Major announcement: The first book in this series (Transference) will be launched on October 16th! I’m working towards getting ARCs out in mid-July, and coordinating marketing efforts for my launch. I AM STOKED. If you want to go back and read the first draft, it’s still available on here, but I will likely trim it was we get closer to launch. The final version is different, and unsurprisingly, much much better.
And in other news, I’m almost done with the first draft of the sequel. So, we’re back to double chapter posts! Trying to keep two POVs weaving together has been a challenge and a real treat. Writing is a skill, and I love that this is pushing me to continue growing. I have a feeling that editing this will also be a real challenge! I need to invest some time in keeping my characters feeling separate, I’m already seeing them bleed together too much. But I’m letting myself embrace the first draft process — refinement is for later! Follow along for more updates.
The evening swirls around me in a flurry of co*cktail dresses, clinking glasses, and micro-food on platters. If I ignore the faces, and the white marble everywhere, the scene could be lifted directly from my own city. Piano music layers over polite laughter and the boasting of men and women.
“I have so many questions for you, but I’m a better man than to exhaust a guest. Is our world strange to you?” King Allen asks me, refocusing my attention.
We sit together on the edge of the party at a small marble table with a small army of attendants and guards only paces away. One of them walks forward and deposits a crystal tumbler of whiskey for each of us, and then retreats.
“Only in how familiar it all is. How is it that you expected my arrival?”
“Ah, it’s not so mysterious is it? Our mutual acquaintance told me a long time ago that you would visit our world.” The King says, and then smiles inwardly.
“The Narrator? How do you know him?” How did he tell him a long time ago?
“The current state of our world begins with that man, or whatever he is. He came to me years ago–”
The King trails off as a man makes his way through the room towards us. He has the same bold chin and thick eyebrows as the King, but his face is softer and younger. His matching gold-lined dinner jacket can barely contain the muscle that swells underneath it. Around his neck hangs a pendant of white marble. He approaches us and bows to the King, but when his eyes meet mine he colors slightly.
“Father, you sent for me?”
“Yes. Dorothy, I wanted to introduce my son, Prince Allen. He is much better at entertaining than an old man who likes to sit and drink whiskey.”
An old man? He’s no older than I am. How the hell does he have a son that’s nearly the same age?
“A pleasure.” the Prince says to me, bowing again in my direction.
“My boy, I was just starting to explain the history of our world. But I fear from me it would sound boastful; you’re much better suited to tell it. Would you give our guest a tour of the palace?”
“Of course, father. Dorothy, please come with me.”
I stand and nod to the King, then follow the Prince as he cuts a path through the throngs of revelers. He walks like a peaco*ck, chest held high and chin jutting upwards. The crowd parts for him, their conversations turning to whispers after we pass. Well this is causing a stir. When we reach the far side of the room, opposite of where I entered, two attendants open the wide double doors so we can pass through. On the other side, a long white marble hallway stretches into the distance.
Prince Allen basks in the impressiveness of the hall for a moment, a moment of reflection that seems curated for me.
“The Palace is impressive, don’t you think?” He says, not turning to look at my reaction.
“It is very white.”
“Yes, one of the first abundances we found on this planet was marble. My father had it extracted because he had the vision to build a monument.”
He talks about his father with a nearly religious exaltation.
After saying this, Allen starts slowly forward down the hall, and I follow besides.
“Before our City was opened, my Father told me that he had been given a vision of the outside world. My father is in no way a religious man, so it was a strange claim from him. He told me then that there existed a new natural resource that would change all of our lives.”
“Did he tell you how he had this vision?” Or who gave it to him?
“He never told me the details of the vision. I see it now as the first of his miracles.” I blanch at the word. “When Dorothy, our Dorothy that is, convinced the council to change the disease transfer machine, she was elected as the person to enter the control room.” He swallows hard at this. “Thankfully, she wasn’t harmed, but one of the outcomes was that the City sprawled open.”
So she’s also met the Narrator then.
“My father immediately led an expedition into the jungle. The men that went with him told me he seemed to know exactly where to head. My father led them into a cave, and there they discovered Indigo.”
