Helium3 Episode 3

Helium3.2

  Cover illustrations copyright © James Young 2008

  Nick Travers has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Visit the Nick Travers on Writing at

  www.NickTravers.com

  Other examples of James young’s artwork can be viewed at www.artincas.co.uk

  James Young can be contacted at [email protected]

  With grateful thanks to everyone who has helped me, in any small way, to write, and re-write this book.

  Special thanks to my writing buddy, David, whose wisdom and honest critique kept Mervyn on the straight and narrow. To Rachel Wade of Hodder Children’s Books who freely gave of her time to provided invaluable advice when I most needed it. To my readers Sally, Josh, and Angela, who provide honest, and sometimes painful, feedback. And to James Young who provided the original artwork.

  I would also like to thank the members of Writers In Touch at www.writersintouch.com who provided much advice and encouragement when I first set out on this journey.

  Nick Travers

  ******************************

  Helium3.2

  By Nick Travers

  – Chapter1 –

  The Key

  Mervyn felt around in the darkness. His hand connected with something gritty and jagged: another rock. He tested its weight, with his rag wrapped hands, then lifted it sideways until he bumped up against the cart. Feeling the rim of the hopper with his elbow he tipped the rock in.

  He wished Loren would hurry up with the light. While he waited, he leaned against the cart and rewound the filthy rags covering his hands. Around him he could hear the other slaves digging at the piled rocks. The second cave-in today; the umpteenth this week. Somewhere under the unseen heap of rubble was their light, and the old Ethrigian who had carried it. He hoped the unfortunate slave was dead, because once the light arrived the guard would let them clear only enough space to get the cart through to the Helium3 seam. Soon Loren arrived with the glow-bag and balanced it on a ledge.

  He surveyed the disaster. The pool of feeble green light showed where the roof of the narrow, rough hewn tunnel had collapsed. It would take the rest of the shift to clear a path for the cart, The Velcat growled and pointed with its blast riffle. Without a word the slaves, mostly Ethigians with a smattering of Humans and stately Zetoigs, bent to their task. They lifted each rock with their hands, shuffled to the ore cart, and dropping it into the hopper. They worked steadily and methodically not expending any more energy than absolutely necessary. Winning meant surviving in this place.

  Loren pointed to a shattered log, ‘Another weak prop bearing too much load’. She was right. Mervyn had learned from an early age to prop up a tunnel safely -- just one of those skills the children of mine engineers absorb from their parents. The shoddiness of the night crews, who blasted out the Helium3 seams and propped up the new tunnels, made him nervous. Every time the work party arrived in a new area, he and Loren had taken to rearranging the props to spread the load more evenly. At first, the Velcat had objected, but quickly changed its mind when it saw a colleague buried under piles of rubble . Even so, the frequent cave-ins were a constant hazard.

  He awoke from hibernation in a slave compound on the planet of Pershwin: the Naga’s base. Loren was with him, but they had not seen or heard anything about the fate of Aurora or Tarun since their capture. A full week passed without Mervyn seeing the surface in daylight: the line of slaves, that formed the work-party, started the long walk into the bowels of Pershwin before sunrise. They laboured all day at the rock-face clearing great piles of Helium3 ore blasted out by the night crews. After sunset, they trudged back to the surface for a meagre meal of soup and bread, and sleep. He had never worked so hard or slept so deeply in his life. It was as though his earlier life had never existed.

  They worked steadily, clearing rocks where the Velcat instructed, until a horn echoed through the tunnel and everyone stopped. The Velcat waved a cattle prod to herd them into a line and threaded a rope through the rings on their collars. Mervyn had only needed to feel the electronic sting of the cattle prod once to know he never wanted to feel it again. The Velcat handed the glow-bag to the lead slave and they started the arduous trudge to the surface. On the way they stopped to let a similar line of slaves, heading in the opposite direction, pass by. The night shift. In front of Mervyn an elderly, and once stately, Zetoig sank to his knees.

  ‘Get up,’ Mervyn hissed, but the Zetoig remained on the floor. He attempted to lift the giant, ‘Stand up, please.’

  ‘It is no use, I am too weak,’ the Zetoig whispered. ‘It is over.’

  ‘It’s never over,’ Mervyn snapped as loudly as he dared. ‘Never give up hope.’

  The Velcat started to walk up the line to find the cause of the commotion.

  ‘Leave me to die,’ the Zetoig sighed.

  Mervyn’s rage boiling inside him, ‘No, I will not,’. A waste of precious energy, perhaps, but the injustice of their slavery ate at his soul. He longed to strike out against their captors, ‘I’m not leaving you, so either you stand and start walking or I’m in big trouble too. Is that what you want?’ Slowly, leaning heavily against the wall, the Zetoig rose to his feet. Mervyn smiled in triumph: a small victory maybe, but a victory non-the-less.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Mervyn knew better than to reply. The Velcat glared at the stationary slaves. ‘Get moving’. The line shuffled forward towards the lift shaft.

