114: the operation, part three

Aphrodam Mason paced anxiously, arms folded across his chest.  with each step, the thick soles of his knee-high boots clicked on the stone floor outside his father’s chamber.  he was a man of average height, pale, and crowned with bouncing, curly hair.  his face was smooth, childlike in a way that could be described as “pretty.”  he paused and turned to the two men that stood with him in the corridor.  “please, my brothers.  it has been too long since we have seen each other!  though i know this to be such a sad occasion, perhaps it would do us well to reacquaint ourselves.”

Arestian spat on the floor.  the youngest of the brothers, stocky and darkly complected, sneered at Aphrodam, whose gregariousness gave way suddenly to raw offence.

“you dare sully the floor of our father’s palace?” Aphrodam squealed.

“easy, brother.”  Hermialis, a tall and lean man with a day’s growth on his face, brushed his long, dark hair away from his left eye.  he leaned against a pillar casually, and his voice cut through the immensity of the antechamber with a  smoky timbre.  “we need not raise our voices — surely, there is mutual gain for all of us.”  as an afterthought, he added, “despite the tragedy that befalls us, of course.”  there was sympathy in his voice, but neither brother believed it.  Arestian proved that he did not.

“you speak of our father’s death as if it had already occurred,” the youngest brother rasped.  “and i do not doubt that you wish it had.  for there will be an heir.  and i see clearly that my two eldest brothers already feel the rock of our father’s throne against their shoulders.”

“you deny that you have lusted after the throne?” Hermialis asked coolly.

it was not Arestian but Aphrodam that responded.  “well i for one have had no such thoughts!  frankly, it disgusts me that either of you would even suggest such a thing!  the choice is, of course, up to father.  now that you mention it — i hadn’t considered it before, of course — but now that you mention it, i can see why father might choose me, after all.  i do not wish to brag, but is it not well known that i am the most beloved by the people?”

“the people?” Arestian growled.  “i can only assume you speak of the miners, Aphrodam.  do you suppose that any of the miners so much as know your name?”

“you imply that they know yours?” Aphrodam asked, his voice climbing into the tenor registers as he became more indignant.

“i make no such implication, you fool.”  Arestian’s dark voice boomed in the antechamber.  “and if you had half a mind, that would be obvious to you.  what i do imply is this: no miners know any of our names, and few know father’s.  the seat of the Patriarch is as weak now as it has been in a thousand years.”

“weaker, no doubt,” Hermialis cut in.  “Arestian is right, Aphrodam.  if this were a popularity contest we would all certainly lose.”

“well, what makes you more qualified, then?”  Aphrodam lofted the question with a whimper.

“do we elect each other, brothers?” the oldest brother asked.  “will debate among us prove to father which son should bear the throne?”

“you suppose it should be yours, Hermialis,” Arestian murmured acidly.  “as the eldest son, no doubt you believe your claim to the Patriarchy should be taken as a given.”

“i presuppose nothing,” Hermialis said placidly.  “you would do well do disregard your presuppositions.”

“and what exactly are those?” Arestian growled, turning to face his brother directly.

Hermialis was content to lean against the stone wall, calm in the ancient halls of generations gone by.  he regarded his youngest brother, admired his keen, vulture-like features, his strikingly red garments.  he noticed the slight flare of the nostrils, the increased heaving of the chest with each breath.  it had been over two years since Hermialis had last seen Arestian, but the youngest of his brothers was no less quick to anger then when last they’d met, though he was perhaps showing more restraint now than when they were younger.  it occurred to Hermialis that Arestian must have turned twenty-five since the last time he’d seen him: the youngest of the Masons, now a quarter century of age.

“you presuppose that each of us is set to destroy the others, that personal advantage can only be gained at the expense of other potential heirs.”

“can there not be only one Patriarch?” Arestian snarled.

Hermialis shrugged.  “historically, this has been the case.  but it is not the patriarch who writes the laws for future generations?”

“StarEx writes the laws,” Aphrodam interjected sourly.

