The Omega Cage Page 5

  Maro nodded at Scanner's droud. "Can you find out what?"

  "Maybe. If I'm careful." Scanner shrugged. "Not for a few days, though. Our shift works the garden tomorrow."

  "I ran a tractor when I was a kid," Maro said.

  Scanner laughed. "Tractor? That won't come in very handy. Everything here is done the hard way. I hope you've had experience with a rake or a hoe."

  "You're joking. Even the most backward world—"

  "—has machinery," Scanner finished. "But this is Omega, remember? We're not just backward—we're last."

  "I guess so."

  Scanner grinned. "Cheer up—at least you get to see outside. You'll find it interesting, I assure you."

  With the dawn, Maro was awakened by a clanging gong. He was hastily herded into formation along with a hundred other prisoners, marched through the main ground gate and along a rutted dirt road for a half-klick to the west end of the Zonn wall. Ten guards, armed with laser-aimed automatic shotguns, rode along with them in three small, wheeled electric trucks.

  As they marched, Maro asked Scanner, "There many of those vehicles around?"

  "Maybe a dozen, but forget it. Nothing that moves on the ground would get more than a few klicks away. There are no roads except the ones right around the prison. Between the swamps and the deserts, a truck would be about as useful as a pseudopod."

  Something screamed then, an inhuman howl of rage. Maro twisted just in time to see a four-legged beast the size of a big dog charging from a thick stand of brush directly at the line of prisoners. A dot of red light appeared on the thing's fur suddenly, and then the shotguns went off. One of the guards near Maro had jumped from the truck and now stood wide-legged, his weapon held at hip level, firing on full auto. The roar was continuous.

  The dog-beast stopped as if it had run into a solid wall. Blood gouted from its fur and its snout and eyes vanished as if wiped away by a steel claw. Several shotgun blasts had connected, and in an instant the thing was nothing more than a mass of red fur and gore.

  After the shotguns blasts, the silence seemed all the more deadly.

  Maro looked questioningly at Scanner. "Bush dog," the latter said. "Nasty critters—not scared of anything. The jungle is full of them. Also full of snakes, T-birds, dragonbats, creepers, suck vines and shrats—that's what they call a little beast the size of a rabbit that looks like a cross between a shrew and a rat. Meaner than a wolverine. Then there's the insects, spiders and poison thorns. Something to think about, my friend. The guns and guards aren't to keep us from running when we're in the field; they're to protect us. On a good day we'll get maybe half a dozen bush dogs attacking, as well as some T-birds—T as in teeth—a dragonbat or two, and the shrats."

  "You're serious," Maro said.

  "Oh, yeah. The plants you don't have to worry about much—we're working in a cleared area—and the bugs are kept down by low-voltage zap fields. But the animals don't have enough sense to be afraid. I watched a pack of dogs come at us one at a time, once. Each one watched the one in front of it get blown away, and yet each one made his run."

  "This doesn't sound promising."

  Scanner grinned. "Now you see a little more clearly why there hasn't been a general exodus of prisoners seeking their fortunes in the hospitable Omegan landscape?"

  Maro exhaled. "Yeah."

  Juete massaged his naked back as Stark lay face down on his bed. She straddled his hips, leaning into the motions, the heels of her hands pressing hard against the knots in his muscles. She was very good at this; of course, Exotics were taught such things almost from birth. He felt the tension begin to ebb.

  "I think I'm going to have trouble with the new inmate," Stark said into the pillow under his head. Even though he lay nude upon the sheet, the chill of the air conditioner barely kept him cool.

  "Oh?" her voice was noncommittal. Polite interest, no more.

  "He knows something that the Confed wants. Something about Black Sun. They're sending one of the Soldatutmarkt ghouls to question him personally. A man named Karnaaj."

  The rhythm of her hands faltered for a moment, then resumed.

  "Something wrong?"

  Juete changed into a percussive mode, pounding along the sides of his spine. "I—think I have heard the name." The hammering of her small fists felt wonderful.