  As they squashed into the crowded lift cage, which would take them to the next level, Loren whispered in Mervyn’s ear, ‘Tarun and Aurora are held captive in a villa midway between the town and the mine complex.’ It was the first time they had spoken all day. What had she traded for this information? Within days of their arrival Loren had developed a network of informants. She traded anything she could lay her hands on for information. She had a natural talent and he marvelled at her ingenuity.

  At suppertime, the exhausted slaves sat at trestle tables under the warm starry sky. Mervyn and Loren sat with the elderly Zetoig who introduced himself as Rauvic.

  Mervyn pushed his bread across the table, ‘This will give you strength.’

  ‘No, I appreciate the gesture my friend, but you need it more than I,’ Rauvic lowered his voice still further. ‘I must escape tonight or this mine will kill me as surely as if I jumped out an airlock.’

  Loren dropped her voice to match Rauvic’s, ‘How?’

  ‘Maybe I will just climb the wire.’ A towering double fence of barbed wire surrounded the slave compound. At each corner guards with searchlights perched in watchtowers.

  ‘You’ll never make it,’ Loren said. ‘At night they release the dogs to run free between the fences. If you get over the first fence the dogs will track you down before you can reach the second.’ Almost every populated planet in the galaxy possessed a dog like animal. It was called convergent evolution: similar conditions in the evolutionary food chain often produced the same type of animal, like rats and cattle. Sometimes scaled reptiles, sometimes feathered raptors, sometimes hairy mammals, but always fierce pack hunters, and often domesticated by sentient races. On Pershwin they were sabre-toothed, long-tailed, marsupials, though Mervyn doubted they were native to the planet.

  Rauvic stared wistfully at the wire, ‘How then?’

  ‘Bide your time -- watch and wait for the right opportunity,’ Mervyn said.

  ‘ I do not have long, my body grows weaker every day.’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ Mervyn said det
ermined not to let down his new friend. That night he wracked his brain for a solution, but by morning inspiration still eluded him.

  The night crew had cleared a path round the rock fall wide enough for the ore cart. Mervyn noticed the shattered prop had not been replaced which meant the roof could easily cave in again and kill more slaves. Throughout the mine numerous cave-ins remained in the same precarious condition. He hurried past. The tunnel continued down into the bowels of the planet until they reached an area newly blasted by the night crew.

  ‘Well?’ the Velcat demanded pointing its cattle prod at Mervyn and Loren. For once the new tunnel looked well constructed. Mervyn sucked air through his teeth and tut-tutted, ‘Hmm, looks dangerous to me.’

  ‘Could collapse any moment,’ Loren agreed playing the game, ‘Right on your head.’ The Velcat winced. Mervyn wanted to grin, but knew any sign of scheming would prove fatal.

  ‘Make safe,’ the Velcat growled and waved the cattle prod threateningly.

  The pair worked quickly to move props and re-buttress the roof while the other slaves collected blasted rock. As Mervyn held the last prop for Loren to hammer into position with a boulder he had an idea. ‘I need someone to lean against this prop until we can find another trunk,’ he lied to the Velcat. ‘If it falls it could bring the whole tunnel. I don’t suppose you could...’

  ‘Pah, no,’ the Velcat spat.

  ‘The Zetoig could do it, he’s big enough,’ Mervyn suggested.

  Without even thinking, the Velcat jabbed its blaster at Rauvic then pointed to the prop, ‘Sit. Don’t move.’ Rauvic seated himself at the base of the post and leaned against it. He was still there at the end of the shift.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rauvic whispered at they ascended in the lift.

  ‘If we’re back here tomorrow you’ll have to be our support again,’ Mervyn said with a grin. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’ It felt good to get one over on the Velcat. Each little victory lifted his spirits a bit more -- he was fighting back.

  That evening, Mervyn sat in silence watching the rest of the slaves, mostly Ethrigians, but also a smattering of Zetoigs and humans. Two human children played round their mother, the eldest, a girl, with hair as black as space, wore a red coat. He wondered sadly how long they would survive -- not long. He could have gone over and played with them, but best not to involve himself: he would only feel their loss more acutely. He realised, even in this short time, how cold and insular the camp had made him; this place sucked at your soul. Defiantly, he made his way towards the children intent on joining their game. He never made it.

  A slave, questioned by two Velcats, pointed in Mervyn’s direction. They made straight for him. Mervyn’s heart stopped. Someone must have reported the trick with Rauvic. He looked around, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He waited as calmly as he could. ‘You,’ one of the Velcats said jabbing a clawed finger at him, ‘come with us and bring your friend.’ It waved its blast riffle in Loren’s direction and beckoned for her to join them. Mervyn’s mind began to race, he had heard stories from the other slaves of cruel punishments and executions; would they shoot him for getting one over on the working party’s guard? He forced himself not to panic and grabbed his bread before the guards herded Loren and himself from the main compound. They were going to shoot him for sure.