“Indigo?”
“A mineral native to this planet that has several strange… properties.” Allen turns to me and smiles viciously.
The hallway ends in front of us in a door that’s different from the rest. It’s a single polished metal plate with an access panel mounted to the wall in front of it. Allen rests his hand on the panel, and the door slides noiselessly open. Behind it, a spiral staircase descends. I follow Allen into the passage.
Gone now is the ostentatious marble and plush carpeting, replaced entirely by functional austerity. The stairs, walls, and ceiling are formed from a black metal that’s lit by occasional sconces. It gives the eerie impression of descending through a dark cave that expands in every direction. Pipes mounted to the ceiling follow the stairwell downwards, our only connection to the world above.
“This was the start of my father’s second miracle. He brought back an abundance of the mineral, so much that others doubted his sanity. A few others led expeditions into the planet at this time, but most only returned with the bizarre fruit that’s native here. Most were still content to live as they were.
“My father went to work with the minerals, and very soon had distilled it into a drink. He’s no chemist, but as I watched him work in his newly constructed lab, he seemed to work like he’d been given instructions on what to do. He told me that the drink reversed aging, and named it Indigo after the rock that gave it birth.”
As we descend further, a strange blue glow starts to grow at the end of the hallway.
“And it worked? That’s an incredible creation, if so.” Is that how everyone I met is the same age? The Narrator said; “A gleaming white mystery that never grows old.” Is this what he meant?
“It worked exceptionally. For the first several months, no one believed him. Then the effects were undeniable, and people clamored for access. My father not only set a monumental price, and when people could no longer afford to pay for the monthly doses, he demanded their fealty instead.
“You may be thinking from this that my father is a greedy man, but he was also magnanimous. For those in the lower quarters whose money was insufficient and fealty was not useful, my father offered them access if they worked for him. Some of them work in the palace, while others more suited were sent to the mines my father created.”
In my head, I see how the same castes of society were carried from inside of the city to outside of it. Again, something the Narrator said nags at me. “A practice common / From birth to the stars beyond / Of men over men.”
The blue glow intensifies until everything swims in it. It drowns out the feeble light from the sconces on the wall.
“So this thing your father created has to be taken continuously? So a constant supply of this rock is required? Is this what your miners extract?”
“That’s correct. We only have one mine operational now, it’s near the site my father originally found Indigo. Our other mines supplied the marble for this palace, as well as much of the metal needed to build this facility.”
“What happens if the supply stops?” Or the miner’s decide they don’t want to continue working?
Allen shrugs lightly, as if the possibility can’t be taken too seriously. “My father believes a cascade of cell mutation and rapid aging will occur eventually, but no one really knows for sure. It’s not a concern though, the miner’s contracts don’t allow them to quit working.”
There it is. “So the miners are kept alive by this forever drink your father made, and aren’t allowed to quit working… So you keep them as slaves?”
“We do not keep slaves, I find that statement very offensive.” Allen responds haughtily. “They are indentured workers, nothing more, fulfilling terms of a contract that they agreed to.”
Why is it that the powerful always try to keep the moral high ground?
I’m about to respond when we step out of the spiraling stairwell, and into the massive expanse of a factory. Everything is awash in neon blue light, it seems to glow from every surface at once. As my eyes adjust to the sight, I see the glow is from bits of translucent rock that are in various forms of processing across the room.
On one side, giant boulders are being unloaded from a mine cart. On the opposite side, a vat of glowing blue liquid is agitated by an automated paddle wheel. In between these two extremes are machines that crush, pummel, and grind the rocks into a fine powder, and then combine them with more ingredients into the final liquid form. Workers are scattered across the factory floor; monitoring equipment, holding clipboards, and assisting in loading raw material. They all wear white lab coats and face coverings.
I follow Allen into the room, and I’m stunned into silence. The factory flows like clockwork around us. The workers give a slight nod to Prince Allen as they pass, but otherwise ignore our presence. The machines here are loud, but not overly so. They operate smoothly, efficiently, and I’m drawn into their repetitive motions. After one machine crushes boulders, another actuates immediately behind it and continues to refine the material down to a powder. I’d read of factories before, but never experienced one.
