The noise in the confined area of the pit, approximately three hundred feet across, wracked Ben's ears with an agonizing drone of constant clamor. It was almost deafening with the thudding and clanking of fifty-eight picks hammering the dirt in random, and the shoveling of dirt into the dirt-carts, the loading and unloading of the crystals, and especially the machinery used to haul the crystals up the side of the two hundred foot embankment. But the most painful to Ben's ears was the cracking of the whip as much too often the end of it came down on a prisoner's back bringing moans and whimpering from the unlucky stiff beneath it.
"Over here," shouted one of the pickers above the loud din. He wiped the cold sweat off his brow and gestured at a sparkling crystal-point, which was peeking up from beneath the dirt.
Ben lifted the handles and pushed his crystal cart with the one rubber tire toward the man. As he came to a stop he noticed only part of the crystal was showing. "It's not uncovered," he said.
"Look, all you have to do is brush off a little of the dirt and pick it up."
But Ben knew better. There was no telling how big it was, and he wasn't going to be fumbling around trying to dislodge a crystal. "Take another swing at it," he said with a growl.
"By the Zorgs," retorted the man. He slowly lifted his pick and with a heavy downward swing he popped the crystal loose. "Happy?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yeah, ecstatic," said Ben. He bent over, picked it up, and threw it on top of the other crystals. The cart was full enough, so he started wheeling it to the nearest unloading station.
Ben stopped next to the conveyor belt and started dropping crystals onto the small-lipped platforms, which were rising slowly one after another toward the top of the pit.
This was Ben's third tormenting day working as a crystal loader in the open pit prison mine on the Jamarl Plains of Ar, or as Ben always referred to it as the Jamarl Plains of Mars. It hadn't taken him long to get familiar with the routine, and to discover who and what was a threat to his life, and who and what wasn't.
The first morning, when he fell into formation for roll call along with the other prisoners, he set his eyes upon the largest monstrosity of a man he had ever seen, at least nine feet tall (so much for the rumors being exaggerated). His huge frame, which was composed mostly of muscle with only a small roll of fat hanging over his brown-leather belt, must have weighed more than seven hundred pounds. There was a long black beard, which hung down from his Piltdown looking face and lay in waves upon his huge chest. Later, Roqford told Ben that this giant, Og, had been imported by the warden to intimidate the prisoners. And intimidate he did. He loved to use his whip on any prisoner who did not do as he was told or who was slacking off, not doing his job.
Every morning the warden with Roqford by his side would stand on the top walkway of the prison wall and watch the prisoner's roll call. Near the wall to the warden’s left on the ground floor and forty meters from the pit stood twenty guards at attention. The lieutenant with a sergeant beside him waited for the order from the warden to escort the prisoners to the elevator, which would lower them into the deep hole.
That first morning, the prisoners, with Ben in their midst, slowly shuffled out of the cell blocks and made their way to the plastic assembly area. There were three hundred numbers painted and circled on the dark plastic. It was the responsibility of the prisoners to find their assigned numbers, step within the circle, and come to attention—no talking, whispering, or moving about.
Og would make sure you followed the rules.
Ben walked over to his number, 101, and stepped into the circle. To his left was the rebel prisoner, Keegan, who had arrived with Ben and the others. To his right was Viella, and then Em was to her right. Finally, Samsung occupied circle number ‘104.’ During the next several weeks the five of them, including Em, but not really since he wasn't aware of his surroundings, were going to become close friends in a hostile environment.
The prisoner in front of Ben turned slightly and said over his shoulder, "That's going to be your number for the rest of your life, unless someone else dies first." And then he laughed a quiet, hysterical laugh.
Just then the door of the guard's cross over tube opened, and the duty officer with four other guards walked out with Og trailing not far behind. All the prisoners became very quiet. It was Og's routine to stand in front of the prisoners during roll call and crack his whip after the calling of every name. It was as if he couldn't wait to get into the pit and start whipping prisoners.
"Ben Hillar," yelled the officer that first morning.
"Here," said Ben as he raised his hand.
Crraaaack went the whip.
The duty officer looked at the list. "Today you will be a loader and from this day forward, unless you are told otherwise. . . . Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," grumbled Ben.