  The Velcats marched them through a corridor of barbed wire to a small wooden shack. Inside, a broad Rinhus waited for them. Its tiny reptilian eyes peered at them through thick folds of skin. Mervyn had seen the Velcats escorting this individual around the camp, he assumed it was a camp commandant. Was this reptile to be their judge, jury and executioner?

  ‘You been propping up tunnels without authority,’ the Rinhus grunted. ‘You worked in mines before?’

  Mervyn could not believe anyone would object to safer tunnels, ‘We’re from Starlight -- the mining asteroid.’ It was only a small lie, an economy of the truth, since neither had actually worked in the mines.

  ‘Homeless now then, aren’t you?’ the Rinhus grinned yellow peg teeth at them. Mervyn decided not to rise to the bait; instead he stared at a crack in the floor.

  A door opened behind them. ‘Are these the two?’ Mervyn recognised the voice: Guthrik. He had last seen the leader of the humans on the spybot footage.

  The Rinhus made a clumsy bow, ‘These are the ones, sir.’

  Guthrik looked Mervyn and Loren up and down without any sign of recognition, ‘Let me see their hands?’

  Mervyn held his hands out, palms upwards, for inspection. Guthrik grabbed them roughly and turned them over. As he did so he pressed something into the palm of Mervyn’s hand. He glanced up in surprise, but Guthrik’s face remained impassive. He closed his fist on what felt like a small card and lowered it to his side. He burned to see what Guthrik had passed him, but dare not; whatever it was the Rinhus must not see, he understood that much.

  ‘They tell the truth,’ Guthrik said, ‘these hands have worked in mines.’ The flaps of skin that passed for the Rinhus’ eyebrows folded together in a frown. Mervyn knew the reptile did not believe Guthrik, but would he challenge the human?

  A commotion in the slave compound distracted them all. A fight had broken out between two humans. Guthrik nodded towards the door, ‘Does that needs your attention?’ The Rinhus leaped up, as though stung, and lumbered out the door. For a few seconds they had the hut to themselves.

  Guthrik’s steely eyes found Mervyn’s, ‘When you leave you take the children and their mother with you,’ he hissed. ‘You know the ones?’ Mervyn nodded. ‘Otherwise, you don’t leave the planet. That’s the deal.’

  Mervyn guessed the card in his hand opened one or more gates. Loren glanced from Guthrik to Mervyn and back again, clearly she had no idea what they were discussing, but wisely kept silent.

  ‘Should we thank you?’ Mervyn asked.

  ‘I do it for another,’ Guthrik said, but before Mervyn could ask who the Rinhus returned and Guthrik changed the subject. ‘There are too many cave-ins,’ He said clearly. ‘The Naga is concerned about lost production.’ The Rinhus snorted derisively, clearly there was little love between these two. ‘I need a team to shore up the tunnels properly, people who know what they are doing -- that’s you two. You will lead that team. If there are any more cave-ins the commandant here will have you shot.’ The Rinhus flared its nostrils threateningly as if would relish nothing better than relieving the Galaxy of a few more humans.

  What Guthrik demanded was impossible; Mervyn needed to buy time, and quickly, ‘There are too few pit props,’ he gabbled, ‘with enough wood we can make the mine safe within a month, otherwise you might as well shoot us now.’ The Rinhus glared at him and reached for its holster while its tiny mind struggled to cope with the challenge. Mervyn looked imploringly at Guthrik, if he wanted their help he would have to reciprocate before the Rinhus blasted them.

  ‘It is reasonable,’ Guthrik said holding a hand out to restrain the Rinhus, ‘you have three weeks -- after that no more cave-ins. Take them away.’

  The Velcats hustled them into a smaller compound, the home of trustee slaves, the collaborators . Here the yard boasted grass, the bunks were clothed with mattresses, and each bunkhouse possessed a tap with ice cold running water: luxury compared to their previous quarters. As team leaders they had a hut to themselves.

  ‘What was that about?’ Loren hissed. Mervyn pressed his hand surreptitiously against Loren’s. Her eyes widened as the key card cut into her skin. She turned away from the Velcats so they would not see the surprise in her chima.

  Outside their bunkhouse stood a motley collection of beings.

  ‘This is your work team,’ instructed one of the Velcats. ‘You start at dawn tomorrow.’ Mervyn studied the work detail, all Ethrigians except for two humans. He thought of Rauvic and his determination to escape. How far could he push the deal with Guthrik?

  ‘ I cannot work with this
team,’ Mervyn said bluntly. Velcats have a low thinking threshold so extended thoughts are best avoided. ‘There are no Zetoigs in this work party.’