“the corporation has power,” Hermialis said, energy growing in his voice, “but the Patriarchy has history.”  Hermialis stood erect, took a step towards his brothers.  “could this be the generation that brings the power back to the people?  could we be the ones that unite, that return the miners to the status they deserve?”

a moment of silence passed between the brothers.  Aphrodam twisted a black, curly lock of hair around a fingertip, looked blankly at the wall, floor, ceiling.  he began pacing again, said distractedly, “i wonder why it’s taking so long?”

to Hermialis, Arestian said, “do you make a proposal, brother?”

the eldest brother hesitated, then said, “yes.  i suggest that we can each arrive at a mutually-beneficial arrangement, which serves all our ends and results in a peaceful transfer of power once– once–”

“once the old man is out of the way?” Arestian said accusatorily.

“come, brother,” Hermialis said gently, opening his palms in a disarming gesture.  “this is no time for us to be enemies.”

“strange that only now do you make promises of peace,” Arestian returned.

Hermialis opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by Aphrodam’s surprised cry.  they turned to see the thick stone door to the Patriarch’s chamber slide open with the noisy rumbling of rock against rock.  Aphrodam sprinted into the chamber, and the other two brothers followed close behind him.

**

Issac kept his eyes focused on the heels of the man before him as they took step after step across the hangar.  the heels belonged to Sorensen, and they clicked across the concrete floor with the sound of defeat.  it was from the heels of the daysiders’ shoes that the StarEx troopers had removed hidden blades — Issac had no such blades in his shoes, of course; they were the same shoes he had come to Klin wearing.  he would learn later that the hidden blades were commonplace for miners, who apparently found themselves in situations where they needed blades frequently enough to justify working them in to the construction of their shoes.

Issac pulled his wrists against the magnetic cuffs that had been placed on him only moments before, just as they had been placed on all eight members of the rebel group.

“where are you taking us?” it was Cillian.  he was near the front of the single-file line, but Issac could not see him.    there was no response.  “hey, Jimbo.  i’m talkin’a you.  you gonna let us know where you’re taking us?”  there was fear behind the daysider’s callous tone.  if Issac could detect it, he was certain the StarEx security men could detect it.  suddenly, the line stopped, and Issac nearly ran into Sorensen’s back.  “look, i ain’t goin’ any further until you–”  Cillain’s voice was cut off by the sound of the butt end of a c-ray blaster coming down on his skull. Issac saw limbs flail, saw Cillian stretched out on the ground.  he held his head for a moment, laughed, and started to get back up, once again disappearing from Issac’s view behind the other captives. “alright, alright,” he said, his voice thin in cavernous room.  “fine, ya don’t feel like talkin’.  i get it.”

once again, the group started to move.  there were two grey-clad security men near Issac, one on each side.  he glanced to his side, took quick stock of the man on his left.  he was tall, pale skinned, and muscular.  his angled jaw remained locked as he looked straight ahead.  there was no doubt, though, that the man fully employed his peripheral vision, and that any unusual movement on Issac’s part would not go unnoticed.  the man held his c-ray blaster at his side, trigger finger resting along the barrel of the weapon, a split-second away from readiness.  a black utility belt held up his grey trousers, and held a variety of objects, some that Issac recognized, more that he did not.  among those familiar to him were an extra set of magnetic cuffs and a pair of particle detonators, famous for their dead man’s switch.  unlike most small explosives, the particle detonators could be set to explode instantaneously upon the trigger’s release.  they were popular in close-combat situations, where they could be used to create stalemates or, in utterly hopeless situations, to take out as many targets as possible along with yourself.  he thought it an odd choice for a StarEx trooper, noted it, lowered his head once again.

the group continued to move towards the end of the hangar, and soon stopped in front of a small door that was dwarfed in comparison to the adjacent rolling door — the first of many along the wall of the hangar — that opened for entering and exiting air- and spacecraft.  the lead StarEx trooper approached the door, and was about to place his hand on a palmscanner when a loud noise from the back of the hangar drew the group’s attention.  since the miners had been apprehended, a handful of pilots and service workers had found their way into the hangar, and were now, apparently, preparing a craft for takeoff.  it became apparent that the sound, a loud clang followed by a violent release of steam, was simply part of the preliminary launch procedure of a craft in the back row of the ships — it appeared to be a spacecraft to Issac’s untrained eye, though he could not be sure.

the lead trooper wasted only a second on the distraction: he was soon enough laying his hand on the palmscanner.  there was the usual sweeping motion of the scanner followed by a chirp, and the sound of an unlocking door.  instead of entering, though, the trooper took a step back, waited.  a moment later, the door swung open, and Issac recoiled in horror at what he saw.

in the door was the sadistically grinning Kantor Sefrin.

