Outer Bounds: Fortune's Rising (22 page)

 “So,” Magali said, avoiding his
nakedness despite the fact he made no move to hide it.  “They smash your hand
in a door and then they let you out for the day?  How’s that work?”

Joel straightened from his
wound.  “Money.”

“Enough money to buy themselves a
new smuggler, in case this one escapes?”

For the first time, Magali saw
the beginnings of a smile on Joel’s lean face.  

He gave her a considering look. 
Finally, he said, “See those spaceships over there?”  He nodded at the six
fancy Coalition transports.

Magali eyed the double-hulled
beauties sitting on the other side of the razor wire.  The whole town of
Deaddrunk could pool their resources—money, guns, ships, land, houses—and still
never be able to afford just one of those ships.  They were a symbol of what
Anna called the “Coaler Occupation.”  Disgusted, she said, “What about them?”

Joel made a dismissive gesture
with his ruined hand.  “On average, a standard sack can hold two hundred and
fifty-eight Shrieker nodules.  If they’re properly distilled, each nodule can
produce as much as fourteen grams of Yolk.  You could buy a spaceship like that
with about two hundred grams of Yolk, on the free market, back in the Inner
Bounds.  Core planets see even less of it, so they pay a premium.”

Magali forgot to breathe.  “That’s
less than a sack.”

Joel snorted.  “Try fifteen
nodules.”

She stared at him. 

“So,” Joel said, hefting his
burlap collection sack and prybar over his shoulder, “Yeah, I get the day off.”

Magali’s eyes drifted back to the
ships as she tried to imagine the sheer amount of wealth in the mines.  She
couldn’t.  She knew from one of Anna’s tirades that the troop transports that
the Nephyrs so casually flew around were roughly worth twenty million apiece, and
the mounds had whole chambers
filled
with nodules, millions of them
coating the floors, the hallways, the walls…and if just fifteen nodules was
worth a ship…  She swallowed, the Yolk drafts suddenly starting to make a lot
more sense.

Forcing herself to stop trying to
calculate how much money was in each individual full harvest sack, she glanced
back at Joel and took in his cuts and bruises—brutal testimony that he didn’t
have long to live.  “You coming back out at the end of the day?” she asked
softly.

Joel gave her a long look.  “What
do you think?”  Then he said nothing more, because the Nephyrs had finished
stripping those too shy to do it themselves and the cyborg had taken center
stage at the front of the gathering once more.

“All right, listen up,” the
Director said, cutting through the quiet sobbing of those forcibly removed from
their clothes.  She brushed a tadfly off of her glittering face and said, “Most
of you have never done a Harvest before, so here’s the drill.  The Shriekers
don’t like seeing their precious little babies stolen out from under them, so
don’t let them see you do it.  If they
do
see it, get your friends and
run like Hell, because they’ll probably start up a Shriek.  Aside from that,
we’re looking for the bright red nodules.  The
red
ones.  The black ones
are either dead or duds.  Questions so far?”

Beside Magali, Joel raised his
hand.  Impervious to the Director’s scowl, the smuggler said, “You might want
to tell them that the concentration of Yolk is much higher in the ones that
have a purplish tinge.”

“Shut up, Runaway.”

Joel gave the Director an
elegant, naked bow.

Without missing a beat, the Director
said.  “Everybody gets a collection sack.  If you didn’t bring one, raise your
hand and we will provide one for you.  Here’s the deal:  You fill up your sack
until you can’t get another nodule in, you get me?  You come to the front gate
and there’s extra room in the top of your sack, one of my men is going to
confiscate it and give you a new one to fill.  So it’s in your best interest to
make sure it’s full.”  She paused, frowning.  “What do you want, Runaway?”

Joel lowered his hand.  “Do you
have any bright red beach balls?”

The Director stared at him for a
moment, then shook herself and returned her attention to the eggers.  “Each
egger will be required to bring back one full sack from the mounds by the end
of Harvest.  The sacks are the same size for everybody, so no quibbling about
that.  If you
do
have issues with your sack, you can request a new one
now.”