I become aware that Prince Allen is speaking at some point. “... line was built from my father’s vision after we moved into the palace to automate a large portion of production. Of course, with such high demand this was necessary. As you can see, the factory runs smoothly, cleanly, and creates a steady stream of Indigo. We are not wanting here.”
“Why are you showing me all this?” I ask, but it hits me before he responds. To impress me, to intrigue me, to make me stay. I can tell my question has caught him off-guard, it’s more honest than he expected.
“To show you what our world has to offer.” He responds after a pause, and then blushes slightly.
“Cart returning soon!” The call goes up around the room as a red light starts to flash, and draws both of our attention.
In the corner of the factory, technicians hurriedly clear off the track of the mine cart of debris and tools used for lifting boulders. The job done, one of them presses a button on the wall, and the mine cart rockets off through the darkness. We both stare after it for several moments.
Allen turns then and like we’re twin moths, we walk over to the glowing blue vat of fluid. I watch as a mixing paddle turns slowly through it. It’s still translucent, but only just barely.
“I bet you’ve seen curious things in your travels through different cities, but nothing as curious as this.” He says with a charming smile, his composure regained.
On a nearby table, I see a graduated vial of the liquid left from some testing, and I can feel it pull to me. What an incredible thing it would be to live forever. I never thought I was overly interested in my own mortality, until the possibility of removing the barrier was presented to me. It’s tempting, but this is all built on the backs of others. Like all of these worlds, it’s skewed, ugly.
I think again of the Narrator, of his goals in sending me here. In creating a temptation for me that pits my own nature against my morality. This is all a test. And with that thought, my anger returns. I see the miners who toil to create this life, and though I’ve never met them I feel their plight. Cursed to live forever as a slave, so these people can enjoy fine dining and co*cktail parties every day. It’s no different than our city, the setting changes but the rules don’t.
“I’ve seen many abuses of people in my travels, but certainly nothing as great as this. You’ve built a world on the backs of others and framed it as your great achievement. Only here, people can’t even get freedom from death. I can only imagine the horror of their existence. I would like to return to my room now.”
With each sentence, Allen’s face gets more and more flushed with anger. I see his hands twitch, and wait for him to try and strike me. Let him try, I’m not defenseless, I know how to fight. I curl my fists and watch his body for clues.
Instead, he relaxes, and calls deeper into the room. “Guards, remove this guest to her room, she’s being difficult.”
I turn, and only then do I realize that two bodyguards have followed us down into the factory. They must have moved silently behind us. One of them points a long, shining gun toward me. Absurdly, I notice how the shimmering blue of the room dances over its surface as the world around me seems to slow. I try to move sideways to avoid it, but a wall of pressure hits me suddenly and my balance evaporates. My legs turn soft suddenly as I lunge, and I strike the floor hard.
I try to move on the ground, to crawl to my feet, to get away, but nothing seems to work right. My head is swimming, and I puke from a suddenly violent wave of nausea.
Allen bends down at my side. “I can be sweet too, but I won’t tolerate insolence. What you’re feeling will fade, but let the memory be a reminder that you are in my world.”
With that, the guards grab my arms and haul me to my feet. Vertigo washes over me, and I puke on myself again. I hear them mutter in disgust behind their reflective, black helmets. And then mercifully, I pass out.
–
I come to as they drag me back through the co*cktail party, but I can barely lift my head. Around me I hear the stir of conversation die, and in the hush of the room whispered threads drift to me.
“...Girl didn’t know her place.”
“An absolute mess…”
“Poor thing…”
“... only want her for her womb anyways.”
“Prince needs an heir…”
The words float around in my head without meaning. I turn them over, inspecting them like an alien puzzle. The guards stop suddenly and when I open my eyes there are a pair of feet in front of my downward gaze. With great effort I raise my head and see Dee, her face flushed in anger. Why is she so upset; I wonder distantly.
