Ring of Hope

"Tell us another one, Rafik.  Tell us about the pit horrors."

The old slave warmed his hands over the heating ring.  Everyone else had to fight for space close to the thin orange circle of warmth, so the wrinkled and elderly man stuck out amongst a company of broad-shouldered, muscled young men.  Rafik knew stories and had been a physician once, so he always had a spot by the ring.  In the desert he would have been an Akhbar, and some traditions survived even when the names and surroundings were lost.

Rafik looked up at the gathered slaves, one eye milk-white, the other piercing blue.  He gestured as he spoke, and his hands made strange shadows in the dim light of the heating ring.  The rest of the pit was dark - lights were only turned on if somebody needed to see the slaves, and the heating rings were only left on to prevent loss of stock from cold.  In the eternal 'night' between feeding times the heating ring was the sole source of light in their world.

"They came from the desert," Rafik began.  "They were always here, long before men, even before the Old Draconian Empire, and they will survive after men are no more dust than the sands.  They are ancient.  They are terrible.  Worst of all, they are cruel."

---

Jorat let the guard's body fall to the floor.  He unwrapped the thin filament from the guard's throat while Deben unbuckled the guard's pistol and holster and wrapped it around himself.

"Don't fire that until the collars are dead," warned Jorat.  "As soon as anyone notices something off, they'll blow our throats."

"Yeah yeah," said Deben.  He gave the guard's body a kick.  "Teach that fool to spit at me.  Shame we weren't left alone with the fat man who bought us instead.  So where's Sayyid with the device anyway?  Think he's split on us?"

"Not likely," came a voice from behind them.  "I need you two to stand a chance of getting out of here alive."  The door slip open and the third slave hustled into the cargo bay, carrying a bundle of equipment in his arms.  Sayyid unwrapped the bundle on a crate and started fiddling with the pieces.

"Doesn't look like much," said Jorat.  "I thought you were after a bomb."

"What, you think I can break into the armoury single-handed?"  Sayyid laughed, a soft chuckle.  "If I could do that I'd already be on the first shuttle out of here.  No, I'm building a bomb."

"I don't fancy you solving our problem by blowing my throat out," said Deben.

"It's a little bomb.  Trust me, I know what I'm doing.  I used to work at the HohenTek plants.  Ah, there we go."  Sayyid stepped back from his construction to admire it.  It looked like a small tower of stolen, mismatched parts cobbled together in a hurry, which was exactly what it was.

"So should we take cover?" asked Jorat.

"No, stick as close to it as you can," said Sayyid.  "This shouldn't hurt"

"Wait, shouldn't?"

Sayyid pushed a button on the side of the tower.  A heating ring at the top of the tower glowed a soft orange.  The equipment hummed briefly, then made a crackling sound and a disappointing pop.  The smell of burnt toast started leaking into the cargo bay.

"Well that was disappointing," said Deben.  "Might as well give up now."

"No, it was meant to do that.  Electromagnetic pulse, you can't feel it.  Should have shorted out the electronics in your collar implant, though.  Now all we need is to escape the complex, steal a rover and drive to the nearest settlement.  We can split up from there and try to get home our separate ways."

"Yeah, about that," said Deben.  "You looked outside recently?"

"No," said Sayyid, "the complex is sealed.  What's wrong?"

Deben gestured toward a small viewport at the far end of the cargo bay.  Sayyid looked through it and felt the breath flood out of his chest.  Sualocin stretched out before him, a brilliant spherical blue-green jewel against a backdrop of stars.  Al-Sabat headquarters wasn't based on Sualocin - it was based in its orbit.

"Good thing Jorat can fly a shuttle, isn't it?"


Cast

Rafik al-Habat, 72 - An elderly slave in the Ascellan Pits.  Former akhbar to the desert clans of Ascella.
Jorat al-Mors, 37 - An escaped slave chosen for 'personal service' to the Masters of al-Sabat.  Former shuttle pilot.
Deben al-Tengri, 28 - An escaped slave chosen for 'personal service' to the Masters of al-Sabat.  Former raider and slaver.
Sayyid al-Mullah, 22 - An escaped slave chosen for 'personal service' to the Masters of al-Sabat.  Former engineer at HohenTek.
Suleiman al-Jazir, 48 - Chief Retainer of House al-Sabat.  A fat, lecherous, evil man.