**

Aphrodam rushed to his father’s bedside, knelt, grasped the old man’s liver-spotted hand in his own.  “father,” he breathed, “they’ve made us wait so long to see you!”

Hermialis and Arestian followed briskly, but not too briskly.  they moved through the dark and cavernous sleeping quarters with a deliberately-paced walk, heel-clicks echoing against the arching stone walls.

“the doctors say i am very sick now,” Mason wheezed, folding his fingers over Aphrodam’s limply.  his eyes were closed; his face, pale.  he took gasping, shallow breaths.  “not much time left for the old man, eh?”  he made a noise that might have been taken for a laugh if not for the phlegm that nearly drowned it.

“i am here for you now, father,” Aphrodam crooned.  “your son is here.”  there were tears in his eyes, and he squeezed the Patriarch’s hand tightly.

“is it only you, Aphrodam?”  the old man’s head shook slightly, as if he was attempting to reach out with his failing ears.  the footfalls ceased as Hermialis and Arestian arrived at their father’s bedside.  Mason continued, “or are my other sons here as well?”

“yes, father, we are here,” Hermialis said.

“Hermialis, is that you?  my eldest son, have you come as well?”

“i am here.”

“and i hear another.”

“it is i,” Arestian said, allowing the sound of his voice to identify him.

“ah, the child,” Mason said warmly.  “now a man, i suppose.  you must be twenty by now.”

“twenty-five, father,” Arestian said, doing his best to mask his annoyance.

“yes, truly a man,” the Patriarch rasped.  “to think, my youngest, a man!  i am truly old.”

“do not say such things, father,” Aphrodam said apologetically.  “you are young to this world!  despite what the doctors say, ought we not have faith that you will live for many years to come?”

Mason hesitated, struggled for breath.  at last, he said, “no, you ought not have such faith, my son.”  there was sadness in his voice, as well as acceptance.  “my days in this galaxy are numbered, and that number is not great.  ah, let me see you!”  Mason’s face twitched briefly, and Aphrodam tensed, afraid his father was seizing.  but it was not so, and with great effort, the Patriarch’s eyes flitted open.  at first, they gazed aimlessly at the arched ceiling above him, unseeing.  then, a few blinks.  moisture returned to the old man’s bloodshot eyes, and they softened.  then, the softness faded, worked itself into sharpness.  Mason caught a glimpse of something far off, and slowly forced his focus onto something nearby.  the first eyes he met were Aphrodam’s, and Mason smiled.  jubilant, Aphrodam threw his free arm across his father’s shoulder, embraced him, began to cry.  the sudden movement set Mason to a fit of coughing, though, and Aphrodam quickly pulled away apologetically.  the Patriarch’s eyes closed again as he coughed, but as he calmed, his eyes opened once again.  this time, his eyes met those of Hermialis.  the eldest son brushed a streak of dark hair away from his eyes, greeted his father’s gaze with a smile.  slowly, Mason turned his head to the unsmiling face of Arestian.  the old man’s smile slowly faded into a frown.

“Arestian,” he wheezed.  “you are deeply troubled.”

Arestian fumbled for words momentarily, then said, “it saddens me to see you ailing, father.”

Mason paused, probed deeper into the young man’s face.  “i see violence in you, boy.”  the old man’s voice was grave.  he continued, “what rage do you bring here?”

Arestian laughed.  “i bring no rage, father.  only concern.”

Hermialis slapped Arestian on the shoulder.  “it is true, father.  Arestian has been worried nearly to death about you since we heard the news.”

Mason closed his eyes, inhaled deeply through is nose.  surprisingly, he took and released the air without coughing.  the breath seemed to calm the old man, and, in turn, it seemed to calm his sons.  “yes, yes.  perhaps my fears have been in vain.  i have wondered on many long and agonizing nights.  it has been so long since i have seen my sons.  do they simply wait for me to die, so that each might place a claim on my throne?”