Crraaaack went the whip.
Ben was learning quickly how to stay out of the way of the whip.
The next three days were uneventful with the exception of the gang leaders who were threatening his life if he did not join a gang. Ben ignored them. He knew it was a protection racket, which put more food in the gang leader’s mouth. He had seen the same premise in many of the societies throughout the galaxy, and especially some of the societies of Ancient Earth. There were many different social groups, which were formed under one guise or another and proposed to be a necessary or wonderful happening, but in actuality was formed to put more money or wealth into one or a few individual's pockets. Politicians were especially good at it. And even more interesting were the gangsters who made no pretense about it, but actually came right out and said it was a protection racket. Funny that this was considered illegal while it was all right for the politicians to do what they were doing. A loud crack from the whip and a groan from one of the prisoners brought Ben back from his reverie. He looked over in time to see the man fall heavily to the dirt. The man quickly dragged himself up and started working, knowing that if he didn't he would feel another lash. Many prisonersss have been beaten to death, said Roqford.
That's nice, said Ben in response. He wheeled his cart in the opposite direction, saw a crystal lying in the dirt, and bent over to pick it up.
The man who had uncovered it leaned over and in a low gruff whisper said, "Join a gang or die."
Ben revealed no sign of perturbation, but stood up and tossed the crystal into the cart. He had none of the fear nor trepidation that these gangsters were trying to instill in him. Ben looked him in the eye. "What's your name," he asked.
"Rodde," answered the man still whispering.
"Well, Rodde," said Ben with a demeaning tone, "it makes no sense to me that you were once a brave rebel in the city trying to overthrow a tyrannical self-seeking ruler who has no concern for the welfare of the people, and now here you are a cowardly prisoner who is willing to kill another man for a few food pellets."
"We do what we have to," said Rodde, "in order to survive, so we can get back and break Hurd's neck."
"That's no excuse for killing a fellow prisoner," said Ben in a contemptuous voice.
"You're no fellow prisoner. You're an offworlder."
"You think I don't want to break Hurd's neck as much as you?" Ben growled.
Rodde started to reply, but a huge shadow fell over the two of them as if a mountain had been moved between them and the sun; and then Rodde stiffened suddenly as he was slammed to the ground. A loud crack from the whip reverberated the air. "No slacking," boomed a voice which sounded more like a sonic boom.
Rodde, with blood trickling from a welt across his back, quickly pushed himself from the ground and started swinging his pick in search of crystals.
Ben stood in tense anticipation waiting for his turn. He waited for the whip to come crashing down on his back, bringing excruciating pain, but it didn't come. He slowly pushed his cart away looking for crystals while the realization finally came to him that Og only whipped the crystal pickers.
&n
bsp; Another freezing day under the dim summer sun, said Roqford.
Yeah, replied Ben, if this keeps up I'm going to have a real nice tan. Ben had gotten used to Roqford unexpectedly intruding into his mental makeup, and Roqford did it quite often. Roqford slept a lot, but when he wasn't sleeping he was talking to Ben. Ben had asked him why he wanted to talk so much. And Roqford had replied that he had asked himself that same question, but when no answer came he realized that it didn't matter. As long as they were comfortable with the chatter, what difference did it make?
And, indeed, the chatter was comfortable as it kept Ben’s mind off the idea that he might be spending the rest of his short life in this prison.
Two days after Roqford first entered his mind came an even more pleasant event. Roqford asked Ben, Isn't it only fair, sinccce I look through your eyesss that you should look through mine?
It was an unassuming question for which Ben knew Roqford awaited an answer. What? answered Ben.
There was a little mirth in Roqford's mental voice. It'sss quite simple, he replied. Sinccce you're in my mind, all you have to do isss concentrate on my vision."
Where are you?
I'm in the warden'sss officcce, and right now I'm looking at him.