  "Karnaaj is not a nice man. Maro will find that out."

  Abruptly he twisted, so that he now lay on his back.

  Juete now straddled his crotch. She was as naked as he was. "Come here," he commanded, pulling her down to his chest. He thrust and slid easily into her. She was ready. She was always ready.

  To hell with Maro. To hell with Karnaaj. This was all that was important, to be with this woman, to be in her and moving this way. Juete moaned and began moving faster. Stark grinned fiercely at the ceiling. As grim and horrible as Omega was, this was his world. He would let no one interfere with the way he ran it—not even the Confed.

  Chapter Seven

  After two days of broiling in the tropical sunshine and fending off an amazing number of attacks by Omega's native flora and fauna, Maro's shift was relieved of garden chores. The next duty would be spent cleaning and painting inside the prison, an easier job by far. When the third day began, Maro found himself at work in the miniscule library, along with Scanner, restocking shelves.

  "I pulled in a couple of favors for this duty," Scanner said in a low tone, watching the guard amble away from them. "Watch the portal."

  Maro did as he was instructed. The hallway outside was empty. He said as much.

  "Good. Let me know if that changes."

  Scanner went to a shelf of old-style video cartridges. From one of the plastic units he removed a small object, which he held up for Maro to see. It took a moment for the smuggler to realize what it was: a droud plug of some kind.

  The electronics master moved to the library's computer console, keyed in a sequence, then sat down in the chair before the blank screen. He then inserted the droud plug into his skull socket. The other end of the cable he jacked into one of the computer's ports. His face immediately cleared of expression; he looked, Maro thought, much as the mindwiped prisoner had looked after the procedure that had taken his identity.

  Maro stared at his friend for a moment, then glanced back out into the hallway. Still empty.

  Thirty seconds passed.

  "That's it," Scanner said.

  Maro turned to see the smaller man disconnecting the droud plug. "Fast," Maro said.

  Scanner smiled. "Slow. I just spent the equivalent of a long vacation browsing the prison computer's files on you. And I'm sorry to say that you are up to your armpits in excrement, friend."

  Stark stood on the balcony outside his personal cube, watching a line of men dig a trench for new water piping. Next to him the portable cooler hummed, setting a convection current of cold air swirling around him, protection against the heat of the day.

  Stark felt uneasy, though he could not have said exactly why. There was no reason for it. The prisoners were quiet enough; the assigned work was either on time or actually ahead of schedule; he had just been with Juete and was sated. And yet something prodded him, a nagging itch at the edges of his perception.

  He turned away irritably from the digging men and moved to the other end of the balcony. The cooler followed him, doglike, its tone changing as it sped up to chill the additional hot air.

  Maybe it was the impending visit by Karnaaj. A few more days and the man would be here. Ostensibly, Karnaaj had no direct power over him; practically, a bad report from the man would weigh heavily upon Stark. A smooth-working prison had to greet the Confed man, and it seemed almost too good to be true that things were going so well currently. He worried that it might be the calm before the storm. He most assuredly did not wish for any disturbance while Karnaaj was within earshot.

  He would have his guards pay special attention to the day-to-day operations, and his dips among the prisoners would be told to bring rumors
of anything as soon as they heard them. If this were a prison on any civilized world he would have a bevy of electronics eavesdropping everywhere. Every grunt would register, be computer analyzed and extrapolated for meaning—if he had the equipment. Might as well wish for a billion standards, tax free, while you are at it. Stark told himself sarcastically. He didn't have the gear or the budget for it. In many ways—most ways—his operation here was no better off than one of the many penitentiaries on Earth centuries ago. There was no help for that; he would simply have to make do.

  Well, that wasn't strictly true. There were some items he had managed to secure either by favors or more devious means. If things ever got really bad he had the Juggernaut…

  Stark turned back toward his cube. No point in worrying about worst-case scenarios; they weren't likely to happen. No, he just had to keep things running smoothly until Karnaaj sucked Maro dry and left. After that, things would be back to normal.

