Clark bent over mud, stabbing it with his short stick and jamming plants in as if each were one of the golden men. Or possibly Jerrus. The Enforcer was impossible. He forbade them to talk, even in whispers at night. He dictated who did what in the compound, denying Clark water one night and blocking him from using the stream. Clark still had bruises from trying to get past the larger man. Jerrus was big and mean and knew how to fight. Clark was lucky to get away without any broken bones.
The late nights whispering together with the few who were willing to chance Jerrus’ anger hadn’t come up with any plans. They had nothing to work with. The cliff was unclimbable, and even if by some miracle they did make it to the top of the canyon, they still had the force shield and the tractor beams to deal with.
They’d told their stories, huddling close and whispering so Jerrus wouldn’t hear. The trap was the same. A distress beacon and sometimes a broken voice message intercepted by their ships. They made the decision to investigate. And ended up here, ships landing hard and pinned to the ground above the canyon. The golden men had used wands and black boxes to draw them from their ships and subdue them.
The golden men were their own puzzle. They used very sophisticated technology and yet seemed to be primitive themselves. They also didn’t seem too bright. But they were big and fast. If he couldn’t beat Jerrus, there was no chance of beating one of the guards. Even if he could get the wand away first.
The morning dragged past, as slow as the rest, a timeless blur of mud and holes and thin green shoots. The sun overhead was hot, the wet heat collected in the field in a thick haze. Clark wiped sweat from his face. His back ached. His boots squelched through the mud.
He heard the distant shouting and first thought it was some kind of bird he hadn’t seen yet. The guards around their field snapped to attention, staring to the south. Clark straightened and rubbed his back. The guards moved to the far side of the field, intent on the distant clamor.
“Now,” Clark shouted, taking the opportunity the guards’s inattention gave him. He dropped the bundle of plants, intending to run to the far side of the field and away into the trees.
Jerrus stood in front of him. “It is not permitted.” His mud streaked black uniform blocked Clark’s view.
“Move, Jerrus,” Clark said.
Jerrus swung. His huge fist barely missed Clark’s ear. Clark ducked to one side. Jerrus followed through, twisting to meet him again. The others in the field dropped tools and ran across the wet mud.
Six guards, ones with tool belts and wands stepped out of the far trees. The prisoners slowed, sliding to a stop in the mud.
Jerrus swung at Clark again. Clark kicked him in the shins. Jerrus didn’t even seem to feel it. Clark backed away as Jerrus came after him.
“You will return,” a golden man ordered. He gestured with his wand at a path.
Their regular guards had come back. The moment to run was gone, if it had ever existed. The prisoners picked their way across the trampled field to the path, herded by the proximity of the wands. Clark turned away from Jerrus.
Jerrus hit him, knocking him face first into the mud. Clark gasped for breath. He heard a strangled grunt behind him. Jerrus crashed into the mud beside him. The Enforcer’s face twisted into a grimace, his eyes rolled up into his head, his breath gurgling in his throat. A guard bent over Jerrus and touched him again with his wand. Jerrus twitched and quit breathing. The guard left him lying in the mud. Clark scrambled to his feet when the guard turned to him.
“You will go with the others,” the guard said. There was no inflection in his voice, no intelligence in the blue eyes.
Clark went, walking quickly across the mud to catch up with the others. The guard was right behind him.
They moved onto the trail. The distant shouts grew in volume. Their guards waved wands, they moved faster, breaking into a tired run. The path twisted around a tall rock sticking up through the valley floor. Clark was sure he’d never seen it before. They weren’t going back to their compound.
The path crossed a sluggish stream, knee deep water as warm as the air. Their guards herded them through. The path continued on the far side, winding towards the towering cliff that made up the wall of the canyon.
The shouts were louder. Their guards stopped them against another rock, watching with agitation as more men ran through the woods. They held their wands nervously as they watched the others crash past.
Someone had escaped. Whoever it was, they were giving the golden men a challenge in recapturing them. He silently cheered the runner on.
The shouts died away in the distance. Their guards rounded them up and started them moving again. The path wove around another thick clump of trees and opened in a flat of thin grass. The black mouth of a cave loomed ahead. Their guards pushed them towards it, picking up the pace.
They ran into darkness, and found more people huddled in the cave. Their guards shouted outside and the mouth of the cave slid shut with a loud rumble that echoed in the darkness. There wasn’t any light in the cave. Clark stumbled to a stop, tripping over someone who moaned in the dark. He stood still, afraid of stepping on someone else.
What could he do with the opportunity that had been handed to them? He’d missed his escape, maybe he could do something here. The cave had to hold at least fifty people, if not more. He caught glimpses before the door was shut.
“Who’s here?” he called out. “Captain Esslen?”
“Over here,” Joli answered to his left. “What do you want me to do, Clark?”
“Find the rest of our group.”
“Who are you?” a new voice asked, a deep bass that rumbled in the confined space.
“The name’s Clark. Who are you? What group are you from?”
“Commander Fineas Blaggend,” the bass voice answered. “They use us to haul plants to the cooking pots. What group are you?”
“We plant the stuff,” Clark answered.
“Dameon Pritchett,” someone else said out of the dark. “Assistant navigator on the Korisan Mui. I’m with another planting group.”
“Major Barret, pilot for the Deep Water,” someone else said.
“Captain Esslen?” a woman asked from back farther in the cave. “It’s me, Sherris.”
“Sherris? Are you all right?” Joli sounded both concerned and relieved. “Anyone else here crew from the Tommy?”
Half a dozen other voices answered from the dark.
“Altair crew, report,” Commander Blaggend’s voice rumbled through the cave. More voices answered, stating names and positions.
Others followed, naming ships one after the other.
“I think I’ve found something,” someone said over the growing talk. A loud click echoed in the cave, followed by a buzz. A dim yellow light filtered down from cracked fixtures high overhead.
Judging from the number of ship names, there had to be several hundred prisoners on the planet, at least.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Clark deliberately didn’t think about the voice he really wanted to hear. Jasyn wasn’t there, or she would have said something by now.
He pushed aside a disappointment so strong it hurt and went to work organizing those in the cave.