And all I have to do is concen . . ." And just like that Ben was looking at something fat and fuzzy. It looked blurry, but it was definitely fat and fuzzy. And then Ben realized what the colors were. He didn't want to say they were distorted, but they were different from the way he perceived them through human eyes, and as he looked at the fuzzy guard next to the office door, he realized that all humans were fuzzy looking. There was a strange colorful light emanating from around the body, which sometimes radiated five or six feet into the air. Later, when Roqford was outside, Ben noticed that even the ground was different. It wasn't a drab greyish-brown color, instead there were varying colors shining with different intensities from different areas. Ben assumed there was significance to this, but he wasn't sure what it was.
After a few practice sessions Ben was able to distinguish the shapes and especially the humans. Even though the warden didn't look like the warden, there were distinguishing colors which differentiated him from other humans and with Roqford's eyes he would recognize the warden anywhere, even in a crowd.
It was later that day Ben wondered about Roqford's nose. If he could see through his eyes, why couldn't he smell through his nose?
Why not? replied Roqford.
And just like that a myriad of smells inundated Ben's perception. Potent, almost overpowering smells which distinguished the warden from the guard from Roqford from the furniture from the walls from the rug from the floor. The smells were exciting and alive and for the first time in his life Ben knew there was a reality that existed beyond the human senses. It was so alive and exciting that Ben could hardly tear himself away. In fact, he quickly learned he could use Roqford's nose even when Roqford was asleep.
Because Ben had to keep a watch on the things around him, especially when he was in the pit, he was unable to use Roqford's vision except for short periods of time. Roqford's smell, however, Ben explored quite frequently, during most of his waking hours.
As he picked up another crystal, he could smell the warden, but a few feet away.
The sun had crept past the edge of the pit and the sergeant of the guard, who sat on a platform thirty feet above the floor of the pit, stood up and blew a whistle. The prisoners stopped whatever job it was they were doing and set their tools on the ground. Suddenly the noise, which continually pounded in Ben's ears, ceased, except for the shuffling sound of the weary prisoners as they made their way to the elevator platform.
At the top of the pit Ben fell into a single file formation with the rest of the prisoners, and they started walking in a disorderly, but linear fashion toward the cells in the maximum-security wing (which was actually the only wing).
They had gotten about half way around the pit when a gruff voice yelled, "Ben Hillar, step out of formation."
What now? wondered Ben. He was tired and wanted to fall face forward into his bunk.
A guard with corporal's stripes on his sleeve walked up and stood in front of him. The man was Ben’s height, with the same build except a little more massive through the shoulders and chest. His nose was a bit too large and bent to the left indicating he had been in at least one nose-shattering fight. He had thick lips, and his face supported a black beard and mustache. All in all he was a mean looking son of a bitch.
Ben would have never expected a look of amazement on such a face, but there it was. The man asked, “Are you theeee Ben Hillar?".
"Ever since I was born," replied Ben.
"I mean, are you the Ben Hillar who placed fourth in swording in the Galactic Games?"
Since swording was not a popular sport on Ar, it never occurred to Ben that he might be recognized, especially in the pit, but as he looked at the eager smile creeping through the guard's beard, it seemed his fame might be beneficial. "That's right," he said.
"After I heard your name at roll call this morning I couldn't believe it was you. I went back to the barracks and got my swording magazine with your picture in it. . . . And I'll be damned it's really you."
"Yes," said Ben. "It's me."
And then the guard grimaced. "How the hell did you get in here?" he asked.
"To sum it up succinctly," said Ben, "I was on an archaeological expedition in Newusa and had the misfortune of running into Hurd."
The guard gave him that knowing look. "Yeah, he's a real bastard." He looked around to make sure no one was listening and then started talking a little softer. "Listen, there's a Lieutenant of the Guard called Sharpie. She's a great fan of swording and on numerous occasions she has talked to me about your matches at the Galactic Games. Damn, she's not going to believe me when I tell her. She's absolutely not going to believe it." He paused in thought, and then said, "But when she does, I think we can help you get through this hellish ordeal. The least we can do is to get you light duty. So, you just stay safe, okay?"
"Sure," said Ben. He was beginning to see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.
"By the way, my name is corporeal Jobbe.”
“It’s good to meet you,” said Ben.
“Indeed,” said the corporeal. “Now, you go back to your cell, and I'll be getting together with you in a day or two." The guard turned and walked toward the entrance of the cross-over tube.
Chapter Forty-Five