Clark rubbed blisters and wondered how many days it had been. Six? Seven? Ten? Three? He couldn’t remember and he’d lost track. At least they weren’t working today. Clouds had rolled in during the night. Rain dripped through the canopy of trees, warm and persistent. He quit trying to stay dry and just concentrated on enjoying not having to move.
He was in a wide clearing with twenty other men and women, walled on three sides by thick thorn bushes. The last side was a sheer wall of rock. A tiny spring bubbled out of the rock wall thirty feet above, dripping over the sheer wall to gather in a small pool in the sand at the bottom. They used that for drinking.
He held out his hands, letting the rain wash some of the grime off. His nails were broken, rimed with black dirt that wouldn’t come clean. The sluggish stream that ran through their encampment wasn’t enough. He needed soap. He rubbed dirt from his hands, smearing it with the rain. He wasn’t going to get clean until he escaped.
That looked hopeless. Their routine hadn’t varied, until the rain started. An hour or so after sunrise, the golden men came with their wands and opened the thorn wall. They herded the prisoners down a path next to the stream. They stopped in a different clearing each day. The clearings were inevitably muddy and covered with stubble. Each prisoner spent the day jabbing holes into the ground and planting tiny green shoots one at a time.
Midmorning they were given a short break. A basket of white bricks was passed out. They were allowed to drink from the stream and eat the bland pasty things. They worked through the rest of the day until close to sunset. They were herded back to the clearing and given another food brick. The thorns were closed.
The first night, Clark had tried to talk with the others, although he was so tired he could barely move. Only one man had responded. He wore the tattered black uniform of a Patrol Enforcer. When Clark tried to talk, the man turned haunted eyes to him.
“Quiet,” he whispered. “Or they will come.”
The others who had watched turned away to their own private miseries.
He’d woken to the rain this morning. The Enforcer had seen him moving.
“Rain day,” he’d said cryptically and closed his eyes, enduring the endless drizzle.
No one else moved. Clark studied them. They all wore shipsuits. Half of them were Patrol uniforms. One woman in silver caught his eye. Her blond hair hung in wet strings. She sat next to the tiny waterfall, her back against the rock. Clark crossed the small clearing to sit next to her.
“What is this place?” he said quietly, keeping his voice just above a whisper.
She shrugged.
“The name’s Clark.” He stuck out one battered hand.
She looked at it blankly for a long time. He was ready to pull it back when she finally moved. She touched his hand with one that was calloused and rough. She clutched at his hand.
“It’s been so long since anyone talked,” she said, whispering. “Jerrus won’t allow it.”
“Why not?” Clark whispered back.
Jerrus, the Enforcer, was currently asleep, snoring loudly on his back with rain dripping through his ragged beard.
“Because they don’t allow it,” she said, jerking her head at the wall of thorns. She didn’t need to explain who they were. “Not in the fields. They’ve never done anything about it in here as long as we keep it low.” She reluctantly let go of his hand.
“So why does Jerrus not like it?”
She shook her head. “No one told me.” She tried to smile at her own weak joke. It came out strained. “What ship are you from? Not Patrol or you’d listen to Jerrus.”
“I’ve been out for just over a month,” he said.
“You were Patrol?” She looked surprised.
“Pilot on couriers, mostly. Glorified message runner.” He glanced at her collar. She still had insignia. “You’re a captain?”
“Joli Esslen, captain of the Tommy Ruiz. Or I was.” She shifted back, wiping dripping water from her face. “Tell me how long I’ve been here. What’s the date?”
He told her.
She leaned back against the wet rock and closed her eyes. “Too long. I don’t even know what happened to the rest of the crew. They separated us. I saw my navigator once, a long time ago. Haven’t seen him since.” She opened her eyes and looked at Clark. “What ship are you with, if you’re not Patrol anymore?”
“Small trade ship.” He looked down at his green shipsuit. And remembered Jasyn. He wished he’d been more patient with her.
“Crew?”
“There were three of us."
“Family ship?”
“I guess you could say that. I married one of them a month ago.” So short a time. A drop of rain crawled under his collar, tracing a cold path across his back.
She gave him a look full of sympathy.
“Tell me about this place,” Clark said. “What chance is there of getting out? The thorns can’t be that thick.”
“The thorns aren’t. They live not far away, though. No one’s ever gone very far. The last who tried were beaten to death, just outside. After that, Jerrus took command and made everyone follow his rules. He isn’t sane anymore.” She shifted to a different position. “It rains about once every eight days or so. When it does, we stay here. Otherwise we plant fields. Nothing else has happened since I was brought here. It should stop raining by nightfall.”
“Have you thought about escaping?”
“Every night,” she admitted in a quiet whisper. Jerrus was beginning to stir. “It isn’t possible.”
“If it were, would you try it with me?”
“Sure. I’m dead either way.” She leaned back against the rock and wrapped her arms around herself. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.
Clark shifted so the water dripping off the cliff didn’t land on him. He watched Jerrus wake up, wiping water from his scraggly beard. Jerrus gave him a dark glare before rolling over and going back to sleep. The rain trailed off into an intermittent drizzle. Streaks of orange sunlight broke through the clouds.
He missed Jasyn. Even fighting with her was better than not knowing where she was. He hoped Dace was still loose somewhere. With her out there wreaking havoc, his chances of escaping were much higher. He wanted out. He wanted his wife.
He went through his pockets. He had id plates and nothing else. He’d emptied his pockets on the ship days ago and hadn’t bothered to put things back. Now he wished he had. He rubbed his finger over the id plates. Dace had signed him on as permanent crew even though she’d suspected he was working for Lowell and the Patrol at the time. She’d been right. She still trusted him. He’d failed her before, when she was kidnapped from a nightclub. The whole thing had been a fiasco. The only good thing that had happened was Jasyn. He still couldn’t quite believe she’d married him.
Their fights had been stupid. He saw that now. Jasyn wasn’t someone who trusted or loved easily. With her past, what little she’d told him, he could understand. Why had he pushed her? He should have given her time and room to adjust. He rubbed his finger slowly across his name on the id plate and wished he’d done things differently. If he ever saw her again. . . No, not if. When. He had to hold on to that thought or he’d go as crazy as he suspected Jerrus was.
He put the id plates back in his pocket and watched the sun slowly drive the clouds away. Steam rose from the puddles as they evaporated into a thick muggy afternoon.
The men came at sunset with a basket of the brick things. The prisoners crowded forward and were handed one. Clark took his brick and sat next to Joli. He noticed she sat as far from Jerrus as the clearing allowed.
They were joined by two others, a man and woman both wearing Planetary Survey tan uniforms. The man leaned forward when Jerrus was occupied at the far end of the sluggish stream.
“Wade Breton,” he introduced himself. “We heard you talking earlier. If you have a plan, we want in.”
“I don’t have a plan,” Clark admitted. “I’m working on it, though. I’m not going to stay here until I die.”
“Most of the others will join us,” the woman said. “My name’s Enuri Akoma. I was a botanist. Not that it’s much help here.” She held up the uneaten half of her brick. “This is what they make from the grasses we’re planting. The whole ecosystem is very simple. It’s maintained artificially. It definitely isn’t native.”
“Quiet!” Jerrus’ mad glare pinned Enuri against the rock. He shifted his glare to each of them in turn, reserving the longest glare for Clark. “Quiet,” he repeated.
They sat until Jerrus wandered away again.
“After he’s asleep,” Clark said very softly. “We can start planning something. I don’t know what, though.”