“father–” Aphrodam attempted a weak interjection, and Mason cut him off.

“but what of a throne do i have to give?”  the old man was talking to the air as much to his sons now, it seemed.  “there once was meaning in the word Patriarch.  it meant something on this planet.  it meant allegiance; it meant equality.  or at least the hope of equality.  if nothing more, it meant opportunity.  it meant the chance to try and be something more than your father. what Klinian has that chance now?  do even my sons have this chance?  you come to seek my throne, but the throne is diminished.”

“we do not come to seek your throne,” Aphrodam protested, his pale cheeks blushing red.  “we came to be with you!  we came to hold you–”  he squeezed his fathers hand tightly once again.  Arestian shuddered at the display, turned his head away.  Hermialis scoffed inwardly at Aphrodam’s transparent performance as a sycophant, but betrayed no evidence on his face.

the old man set into a violent fit of coughing, raised his free hand to his lips.  his fingers were craggy, knotted by years of labor and stress.  with great effort, Mason lifted his head off his pillow.  his coughing subsided slowly, and once again, his eyes opened.  there was a brightness in them now, a keenness that told of surging mental acuity despite physical disintegration.

“oh,” the old man breathed, as if he had been granted a new revelation.  “you are not all here.  tell me, where is Terras?  where is my favored son?”

**

“well, well, well.”  just as Issac remembered, Sefrin spoke almost entirely through clenched teeth.  the StarEx henchman had not spotted Issac yet; his attention was focused on Cillian.  “so you’re the leader of this little…band of misguided miners?”  he laughed aloud at a joke that was lost on everyone else, including the StarEx troopers, who stood at emotionless attention.  it was them he addressed next.  “well done, men.  you did well to wait.”  he turned his attention once more on Cillian, who returned his gaze bitterly and unflinchingly.  “we, of course, knew you were coming.  your little tram, as i understand you call it, became known to us once you escaped last time.  we could have destroyed it then, and we almost decided to.  but then we decided, what the hell?  better to leave the rat trap open than to close it while the rat is away, wouldn’t you agree?  and, in fact, the trap nearly killed one of you.  which was it?”  Sefrin surveyed the line of daysiders.  Issac ducked his head, avoiding his torturers eyes.  “ah, you,” Sefrin said, locking his eyes on Sorensen, who stood three men behind Cillian.  “i’m glad that you survived, though; better that you be questioned by us, then killed by us, than killed by a mindless machine of inane rebellion.  although, i should correct myself: you may not be killed.  i do, of course, submit to the due process of law of Klin — what the courts decide will be done.  i can assure you, though, you will be questioned.  and the questioning may be worse than the killing.”

he paused, let his words sink in.  the troopers stared straight ahead, as if transfixed by such a formidable superior.

“do you intend to keep us in this hangar?”  it was one of the rebels — Dewn.  his eyes were downcast, but there was recklessness in his voice.  he stood directly behind Sorensen, and Issac had a clear view of him, when he dared raise his eyes.

wordlessly, Sefrin approached the man, drew his c-ray blaster, cuffed him on the jaw with it.  Dewn crumpled.  “yes, you fucking prick.  i’ll keep you in this goddam hanger as long as i fucking feel like it.”  Sefrin spit on the folded from of Tennor Dewn.  “get up, you piece of shit.  stand up.  stand the fuck up!” he kicked Dewn; the rebel squawked, but did not rise.  “you!–” Sefrin gestured to one of the StarEx troopers, who immediately snapped out of his apparent trance and scurried to the debilitated miner.  “get him up!”