“I see the Prince still has not learned how to treat a woman. What a disgrace. Give her to me, I will help her back to her room.” She says haughtily.
Muttering, the guards lift me and Dee loops my arm around her neck. Without a care that my vomit stains her clothes, she pulls me to her. I’m shocked at the strength of the smaller woman as she supports me, and find then that my legs have started to respond to my brain again. With her help, and mounting nausea, I hobble from the room and back down the hall to my quarters.
A feeling of floating, of weightlessness. I drift upwards into Sophia’s arms. I smile into my friend’s blank face, until I see the skewed reflection of my own in the metal and grimace at the sight. With the world spinning again, I close my eyes.
“What happened to her?”
“Sonic cannon, it disrupts the inner ear. No lasting damage, but she needs to rest. The Prince…” Dee trails off.
I fly over to the bed in her arms, and feel its welcoming presence envelope me as Sophia sets me down and covers me in thick blankets. The darkness tugs at me again, but before I go I rummage through the conversations I heard earlier. I see everything as a puzzle piece, and I feel their edges to determine the shape of the missing pieces. Everyone’s the same age, but the Prince is younger. They all drink the forever drink. There are no children here that I’ve seen. The King… The Prince… dynasty building. The Prince needs an heir…
I see the outline of the missing shape, and realize that its edges are my edges. Disgust washes over me. I am the salvation the Narrator promised them. I am their future, their hope of growth. I will destroy them.
I let sleep take me.
–
A dream of anger and fire. I scream in eternal frustration, and as my rage washes over, it all burns down. The city I came from, the structures. And in the flames I see the people I love burned with it. I see my mother who preferred death to participation, I see Sophia, my caretaker, who preferred me to life. I see Nick running from the flames as it tries to swallow him. As I try to swallow him. I see hundreds of people in the skyball, they stare at me with blank gazes, unmoving as the fire takes them.
I see a vat of iridescent blue, its contents being slowly stirred. The liquid calls to me, but the desire only fuels my endless anger. And when I scream again, I will the fire to take it. To burn it all down. To end another world.
Days pass at the mine. There is a natural tide to their flow that can only come from doing the same things every day. With each cycle, I rise for breakfast stiff and sore. I work each day with Brian, and every night I bring Charon food. I watch the cistern slowly dip lower at every meal. I can taste the sediment in it now, just as Brian said.
On the lift to and from the mine, I plead my case to the others in quiet whispers. Some nod along, others tut in disapproval. There’s fear of reprisal, but also a fear of what will happen when they stop taking Indigo. But under that fear is an anger that simmers in all of them. There’s a hunger for freedom, and with each passing day I see more hope in their eyes.
“I watched the guards pilot that flyer yesterday, it seems mostly automated. There was one control lever for take off, and then I’d guess the other is for movement.” Henry Fiveboroughs tells me as we descend for an evening shift.
My father was friends with a Henry Fiveboroughs, and when I look into the miner’s blue eyes I wonder if he shares the same affable nature.
“Good work confirming that Henry, did you see how they accessed the pilot’s cabin?”
He shrugs. “Still seems proximity based, but it only opens for them. Guessing we’ll need to drag ‘em there once they’re out cold.”
“Do you really think the strength of the weeds will be enough to knock them out?” Jospehine asks, concerned.
This particular point has come up several times, and we’ve chased it around. Some are convinced that it will, some are concerned that it will be strong enough to even knock the tolerant out. Others are unsure. It seems the effect is not the same on everyone, even between the tolerant there’s a wide range of dosage used. And of course, some plants are stronger than others. We spent an entire lift ride discussing where I harvested them from to know if they were predominantly shade grown or sun grown to earmark their potency.
“Those cats don’t have any experience with the stuff, Joe, we just gotta be careful to not have too much ourselves.” Brian responds, and then shoots me a conspiratorial wink.
I’ve been dosing myself heavily the last few days to boost my tolerance, but I still know I’m at a disadvantage. If I’m not careful, I’ll wind up out like the guards and have to hope the miner’s execute on the plan.
