being washed into the station's recycler. They would be used again, perhaps for dinner that night. But he needed food now…
Finally, she finished. She loaded the carts up and then rapped on the outer door. The guards on the other side opened it, letting her out. He heard the door slam shut, and slowly raised himself from the pallet.
Opening the door slowly, he peeked out to make sure the room was empty. It was.
He crept over to Bragan's locker. Nothing. He pawed through the contents, and then he found it.
Damn, but the man was resourceful.
There was an empty blast casing, the type the Pilgrims used to form the plastic explosives used in the mining. They were careful never to allow the slaves access to the explosives, of course. All the blasting was done during the slaves' sleep cycle.
But the forms they used sometimes got lost. There was a bounty for returning them, an extra ration of food at night. But many of the slaves kept them, using them for other things.
Bragan had filled this one with porridge.
It was cold and gelatinous. It wouldn't flow out freely, so he dug his finger in, digging at it and stuffing it into his mouth. Nothing had ever tasted better in the history of time. Nothing.
All too soon it was gone. Bragan had warned him he needed to be cautious about over-eating, and his stomach was full. Hunger satiated, he was suddenly aware of the low, painful throbbing in the back of his neck. There was nothing they could do about the pain. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to ignore it.
Quickly, he cleaned out the empty tube and put it back in Bragan's locker. They would need it again that night.
He crept back to the storage room, uncertain of how much longer he had before she returned. He needed to find a way to time the guards' movements during the work cycle. The bastards had to have a weakness, and Jess was going to find it.
* * * * *
Bethany ate her own small bowl of porridge in the kitchen. The kitchen crew was cleaning up the last of the main evening meal, as well as preparing special food for the blasters returning from the mine.
They worked in two shifts, blasting by day and guarding the slaves by night. Of course, the elders, such as her father, weren't directly involved in the mining efforts. That would hardly be appropriate for their dignity. There were also groups who traveled between settlements, and a very small number who traveled to Discovery Station, where the ore was processed.
Eventually, even that small bit of contact would be curtailed.
The cost of the ore-refining equipment was very high, but for a decade the elders had been saving and planning for the day when they could start their own refining operation. Then they would be able to send shipments directly to the central temple on Karos, where the Celestial Pilgrim himself had lived. All part of some glorious plan she had never been worthy of sharing, she thought darkly. How many women like herself had spent their entire lives working in service of that plan? Did any of them every really understand what they were working for?
Her train of thought was broken when someone sat down beside her. It was Moriah. The girl smiled at her nervously.
"Thank you for your help earlier," Moriah said quietly. "I hope you don't mind me sitting with you."
She looked unsure of herself, almost as if she were afraid Bethany might stand up then and there to accuse her of immoral behavior. Bethany smiled, wanting to ease the younger woman's fear.
"It's nice to have company," she said softly. "I grew up here, but I left when I was fourteen. I don't feel like I really know the people here anymore."
"Yes, I remember hearing that your husband had passed," Moriah replied. "Was it terribly hard for you? I felt like my life was over when they told me Ger—my husband—had died in the mines. I was seven months pregnant…"
"I'm so sorry," Bethany said. She could see the girl was still troubled. It was hard to understand why a woman would be sad over
Finally, she finished. She loaded the carts up and then rapped on the outer door. The guards on the other side opened it, letting her out. He heard the door slam shut, and slowly raised himself from the pallet.
Opening the door slowly, he peeked out to make sure the room was empty. It was.
He crept over to Bragan's locker. Nothing. He pawed through the contents, and then he found it.
Damn, but the man was resourceful.
There was an empty blast casing, the type the Pilgrims used to form the plastic explosives used in the mining. They were careful never to allow the slaves access to the explosives, of course. All the blasting was done during the slaves' sleep cycle.
But the forms they used sometimes got lost. There was a bounty for returning them, an extra ration of food at night. But many of the slaves kept them, using them for other things.
Bragan had filled this one with porridge.
It was cold and gelatinous. It wouldn't flow out freely, so he dug his finger in, digging at it and stuffing it into his mouth. Nothing had ever tasted better in the history of time. Nothing.
All too soon it was gone. Bragan had warned him he needed to be cautious about over-eating, and his stomach was full. Hunger satiated, he was suddenly aware of the low, painful throbbing in the back of his neck. There was nothing they could do about the pain. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to ignore it.
Quickly, he cleaned out the empty tube and put it back in Bragan's locker. They would need it again that night.
He crept back to the storage room, uncertain of how much longer he had before she returned. He needed to find a way to time the guards' movements during the work cycle. The bastards had to have a weakness, and Jess was going to find it.
* * * * *
Bethany ate her own small bowl of porridge in the kitchen. The kitchen crew was cleaning up the last of the main evening meal, as well as preparing special food for the blasters returning from the mine.
They worked in two shifts, blasting by day and guarding the slaves by night. Of course, the elders, such as her father, weren't directly involved in the mining efforts. That would hardly be appropriate for their dignity. There were also groups who traveled between settlements, and a very small number who traveled to Discovery Station, where the ore was processed.
Eventually, even that small bit of contact would be curtailed.
The cost of the ore-refining equipment was very high, but for a decade the elders had been saving and planning for the day when they could start their own refining operation. Then they would be able to send shipments directly to the central temple on Karos, where the Celestial Pilgrim himself had lived. All part of some glorious plan she had never been worthy of sharing, she thought darkly. How many women like herself had spent their entire lives working in service of that plan? Did any of them every really understand what they were working for?
Her train of thought was broken when someone sat down beside her. It was Moriah. The girl smiled at her nervously.
"Thank you for your help earlier," Moriah said quietly. "I hope you don't mind me sitting with you."
She looked unsure of herself, almost as if she were afraid Bethany might stand up then and there to accuse her of immoral behavior. Bethany smiled, wanting to ease the younger woman's fear.
"It's nice to have company," she said softly. "I grew up here, but I left when I was fourteen. I don't feel like I really know the people here anymore."
"Yes, I remember hearing that your husband had passed," Moriah replied. "Was it terribly hard for you? I felt like my life was over when they told me Ger—my husband—had died in the mines. I was seven months pregnant…"
"I'm so sorry," Bethany said. She could see the girl was still troubled. It was hard to understand why a woman would be sad over
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