  ‘The commandant say this your team, so you work with them,’ the Velcat growled.

  Loren jabbed him in the side, ‘Mervyn, what are you playing at?’

  He ignored her and addressed the other Velcat, ‘It cannot be done. I need tall beings. What is your name?’

  ‘My name? Why?’

  ‘Because when the commandant asks why productivity has not risen, I shall tell him you would not allow me to choose Zetoigs for the team, nor children.’

  The Velcat took a while to digest such a long thought, then pointed to its colleague, ‘She decided.’

  ‘Not I, he took the order,’ the other Velcat snarled and her ears lay flat along her head, they looked as if they might fight.

  Drawing attention to himself was not part of Mervyn’s plan so chancing his life he stepped between the disgruntled guards, ‘Then you will allow me to choose Zetoigs and children?’

  The Velcats continued to glare at each other, but their ears relaxed. Eventually the female, and then the male, nodded in acceptance. Loren raised a hand to hide a smile. Some of the work party were less circumspect, at least one laughed out loud, which made both Velcats suspicious.

  Quickly, Mervyn pressed home his advantage and strode towards the gate, ‘Come on then.’ The Velcats looked confused and raised their blast riffles; first at each other then at Mervyn. ‘We go to choose the Zetoigs and children you have just agreed I can have,’ he explained patiently as though to a child. In fact, they were very much like children, children with guns: erratic, unpredictable, dangerous. ‘Or would you prefer we go to the commandant?’

  The Velcats grumbled, but led Mervyn and Loren back to the main compound. Mervyn decided he had probably pushed his luck about as far as it would go tonight.

  ‘That one will do,’ Mervyn said, pointing towards the table at which Rauvic sat staring at the stars. Thinking of his home world perhaps?. The other slaves milled around busy with their night-time routines.

  ‘That one is old,’ protested one of the velcats.

  ‘I want height, not youth. Beside, his loss will not damage mining production,’ Mervyn tried to use the same language as the commandant. Then he saw the red coat draped over the young girl and boy sleeping exhaustedly in their mother’s lap so he sent Loren off with one of the Velcats to retrieve them.

  ‘You,’ Mervyn said to Rauvic. ‘Stand up.’ The Zetoig stood until he towered over Mervyn. ‘Open you mouth,’ Mervyn stood on the tale to inspect Rauvic’s mouth. He had no idea what he was looking for, but hoped it would impress the Velcat. That close to Rauvic he could whisper without being overheard, ‘Which other Zetoig can I trust?’

  ‘Zakric,’ Rauvic coughed into his fist and nodded his head towards a fellow member of this giant race. Mervyn assumed that was Zakric.

  ‘You’ll do. Go get your stuff,’ he declared in a loud voice then pointed to Zakric. ‘And I’ll take that one over there as well.’

  Back in the trustees compound they faced the problem of where to lodge the new recruits. There were plenty of beds, but the children were part of the deal with Guthrik and Mervyn wanted to keep them close. Besides, he did not trust the work party, especially the humans. ‘They are either spies or bad eggs,’ Loren pointed out. In the end they moved extra bunks into the team leader’s hut and divided the single room with a sheet suspended from the ceiling. Mervyn and Loren would share the hut with the mother and her children: a boy aged five and a girl aged seven. The children were soon fast asleep, end to end in the same bunk.

  ‘Why us?’ The mother asked as Mervyn made his bed. In many ways she looked uncannily like a human version of Aurora.

  He decided not to mention the deal with Guthrik -- not until he knew their value to the human leader anyway, ‘I didn’t think the children would last long, they can have an easier life here.

  ‘And how do you propose to do that?’

  Mervyn shrugged, ‘We’ll have to think of something.’

  ‘Wooden pegs,’ Loren said from the top bunk. ‘I’m sure we can persuade the guards we need loads of pegs to hold the props together. They can spend all day whittling them, then at we can burn them in the stove at night,’ she gave a short laugh at her own ingenuity. The mother grunted and pulled the curtain across. She could at least be grateful, Mervyn thought, he’d just saved her family from certain death.

  As he dozed off he saw a face peaking round the sheet, the dark-haired girl was watching him, ‘Thank you,’ she said shyly. ‘Mummy’s not crying tonight.’

  Mervyn felt a lump in his throat. Now he had responsibility for these children’s lives too. He smiled, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Mervyn, and my friend is Loren.’

  ‘My name is Rose,’ a smile broke her grubby face. Then she looked serious, ‘Grandpa Guthrik will come and get us soon. He is very important.’

  Mervyn fingered the key-card hidden in the waistband of his trousers. So that was the nature of the deal. Icicles shivered down his spine at the thought. If Guthrik lacked the power to protect his own family how could he possibly get them all off Pershwin?