“How long until we put the dose in, then? Is the cistern low enough.” I ask, after a brief moment of silence.
The miners look at each other, judging the depth from their own experiences these last few days. There’s agreement in their faces as they turn to each other, and it quickens my pulse when I see it.
“We drop it in tonight, let it soak and see what happens in the morning. Or we lose our chance for a long time. They’ll surely fill it up tomorrow evening.” Brian says to me, others nodding in agreement.
“Any opposed?” I ask, my heart pounding in my throat.
There’s complete silence. The weight of finality descends onto my shoulders, and I hope that I haven’t just signed everyone’s death sentence. When we reach the bottom of the mine everyone filters off. Just another day, nothing has changed. I hope this works.
Brian shakes me from my contemplation when he thrusts a pick into my hands.
–
After night falls, I pull my cosmic armor out from under my bedding. My clothes I brought here were too ragged to save, but the thin barrier underneath them was still in good shape. It had saved my life once already when Charon and I battled a room full of Inspectors. I might need it again tomorrow, and it won’t be noticed under my workwear. I quickly pull it on.
While I’m alone in my cave I also check the functionality of my wrist knife. Even though the guards must have searched me for weapons when they brought me here, the cloaking of the small plasma knife means it avoided detection. I haven’t wanted to show it to the miners, in case it gives them a different idea of me. When I pull my wrist back, it springs upwards and coats the inside of the cave walls in a celestial blue glow. I quickly snap my wrist forward again, hoping that no one saw the light.
In the afterglow of the blade, I see it in my memory as it enters through Edward’s chin and leaves him a charred husk. I shudder, and hope that tomorrow doesn’t bring a need for it.
Lastly, I grab my canteen from under my pillow. I uncap it, and the room is instantly full of the dense, earthy aroma of the sleep weeds from the crevasse. Time in the heat of the canteen has made them start to decompose, and I can only hope that it doesn’t affect their potency. I wrench the cap back on quickly, my heart thudding at what comes next.
The twin moons light my path down to the cistern from the cave. I wished we were completely obscured, but this world seems to have no clouds, and the phase of the moon seems nearly constant. In the near darkness, I see the shape of Brian crouched next to it. I make my way slowly down the hill to join him, careful to avoid making excess noise.
One of the major flaws in my plan, that both Brian and I have recognized in the past few days, is a complete lack of knowledge on what surveillance there is on this encampment. It seems unlikely with the level of technology the guards have, and the value of these miners, that there would be none. But despite careful checking, neither of us have seen any evidence. Still, we do what we can to prevent being noticeable.
We work quickly, our actions already discussed while we worked in the mine that evening. Brian takes a thin rope made from scraps of old jumpsuits, and ties it to the neck of the canteen. He leaves the cap barely engaged at the end of its threads while I hold it out over the cistern. He gives the rope a few careful tugs, and then when our eyes meet in the dark, he gives me a quiet nod.
The plan is to have the cap hold the rope onto the canteen so we can slowly lower it to the bottom. Once the canteen is near the water’s edge, a quick snap of the line will break both it and the cap free. With Brian’s nod being the signal for me to release the canteen so that he can start lowering it, I let go. And then I watch our plan fail spectacularly.
As soon as I release my grip, the weight of the canteen on the threads causes it to rotate slightly and dislodge. Seeing that the canteen is about to fall into the water far below, both Brian and I throw our hands out to grab it. They collide into each other, and then into the canteen, throwing it into the side of the cistern with a loud, resonating CLANG. Brian and I duck down, and listen to the container ricochet around the walls on its freefall down. It lands in the water below with a splash, and then everything is quiet again.
Brian and I wait next to the well, barely daring to breathe, and wait for the world to crash down around us. Time dillates, and in my panic I latch onto each night noise as the coming of the guards. But as the stillness of the night descends again, and the time stretches longer, our tensions ease. Brian reaches out to me and grabs my shoulder, and gives me another solemn nod in the darkness. Then he carefully moves away from the well, and I watch as he travels quietly back up the grass slope to his cave. It’s started, we’ll see what happens next.
