James Axler – Gaia’s Demise

Chapter Seven

Storm clouds hide the stars overhead, thunder rumbling softly in the distance as the blue shirt rattled the lock on the storage hut. Satisfied it was secure, the sec man walked around the corner, heading for the next point on his nightly sweep of the complex. The chore was an easy job, the forced workers at the ville were starved to near death and beaten constantly. Any worker who showed any sign of rebellion or pride was executed immediately. Some were gut shot to slowly bled to death, while others were staked out and fed to the muties hiding in the hills. The lucky ones were set on fire, or simply buried alive. Dr. Jamaisvous demanded that the construction schedules always be met, and he wouldn’t tolerate any excuse for failure. No sec man would dare to risk receiving the type of punishment they dished out on a daily basis.

Whistling a tune, the sec man turned a corner and recoiled from a sharp pain. Breathless, he stared at the wooden handle jutting from his chest and felt the strength flow from his limbs. With fading eyesight, he realized a grinning slave in rags was holding the shaft of the pickax.

“Victory or death,” the slave whispered as the guard toppled over into a pool of blood.

More slaves scurried into view and carried the warm corpse into the slave quarters, while dirt was kicked over the spilled life fluid. A crowd of starving people blocked the doorway, but they instantly parted before the murderers and closed after they passed, hiding any possible sight of what was happening.

The back room of the slave quarters was the lav, merely some holes sawed into the floor above a reeking pit. In a dark corner, they stripped the sec man naked. His boots went one way, pants another, holster, blaster and ammo elsewhere.

“Is that enough?” a woman grunted excitedly, fondling the wheelgun as if it were a living pet. A jagged scar covered half of her face, the eye dead white. “Do we have enough?”

“Yes,” a bald man replied coldly. “This gives us twelve rounds for every blaster.”

“A full charge and a reload,” another gushed. “Black dust, I never thought we would ever get that much.”

The bald man cocked back the hammer on the wheelgun. “Get the torches. When you hear the first shots, start the fires.”

“Victory or death,” the conspirators whispered in unison.

“Death to Jamaisvous,” the leader growled. “Now, go!”

THE CAPTAIN of the guards was in a kiosk sipping a warm beer when a strangled cry came from the darkness. Dropping his boots to the floor, the sec man stood and drew his blaster. Listening carefully, he edged to the doorway and pushed open the door with fingertips. Nothing was in sight.

“Damn stingwing again,” he muttered.

Instantly, there was a flash of silver and the captain was driven back into the kiosk by a slave holding a stick with a jagged sliver of glass tied to the end. With his throat slashed, it was impossible for the sec man to breathe. Blood filled his mouth and trickled onto his shirt. With fumbling hands, he tried to fire his blaster, but another slave was upon him, slashing with another piece of glass. Pain lanced his hand, and he saw the grinning man holding the bloody blaster, his own twitching finger still on the trigger.

The guard spit at the slaves, and they stabbed him in the eyes, breaking their glass knives. Screaming, he fell to his knees. More glass was produced, and the killers slashed at his belly until his intestines slithered onto the gory floor as months of abuse were paid back with interest in a few hellish seconds. Finally, the corpse dropped lifeless upon the steaming entrails.

“Victory or death,” the slaves whispered to one another, and began rummaging through the room for more ammo, or anything else that might be used as a weapon.

PAUSING IN HIS PATROL of the grounds beneath the dish, a corporal fought back a yawn and strained to hear what had made the strange noise. It was a sort of moan, mixed with a slapping sound. Was some sec man having sex with a slave while on duty? He’d have the man’s balls cut off for dereliction of duty.