the trooper complied, wrenching Dewn to his feet, supporting him.  Sefrin smiled at Dewn cruelly, sneered at his resilience, drew back a clenched fist, struck Dewn in the face.  the daysider would have crumpled, but for the support of the expressionless StarEx man.  “aw, fuck!”  Sefrin shook his punching hand, flexed it several times.  “you broke my fucking hand, you son of a bitch.”  with that, he reached again for his blaster, gripped it, and swung it behind his back, striking Ash squarely in the back of the head.  Ash doubled over, but did not emit a sound.  instinctively, his hands groped for the back of his head, but the magnetic cuffs restricted his movement.  Sefrin whirled on him, having satisfied himself on Dewn.  “oh, aren’t you the tough guy,” he sneered at Ash.  Issac saw the blood begin to trickle down the back of the daysider’s neck, pooling at the top of his spine, dispersing into undifferentiated shapes on the back of his shirt.  Sefrin leaned in close to Ash’s face, eyes him viciously.  “i haven’t seen you before,” Sefrin said, his spittle lacing Ash’s smooth face.  “based on your friends’ reactions, you seem to be a man of considerable importance.”  Sefrin scoffed in his prisoner’s face.  “you have no importance here, miner.”  Sefrin slurred the epithet through his clenched teeth.  he raised his good hand to Ash’s cheeks, clenched them tightly, puckering the miner’s lips into a humiliating pucker.  he squeezed tighter, forcing saliva to dribble from Ash’s mouth down his chin and onto his shirt.  “you think you’re a fucking big guy, don’t’cha?  here you are, in the Ring!  holy shit, you’ve made it into the Ring! aren’t you just a big fucking deal.”  Sefrin swatted Ash’s face, sending blood and spit onto the concrete floor of the hangar.

Sefrin took a step away from Ash; he still had not identified Issac, though his eyes ran across the file of rebels.  his gaze settled on Tocts.  like the others, Tocts was accepting his predicament with bravery: eyes forward, jaw clenched.  “and you,” Sefrin jeered.  “please, tell me you’re name.”

Issac could see Tocts swallow the lump in his throat.  the miner spoke: “m’name’s C’moy Tocts.”

“ah,” Sefrin laughed with a gross satisfaction.  “now we’ve got a live one.  and i didn’t even have to beat you.  now tell me, Tocts — am i saying that right?”

“yes.”

“so glad to hear it.  i’d hate to get your name wrong.  so tell me, Tocts: why are you on this dumbfuck mission with these scumbags?”

“i…” Tocts bit his lip.

“yes?” Sefrin asked patronizingly.  “please continue.  i’m very interested.”

“i believe in what they believe in.  i’m sure it sounds quite silly ta you, but we miners, we ain’t thinkin’ this life is all it’s cracked up ta be, if ya take my meanin’, sir.”

“huh.”  Sefrin pretended to consider the man’s answer.  “was this part of your plan, C’moy?”  Sefrin struck Tocts in the midsection, watched him cough for air, loosed an elbow on the miner’s temple.  Tocts fell at the feet of one of the StarEx troopers.

at that moment, the enormous rolling doors began to ascend, providing an exit for the spacecraft that was now taxiing towards the hangar’s exit.  the gate rattled with a grating intensity, and Sefrin’s voice raised in volume.  “was this part of your plan, C’moy!?” he shouted.  he lowered the heel of his left boot on Tocts’s right kneecap.  Tocts screeched in pain, but the sound was almost entirely obscured by the rattling of the hanger door.

Sefrin watched Tocts writhe for a moment, breathing ecstatic  gulps of air.  the giant rolling door creaked to a halt, and the only sound that could be heard was that of the spacecraft moving towards the hangar’s exit.  Issac’s eyes darted about, taking in all they could with no movement from the head.  he was almost sure that the workers in the hanger must have seen what was going on by now, but no one seemed to be reacting.  why?

“well,” Sefrin said, his eyes glinting with the joy of destruction, “i was going to kill one of you anyway.  no one would question me: a StarEx man killing a rebel intruder!”  the thought was comical to him.  “it would never even go to court, and the Patriarch would ignore it completely!  so, Tocts, because you were the weakest one, i guess you’ll be first.”  Sefrin’s vicious smile curled itself into his plastic cheeks, and he raised his c-ray blaster level with the miner’s head.  Tocts looked up at him, stared down the barrel of the weapon.  there was fear in his eyes, but not a pathetic fear, Issac thought.  it was a fear that did not desire its fate, but accepted it nonetheless.

just as Sefrin was about to squeeze the trigger, Issac cried out, “no!  it’s me you’re after!”