I go to find Charon afterwards. I’m quieter than I’ve ever been sneaking to the edge of the mine, tray of leftover food in hand. I can feel the fatigue from the day, from all my days here, resting on my shoulders. But an excited nervousness drives me forward. I pay attention to every noise and rustle on the way.
“Charon, are you there?”
I’m about to call out again when I hear a weak response from above me. “Yesss, huuungry.”
I’m immediately stabbed by guilt at the thought of my friend starving. I’ve been bringing him food daily, but only what I can stow away without drawing attention. Like on previous nights, I carefully throw what I’ve brought to the top of the cliff wall. I hear him immediately tear into it, and then the night grows quiet again.
“This is the last night Charon, we make our move tomorrow. I’ve poisoned the well, it will knock the guards out. Can you come down here in the morning? Then you can feast.”
“Oookay.”
There’s so much more I want to say. To tell him that I miss him, that I’m excited to leave this place, that I’m sorry for how hard this has been. But the distance and darkness between us makes it all sound strange in my head. I find myself yearning for our days of exploring the cosmos together.
“I’m sorry friend, we’ll be out of here soon.” I say into the dark. Charon gives me a slight growl in acknowledgement, and it makes my spirit soar.
–
I shield my eyes against the morning sun as I watch the flyer come in. Every moment feels laced with potential. The flat bottom of the craft catches the sunlight as it starts its descent, and forces me to look away. I look around the camp, and see every other miner outside of their caves watching the craft. We look too interested.
I start the walk to the center of the camp, just as I have on other mornings. If this is successful, maybe I can take the flyer back to the palace after we leave all the miners at the city. Maybe I can use it to rescue Dotty. I feel so far from my goal, but for the first time since I came to the mine, there’s a glimmer of hope.
As the ship descends and I get a glimpse of the top of the craft, that hope immediately sours. Every food delivery there have been two guards. One stays on the ship while the other stays near the well. This morning, there are four of them, one steering the ship downwards and the other three poised at the railing. Do they know? My heart sinks further when I see they don’t carry their usual Sonic Cannons, the long gleaming silver guns have been replaced by something much shorter and blacker. Something whose devastation I know too well. Melters. f*ck.
They spot me suddenly, all three visors snap downwards and stare at me. In unison, the guards step down from the flyer and plummet the final meters to the ground. Before they land, small jets on their boots kick on and slow their fall. The whole scene is clouded in dust and dirt, and I hear some of the other miner’s scream as they seek cover back in their homes. There’s no sense in running, there’s nowhere to run to.
I think through my options, but I can’t see a single way that I take on three guards armed with melters and survive. My armor wouldn’t survive it, and my wrist knife feels incredibly inadequate here. Through the dust, the three come for me, melters raised. I feel a defeat so crushing that I can only stand there, shoulders slumped, and wait for what comes next.
At least they only seem interested in me. Maybe they’ll leave the others alone. I had to try something.
“Get on your knees, f*cker!” The one to my right screams, and I comply with my hands raised.
I see the miners staring at me from around the encampment now. They’re in the mouths of caves, or paused on the hill down to the craft. Their eyes catch mine, and then shoot down in shame. They’ve got the right of it. This was my plan, no one else needs to bear the consequences.
The pilot’s co*ckpit slides open as the guards shuffle closer and hem me in, guns still raised. Their bodies obscure my view, but I hear footsteps crunching on the dirt as they approach us. The guards part suddenly, and a man with golden hair and a proudly jutting chin stars disdainfully down at me. His armor is golden, but he’s foregone the helmet the guards keep on. A chain hangs around his neck, a single pendant of white marble.
He meets my eyes and sighs dramatically. “You must be Nicholas Fiveboroughs. The one from this world was a pain also, had you heard?”
I stare up at him, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “How do you know my name?”
He laughs deeply, but there’s no mirth in it. “We heard your story from the Narrator.” I flinch at the name. “And you can call me Prince Allen Cloudspire, I believe you’re familiar with the name?”
