our arrival here. If you keep it up you’re liable to become a marked man in all of their eyes and in a very short time.”

“Yeah, maybe,” O’Keefe said. “But what do you think it was doing in here? I mean, what was the purpose of that visit? It just walked in, stared at me for a minute, and then left. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Who knows,” Steenini said guardedly. “The dogs seem to go where they want whenever they want. It may have come in here simply to intimidate you. Like I said, insulting one of them may be the same as insulting them all. Maybe it was a friend of the one you told to ‘eat shit.’ I don’t know, but if I were you I would be a good boy and start trying to keep my testosterone in check whenever they are around. Continuing to goad them is liable to get you killed.”

Before O’Keefe could retort the sound of approaching diesels echoed in the corridor outside. The roar grew steadily louder until clanking treads came to a halt directly outside the doorway. Seconds later red-eyed men, their clothes heavily soiled and their faces caked with dust, began to totter through the doorway. Most walked like zombies to their bunks and fell or feebly climbed into them. But some could not even traverse the floor. They fell in heaps to the stone, unable to move. No one rose to help them.

“Take a good look, mates,” Steenini said softly. “That’s how we’ll feel in about twenty-four hours.” He sighed heavily. “I need to get some rest,” he muttered to himself, and rolled over in his bunk with his back to Lindy and O’Keefe.

“Come on, Willet,” O’Keefe said, “let’s get these guys up on their beds. We can’t just sit here and leave them on the floor.” They walked over to the nearest collapsed body and hoisted the man to his feet. Then, with one of his arms draped over Lindy’s shoulders and the other around O’Keefe’s waist, they carried him to the bunk that he had indicated, almost incoherently, was his. They returned for the next man, standing him up so O’Keefe could lift him into his arms and carry him to his bunk while Lindy helped another man to his feet. Soon some of the other new inmates were shamed into action as well and were helping others of the fallen. In short order everyone was off the floor. O’Keefe and Lindy returned to Steenini, taking a seat on two lower tier beds, O’Keefe on the one at Steenini’s feet and Lindy directly opposite him. Presently Lindy stretched out while O’Keefe sat brooding with his elbows on his knees and his fists supporting his chin.

His nose wrinkled involuntarily; the noxious odor of the exhaust fumes the guards had left behind still permeated the air. “How can they have diesels?” he asked absently. Lindy turned his head to look at him as if he needed clarification. “The guard’s engines,” O’Keefe continued. “We have them on Earth. The same thing, the same smell. How can they have them here, and why is there a word in your language for them?”

Lindy propped himself up on one elbow and looked over at O’Keefe. “I think I see what you mean,” he said, “but it’s not out of the ordinary at all. After the Cataclysm, many worlds—totally separate and, with the passage of time, totally unknown to each other—experienced significant parallel development. As far as I know, all worlds that support carbon-based life for a long enough time build up large deposits of fossil fuels. Internal combustion is an almost inevitable technological outgrowth of that fact, but Vazilek technology is still very distinct from your technology just as it is from ours. I think if you were to dismantle one of their power plants you would discover that in a mechanical sense, it would be constructed in a very different manner from your own. It would also be incompatible with your world’s drive systems. Only the most basic principles would be the same.”