Joel flicked a tadfly off of his
bloody wrist, looking utterly unconcerned with the Director or the black row of
Coalition Nephyrs surrounding the eggers.  Loudly, as if they were in the midst
of an utterly boring town-hall meeting, he interrupted with, “It’s really
helpful to bring a few bright red beach-balls along for a harvest.  Hell,
anything red will work.  Red attracts Shriekers during Harvest day like gunfire
attracts Nephyrs.  Motherly instinct and all that.  Get enough red in one
corner of the mounds and they’ll eventually congregate around it, leaving you
free run of the rest of the hatching chambers.”

Absolute silence followed his words.

The Director returned her
attention to Joel again, and Magali could feel the pressure of her gaze like
the titanium tracks of a tank.  Despite herself, she eased herself away from
the smuggler, who, for his part, seemed completely unaffected. 

Bored,
she thought,
amazed.

“Ferris?” the Director said.

“Yes, Director?” said three of
the gray-uniformed men wandering through the eggers, handing out collection
sacks.  All three stopped what they were doing and immediately turned to face
her.

They’re all
robots?
Magali
thought, stunned.  The only robots she had ever seen had been bulky,
commercial-grade mining bots that spent as much time in the maintenance shed as
they did hauling silver up and down the mineshaft.  These machines had been so
lifelike she hadn’t even realized they weren’t people.  A new sense of unease
began to creep along her spine.  If the Coalition was so far advanced it had
realistic AIs, how could the colonists—most of whom were still scrabbling in
the dirt just for their very survival—even have a prayer of defeating them?

Anna,
Magali thought,
Wherever
you are, I hope to God you know what you’re doing.

She got a mental image of a tiny
grave dug out in the bog pits, hastily filled in with wet peat.  Scrunching her
eyes against the guilt, Magali told herself,
She can take care of herself. 
She hasn’t needed me for years.

But could Anna stand up to
Nephyrs?  To being helpless while glittering monsters—some of whom were likely
as intelligent as Anna was—interrogated her?  It would be the Shrieker mounds
all over again…

Not my problem,
Magali
told herself.

Up on the podium, the Director
was still holding Joel’s gaze like a Coalition tank.  To the robots, she said,
“Those strawberry soda cartons are red, aren’t they?”

“Yes, Director,” the Ferrises
said at precisely the same moment.  It gave Magali chills.  One of them had
only been standing three feet away, and she hadn’t even realized it wasn’t
human. 

“The cartons would work,” Joel
agreed.

“If you’re trying to earn your
freedom or some bullshit…” the Director began.

Joel snorted.  “Freedom?  No, I
just want to make sure you have a good Yolk Harvest.”

“Like hell,” the Director said.

Joel just smiled.  He was missing
two front teeth.

After another long moment of
bulldozing Joel with her gaze, the Nephyr took a deep breath and said, “Ferris,
I want you to go collect some empty soda cartons once you finish passing out
collection sacks.”   She then turned back to face the rest of the gathering.

“One more thing,” Joel said.

“
What?
” the Director
snapped, the circuitry around her eyes glittering in the blue-white LED
floodlights.

“If you have any tear gas—”

“I am
not
giving you tear
gas,” the Director snarled.

Joel sighed.  “Or hot peppers or
cayenne powder, you can build a small fire in the central hatching chamber and
throw it on the flames.  It’ll make your lungs burn, but it’ll also make the
Shriekers’ eyes gum up so bad they won’t be able to see you.  Makes the harvest
go a lot faster if you’re not dancing from cave to cave, trying to keep out of
sight.  Lot less people die, too.”

The Director gave Joel another
long look, then said, “Ferris, when you’re done passing out sacks and have
found those boxes, get the foremen each some cayenne powder and some
campstoves.”  Then the Director gestured grandly at Joel.  “Anything
else
you want to add, Runaway?”

“Nope, that’s about it,” Joel
said.

The Nephyr grunted, then turned
back to address the gathering.  “Unless we have another resident expert in the
thieving and smuggling of Coalition Shrieker nodules, perhaps I will be able to
finish this speech before they all hatch.”

Joel laughed loud enough to make
the Director twitch, though there was no amusement in his face.  The rest of
the formation remained in utter, uncomfortable silence.