Sefrin’s head twisted to Issac’s direction.  he obviously recognized the Dulvernian’s voice: his lips twisted into a snarl more grotesque than any human face Issac had ever seen.  the young Caulmenian met his gaze squarely, despite the petrifying fear in his heart.  come on, Cillian.  DO something!

“you…” Sefrin said airily.

and just at that moment, a deafening crunch sounded in the hangar.  its sheer force demanded the attention of every member of the group, trooper and miner alike.

two dozen pairs of eyes locked on the spacecraft as it crumpled its upper manifold against the lip of the giant rolling door, which had apparently not opened completely.

using the distraction, Tocts sprang into action.  with stunning agility, he propelled himself off the concrete floor, despite his hands being bound.  in fact, with his restrained hands, he relived one of the troopers — the StarEx man whose feet he’d been sent to by Sefrin — of a particular piece of equipment from his belt.

it only took a moment for the StarEx men to pull their attention away from the twenty-foot-tall spacecraft, but by then it was too late.  Tocts, even with his hands clasped behind his back, revealed to all gathered what power he held.  it was the trooper’s particle detonator, and its indicator light glowed red.  this meant only one thing: the dead-man’s trigger.  if Tocts released his finger now, the entire hangar, or at least the part that mattered, would erupt in a  pillar of concentrated energy.

“release ‘em,” Tocts demanded with steely aggression.  “release ‘em and i might just letcha live.”

the group was silent and motionless.  for a moment, the squeal of the detonator, so high in frequency that it was nearly inaudible, was the only immediate sound.  away from the group, hanger workers scurried about, dealing with the crisis they had created.  but in the group, all eyes focused keenly on the explosive in the daysider’s hands.  the StarEx troopers had instinctively trained their weapons on Tocts, but, realizing the consequences immediately, none had fired.  time seemed to dilate itself, and that tense second passed as slowly as an hour.  then, a new sound broke the spell.

it was Sefrin’s laughter.  quiet at first, then quickly building into a chilling roar.  Issac regarded Sefrin with shocked terror.  his eyes flicked to Tocts, who stared at Sefrin stolidly, his face locked and unmoving.  Sefrin continued with his unpredictable response for another moment, then slowly calmed.  he gazed at Tocts with mocking smile.  “you’re a resourceful little cuss, aren’t you?  and courageous,” he added sardonically.  “are you unafraid of death?”

Tocts hesitated for a moment before responding, then said, “i am not unafraid.  i love my wife; i wish very, very much ta see her again.  we’ve got a baby on the way.”  Tocts’s voice waivered for the first time, but only slightly.  “i wanna see ‘im grow up.  i don’t want my wife raisin’ him alone.  i am afraid to die.  but i cannot allow this ta happen.  i cannot allow ya ta take the lives of my friends, an’ the life of that man, the outworlder come to save us.”

Sefrin flicked a glance at Issac, smirked.  “save you, eh?”  he pondered this thought and grinned acerbically, then, turning back to Tocts, said, “if i order my men to shoot you, we all die.  but if you are willing to die, what guarantee do i have that you won’t blow yourself up just to kill us?”

“i ain’t lookin’ ta die t’day, mister.  but i ain’t lookin’ ta get my friends captured, either.”

“your friends,” Sefrin repeated, still smiling.  “you do realize that if your detonator explodes, they’re all going to die.  is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

“if it explodes, you and yer men die as well.  is that a risk you are willin’ ta take?”

Sefrin’s smile widened.  “no.  my life is far too important to me.  and oddly enough, i believe you.  i’ve seen men like you: desperate, willing to do…nearly anything for their stupid beliefs.  you no doubt believe that this little band of dustworms is the key to, what, some kind of miner liberation?  i’ve seen men give their lives for less.  and if there’s one thing i’m better at than destroying a man, it’s reading him.  and i don’t think you have the balls to blow that thing once your little friends are out of here.  bah, your pals won’t get far, anyway.”  to his men, he said, “release them.”  a moment later, the group’s magnetic cuffs were released.

“C’moy–” Sorensen began.

“just…go.” Tocts demanded.

“we will come for you.”