  Or as normal as they got around here…

  Supper done, Maro moved to the yard. Insects buzzed and fluttered, despite the small zap fields set up around the prison. The tropical night began to enshroud the yard, and fat moths came out to bounce from the big HT lamps that bathed the prison in hard-edged brightness.

  He hated this time of day, no matter what world he was on. He hated it particularly if he was in a prison yard, because then it was most difficult to ignore the voices far at the back of his skull that reminded him of what his life had come to, what it might have been, had things gone differently…

  "I hear you maybe have trouble on the way," a voice said behind him. It was Raze.

  Without turning, Maro said, "Maybe."

  "Karnaaj has been here before," she said. "Been a while. Last guy he came to see didn't survive it."

  Maro turned slowly. The bodybuilder wore a prison coverall, opened enough so that he could see the tan lines on her body, pale against the darker brown overlaying the hard muscle.

  "You know anything about Black Sun?" he asked.

  Raze shrugged. "What everybody does. I never did much business with them directly."

  "I did. As long as I did what they wanted, we got along. I was pretty good at my trade; I could get things on and off some tight planets. Black Sun contracted for my services more than a few times. Until I decided I could make a better profit on my own."

  Raze smiled. "A mistake?"

  Maro laughed, a short, bitter sound. "Some people might think so. I'm in here because I stepped on their toes. I never was very good at taking orders."

  "You know a lot about them."

  "So Scanner told you. Yes. And I figure Karnaaj plans to either score points by snapping up a few minor operators to dangle before his Confed bosses, or else buy his way into the organization, to cut a piece of the action."

  "You gonna tell him what you know?"

  A few more prisoners drifted toward them. Maro saw Scanner and Sandoz among the inmates.

  "I think not."

  Raze laughed, a pleasant sound. "Honor among thieves? Or are you worried that Black Sun will get to you even here?"

  It was Maro's turn to shrug. "If they want me bad enough, they could find me if I were hiding in a black hole. I don't owe them anything. Then again, I owe the Confed even less. Black Sun set me up, but the Confed runs this pit. Black Sun at least admits to what it is—criminals out to make a profit. The Confed pretends to be a benevolent government, which is as big a lie as ever was told in this galaxy. I'd rather be dead than help them."

  "Nice speech," Sandoz said. "But how well do you think it'll work when they start hammering on you? You'll tell them then. You won't have a choice. They'll pry it out of you. I know—I've been there."

  "At least they'll have to pry it out," Maro said.

  "Maybe it won't come to that," Scanner murmured.

  The others looked at him. He continued, "I found something else while I was dancing over your file. A map. Very detailed, covering the entire hemisphere. If you can figure a way to get us over the wall, I can plot a path away from here."

  There was silence for a long moment. "Why didn't you find this before?" Sandoz asked suspiciously. "You've been poking around in that goddamned computer for five years."

  Scanner shook his head. "I don't know. It wasn't there before."

  "Could it be a trick? Put there for you to find?"

  "I don't think so," Scanner said. "It shows things some of us have seen, just where they're supposed to be. I don't think they know I can get in. I don't leave tracks."

  Maro said, "It's worth looking at, this map. If we can figure out a way over the wall…"

  "That should be easy," Sandoz said, his voice heavy with irony.

  Maro looked at Scanner. "You know anything about interparticle physics?"

  Scanner gave out one short chuckle. "Oh, sure. Every night before I go to sleep I try to read all the latest sub-atomic research, done by my esteemed colleagues here." He waved one hand to encompass the other inmates.

  Maro ignored the sarcasm. "You know what a Bender is?"

  "I know that, yes."

  "Can you find out about the Zonn? Anything on the city they left here?"

  "I can find what there is," Scanner said. "Why?"

  "Maybe nothing. But," Maro said, "I met a man once—a xenologist. He told me some things about the Zonn artifacts; some theories about the materials they used. It might help us."