I stare at him, mind swirling, and he laughs again.
“The Narrator told us he likes to keep our names the same from city to city; he likes the story telling opportunity. We’re not actually related of course, you were never really Allen Cloudspire anyways. How fitting that you’ve come to a new city and wound up right back in the dirt where you belong.” That laugh again, then he kneels down in front of me. As he does, the guards tighten their perimeter until they’re all just a few paces away.
I glower into his blue eyes. “How did you know I was here?”
“The guards told me they picked someone up outside the city recently, so we reviewed the camera footage.” He points up to the cliff wall above me, and my stomach sinks. Do they know everything, then? “It was fairly easy to piece together when Dorothy started asking if we’d seen her friends.”
“Dorothy, she’s at the palace then? Is she safe?”
“Oh yes, quite safe. I need her to be, she’s the only woman with a working womb here, everyone else had too much Indigo. Besides those cretins in the city, but they’re not of good stock anyways. Not my first pick if we’re being honest, she’s got quite a fiery temper. I prefer my women more docile, but maybe she will be after bearing a few children.” He stands and shrugs, indifferent to the anger that’s flushed my face.
I understand the monstrosity finally. The Narrator told them we were coming, and then lured Dotty to the palace. Their family lineage can’t continue without heirs, they want to be the only family to make children in this hell. It’s so petty, so stupid. Dotty and I wandered through the cosmos to come here, exploring other worlds after freeing our own. Just for her to be held as an unwilling bride, and me to be likely killed. Rage soars inside me, and as the Prince turns to walk away, I lunge for his back.
He’s outside the ring of guards now, but I almost have him. Then I feel a steely grip grab me on either arm and stop my progress. I struggle against it, trying to free myself, but the guards hold me firm. The third steps up behind me, and I feel the cool metal of a melter rest against the back of my head.
The Prince turns back around at the noise, and gives me an exhausted expression. “Don’t kill him just yet, my father wants to interrogate him. Bind him for now, we still need to let the cattle eat.” Turning back to the miners he screams; “What are you looking at, slaves! There’s your f*cking breakfast, start eating and get to work.” Then, turning back to the guards he adds; “I’m thirsty, is this water here safe to drink?”
“Yes sir, although the cistern is low so it may taste like dirt.” One of them responds.
I smile, despite it all. Knowing that I’ll still just as likely die later, but now there’s a small glimmer of hope in my chest. They have no clue about the well. Maybe, just maybe.
The guard behind me removes the melter, and wrenches my arms behind my back. Cool metal straps circle my wrist, and cinch shut.
“Prisoner secured.” He says, and the other two let go of my arms and step back. “I’m thirsty too, watch him.” He steps around them and I watch him follow the Prince onto the flyer to grab a canteen.
“What are you smiling at, rat?” The guard to my right says, and then punches me squarely in the face.
I fall onto the ground, my bound hands pinned underneath me. But the pain of the punch barely registers. I shift my body to watch as the Prince and one of the guards step over to the cistern and fill their canteens. They take long, greedy gulps, completely unaware of the chance they’ve given me. A grin spreads across my face, and I taste the blood that’s streaming from my nose then.
I feel a vibration growing in the earth, and then the familiar sound it always carries as it draws near. As it rises and drowns out the morning, everyone’s attention shifts. I can’t see it from behind the guard’s bodies, but I know it so well there’s no need. The lift is returning from the mine. It’s returning from a mine that should be empty. From the pitch, I know it will crest the top of the mine shaft at any moment.
It gives me the opportunity I need. When the guards turn around to see who or what rides the lift, I carefully position my bound wrists, and then angle my hand backwards to extend my hidden plasma knife. I feel it rip into my other arm, and as the smell of roasting flesh drifts upwards from behind me, the grip of the bonds loosens.
I tear my arms apart, and rise up behind the guards. There is a fury inside of me. A rage at this world, at all the worlds that live on the backs of their own people. That use and use and use so that a few can live more comfortably than the rest. I rise up in time to see the occupants of the lift come into view. And with a face covered in blood, I smile.