When no one else opened their
mouths, the Director said, “All right.  Foremen, get with the smuggler and
coordinate your efforts.  The rest of you, I want to make one thing clear: 
There is to be no fighting in the mounds.  Anyone caught stealing another
egger’s sack will be shot.  I am damn serious about this.  Work together, keep
it civil, and when Harvest is over, you’ll get a week to relax.  With that in
mind—”  The Camp Director pulled a clipboard out from under her arm and held it
up.  “We’ll be keeping tally of Yolk extraction.  The ten eggers that produce
the most Yolk this Harvest will get to go home, their service complete.  So, if
any of you would like to take extra bags into the mines, you’re free to do so.”

Beside Magali, Joel stiffened. 
“There’s no need for that,” he said.  “You’re making enough off every sack to—”

“Shut up, Runaway,” the Director
said.  “Ferris, he’s done talking for now.”

But the smuggler looked furious. 
“But we both know you’re just going to—” Joel continued, until his words cut
off abruptly.  Instantly, the smuggler’s body tightened and he let out a low
groan as he doubled forward.

“What’s wrong?” Magali asked,
grabbing him to keep him from falling.

Joel grimaced and shook his
head.  In doing so, Magali got her first look at the small area of his skull
against his neck that had been shorn, and the stitches that were still embedded
in skin that was red and inflamed. 

They chipped him,
she
thought, instantly repulsed.  Even the mere
thought
of those wiry
government monstrosities creeping along the spine of somebody she knew,
penetrating his brain, sending and receiving signals as he went on oblivious,
left her physically ill.  She had to fight the urge to step into line somewhere
else in formation, as if standing beside Joel too long would mean they’d chip
her, too.

Joel straightened back up and
gave the Director a black stare.

“Now,” the Director said, as if
Joel had ceased to exist, “Unless there are any questions, you’re free to go to
the mines.”

A little boy raised his hand.

“What?” the Director asked.

“I’m little,” the little boy
said.

The Director gave him a blank
stare.  “So?”

“So what if I don’t fill my
sack?” he asked, hefting the huge thing the robots had given him.  The thick,
tamper-proof, knife-resistant canvas material was heavy enough to make his
scrawny arms struggle to keep it off the ground, and the unfurled sack was
obviously bigger than he was. 
They can’t plan to make the kids harvest,
too,
Magali thought, appalled.

“Get someone else to help you,”
the Director said.

“My daddy got the Wide,” the boy
whimpered.  “I’m all alone now.”  He looked all alone, too.  The other eggers
seemed to have their attention focused elsewhere, avoiding looking at him
altogether.  They obviously weren’t going to help him.

“Get someone else to help you,”
the Director repeated.  “There’s plenty of nodules down there for everyone. 
Any egger who hasn’t brought a full sack out of the mounds by the end of Harvest
is going to get shot.”  She held the boy’s gaze.  “Even if you’re a cute little
kid.” 

The kid cringed, all but
disappearing into the pile of canvas in his arms.

Magali felt a familiar twinge
watching the little boy, but fought it down.  She had to worry about herself,
now.  She’d be lucky to get out of the mounds with one sack, let alone an extra
for the kid.  She supposed she should consider herself blessed she didn’t have
to fill Anna’s, as well.  Though she was reasonably sure Anna would have
helped, her seven-year-old body didn’t have the weight necessary to pry the
nodules from the floor.

Seeing the kid was finished
talking, the Director mercilessly scanned the crowd.  Raising her voice, the
cyborg snapped, “Understand? 
Everybody
fills their sack.  Don’t even
think
of coming out of there until you do.  The Coalition isn’t feeding and clothing
you for free.  Energy isn’t cheap this far into the Outer Bounds.  You people
need to earn your keep.”

Released from the Director’s
gaze, the little boy had slumped to the ground and was sitting on his naked
butt, his little shoulders quaking.

“Greedy bitch,” Joel muttered,
under his breath.  He was watching the whimpering little kid, anger contorting
his face.

Instantly, the cyborg’s head
swiveled.  “You say something there, Runaway?”

There’s no way she heard you,
Magali thought, panicking. 
Just lie.

“I said ‘Greedy bitch,” Joel
said, loud enough for the entire camp to hear. 

“They’re going to
kill
you,” Magali hissed, grabbing his arm.  “Please, don’t.”