  Sandoz smiled. "I can tell you the stuff makes diamond look like clay. Half a million years old and there isn't a scratch on it. You planning on walking through those walls, Maro?"

  Maro said, "I don't know. Maybe."

  Juete lay next to Stark, listening to the even sound of the warden's breathing. He was asleep, but unless she moved with great care, she would awaken him. She could tell him she was going to the fresher, which was true enough; but if he were awake, he would wait for her to return. And likely he would want her again. As much as she liked sex, as much as she had to have it, she did not want to be with Stark right now. To be a prisoner was bad enough; to be a slave was worse. She hated him; worse, she hated herself for responding to him when he took her. There was no help for it—it was the way she was. More than once she had cursed the fate that had made her an albino Exotic.

  Stark solved her dilemma by rolling from his back onto his side, facing away from her. Juete moved quickly, so that the bed's motion caused by her leaving would be unnoticed in his changing of position.

  She stood next to the bed for a moment and waited for his breathing to resume the cadence of deep sleep, then moved quietly away to the fresher. Inside, she shut the door and dialed the light up slightly, but not to full brightness. She sat on the covered bidet and drew her feet up to touch her bare buttocks, clasping her arms around her knees. She took several deep breaths, letting them out softly.

  After a moment, the tears began to flow. She cried silently, mouth open wide so he would not hear her sobs. When he slept was her only time alone, the only time she could be reasonably sure that he would not send for her. If he caught her crying, he would demand to know what was wrong. When she had first arrived, she had thought to blame the tears on things around her. Once she had said a prisoner had spoken harshly to her. For that lie, the man paid with his life. Juete could not forget that, no matter how she tried. That was when she knew that she was his slave, now and forever.

  He owned her. Her sentence had been commuted—he didn't know that she knew—and she was certain that he meant to take her with him when he left the Cage. That was all that kept her going—the thought that someday she might leave this hellish planet. Even as his slave, there was a chance she could escape him once they were back on a civilized world.

  Stark wanted her to love him; Juete could feel that as she had felt it with a dozen others. They all wanted her, but they also wanted her to love them, body and soul and mind, exclusively and forever. She had withheld that from him, had kept it as her final trump. When he was transferred, as someday he must be, she wou
ld play it then, pretend to give him that which he wanted so much. Once he believed that she loved him, he would relax his vigilance. And once he loosened his hold on her, even a fraction, she could flee.

  The tears flowed faster as she thought about escape. To be free, to have the choice of where to go, and with whom, that was her goal. Without it she would have no reason to continue living. With it, there was hope, however small and distant it might be.

  "Juete?"

  The sound froze her, even sleep-fogged as it was. She wiped the tears away with both hands as though he could see through the panel.

  "In the fresher," she called.

  "Hurry back," he said. His voice was more awake now. "I have a surprise for you."

  The Exotic had to squeeze her eyes shut quickly to keep from crying again. Quickly, she ran cold water in the basin and washed her face and hands. She dried herself and forced a fake smile into place. The master calls, whore. Go and give him that which he desires—for now. But someday it will change.

  Someday . . .

  Chapter Eight

  Commander Karnaaj sat stiffly in the chair across from Stark, as if he were afraid that the inert chunk of furniture might swallow him alive if he relaxed in the slightest. Stark found himself struck once again by the bloodless features. Karnaaj's skin was almost as pale as Juete's.

  "Is he ready to talk?" Karnaaj said.

  Stark glanced away from the other man's unblinking stare. "I think not. Exposure to the other convicts affected him not at all; I threatened him with mindwipe, but if he was afraid, I could not detect it. I hesitated to utilize any stronger methods, knowing your insistance on keeping him available." Do your own damned work. Stark thought. If he dies, you can't blame me for it.

  "I see." The intelligence officer removed a small flatscreen unit the size of his palm from his gray uniform tunic, thumbed up a file and glanced at it. Stark sat quietly fuming as Karnaaj ignored him. Finally, Karnaaj said, "I have business in the city."