“that’s real pretty, ladies,” Sefrin mocked.  “now can we get on with it?”  he looked squarely at Issac.  “see you soon, spaceboy.”

“follow me,” Ash said, blood still running down his face and neck.  a moment later the group — now seven — was retreating from Tocts’s sight.  the hangar workers moved away from the rebels as they passed, though they ignored them, and continued to pretend that the StarEx troopers were not even there.  again, Issac was confounded by the fact, though it was a distant thought compared to the more pressing events at hand.  thirty seconds later, the group disappeared through a small door in a corner of the hangar.

“now,” Sefrin said, his mock smile transforming into a snarl, “be a good little boy and hand that thing over.”

Sefrin held out his hand.  Tocts hesitated, began to tremble.  slowly, he slid a finger across the detonator’s contact, released his hand from the dead man’s trigger.  the small light winked off, and the high-pitched squeal ceased.  immediately, one of the troopers snatched the device from Tocts’s hand.  Sefrin’s snarl twisted into a grimace of rage.  he backhanded the daysider viciously, and Tocts crumpled to the ground.

“after them!” Sefrin roared, and the troopers sprung into action.

*

the miners raced through a narrow corridor.  it was early in the standard day, and there were few workers in the halls.  the few that were present ducked out of the way of the seven-man stampede.  Issac, feeling that Sefrin must have been only feet behind him, resisted the impulse to look over his shoulder for fear that he would careen into a bulkhead or door frame.

suddenly, a loud buzzer sounded in the corridor, repetitious and insistent.  Issac caught a glimpse of a flashing red light at a junction of conduits on the ceiling of an intersecting hallway.  they turned a corner, and he spotted another.  the buzzer grated into his brain like a condemnation.  surely, there were going to be caught now.

as if responding to his thoughts, Ash, at the group’s lead, shouted, “we’re almost there!”  he made a hard left, and Issac, unable to slow himself in time, slammed into the wall.  he lost a step on the group, but caught up quickly as they dashed down a hall that led only to a single closed door.  Ash reached it at full tilt, burst through it in a fluid motion.

through the blaring alarm, Issac heard shouts behind him, but he did not turn to look.  instead, he focused on making through the door intact.  he did so, and the door swung shut behind him with a heavy thud.  he was in what appeared to be a large, circular courtyard.  he was first struck by the odd lighting — he was outside, that much he could tell, but he had the immediate impression that he was being lit by a spotlight.  then, at once, the scene made sense to him.  in the middle of the courtyard sat a gray, angular ship roughly the same size and shape of the Lathan Devers, the ship that had brought him to this world.  the black walls of the courtyard rose perhaps four stories tall, narrowing slightly in a conical shape.  the ground was sand, the smell of fuel stained the air.

before he realized he had frozen to take in his surroundings, Issac saw the other six men climbing the access ladder into the belly of the ship.  he followed behind them, stumbling slightly in his haste.  he saw Dewn’s feet disappearing into the ship as he began to climb the ladder.  when he had nearly reached the top, the hatch slammed shut, causing Issac to snap back in alarm.  he panicked for a moment, then slammed a fist on the hatch, began shouting.  as quickly as it had closed, the hatch opened once more, and a strong hand, rough from years in the dry mines, grabbed him by the back of the collar, pulled him into the ship.

Dewn dropped Issac on to the metal floor of the ship.  “my apologies, outworlder,” he said quickly but sincerely, clearly embarrassed.  “not used to having anyone but miners in our little party.”  he grinned and crossed the room to a porthole that faced the direction from which they came.  Issac followed him as the ship began to stir — engines roared to life, steel began to groan.  the ship shook heavily just as the door to the courtyard opened.  three men emerged, different in garb than the troopers who had arrested them, but identical in intent.  the trio raised their c-ray blasters, pointed directly at the porthole before which Issac and Dewn stood.  Issac lurched back automatically covered his eyes with an arm.  but the purple rays simply fizzled into sparks as they struck the ship’s activated shield.

Dewn raised a fist in to the air, let out a triumphant yawp.  “ha ha, you bastards!” he shouted.  Issac watched in disbelief as the ground retreated underneath him.

despite the grave loss of C’moy Tocts, the mission had somehow succeeded.