It was noon of the seventh day when Ben stepped into his numbered circle, '101,' and came to a silent stance. Most of the other prisoners continued to talk and mill around as the excitement swept through their ranks. And though a hot meal did excite him, he did not feel conversational considering he was here under false charges.
The front lock opened and the guard who acted as roll-caller stepped through the doorway. Og was behind him and had to crouch to get through. He turn to one side to keep his broad shoulders from jamming on the sides. It must have been quite irritating to live on a planet of small people. As soon as he was in the compound he cracked his whip to remind the prisoners the most important reason for being quiet in formation.
Everyone came to an erect stance and remained very still.
The guard started the roll call and after what seemed like an eternity he came to Em’s name. Viella grabbed his arm and raised his hand while shouting, "Here."
The guard looked down the rank to make sure it was Em's hand and then made a mark on his sheet. Finally, he yelled out, “Samsung,” at which time Samsung raised his hand. "Okay," yelled the roll caller, "fall into single file by the number."
Ben fell in behind Keegan as he and the other prisoners formed a single file. On command they marched to the prison cafeteria, where, one by one they started through the food line.
Ben looked down as the food servers slopped food into the neat little compartments formed by the ridges in the metal tray. His stomach started to growl in anticipation as he looked at the food—two kinds of vegetables, a stew with meat—probably toral, and a yellow, creamy looking desert—not the best meal he had ever seen, but one he wasn't about to miss.
With his tray full, and steam rising from the stew, he started down the middle aisle looking for a seat, but not wanting to wait that long he popped one of the little cubes of meat from the stew into his mouth. He saw some tables at the back of the hall and stepped up his pace.
Shortly, he passed Tillo and Sweyn who were sitting next to the aisle. They were mountain men who had been caught in a raid during rebel exercises in one of the underground buildings. These two men were huge in physical stature, mean in actions, and ugly in facial features. They were so mean that it surprised Ben they would join a gang—but they had. During the short time that he had been in prison they had become friendly toward him. Maybe it had something to do with his refusal to join a gang. He didn’t know, but it was always good to have friends in unfriendly places.
I have to get out of this prison and help put a stop to Hurd’s reign of terror, he thought as he approached the bench. As an archaehistorian it was his job to write the history of his discovery and to remain an objective observer of any civilization he may come in contact with. But now, it was personal. He no longer wanted to write the history. He wanted to create some of it by getting a hold of Hurd in a dark place. Seven days ago, this man of invidious character had sentenced him to death, first in the run, and now in the crystal pits of Ar.
When he first started working in the pit it looked like death would be coming his way in a short period of time, but because of his fame as a swordsman a ray of hope appeared on the horizon. Yesterday, for the second time, Sharpie pulled him from the ranks, and gave him some news worth hearing. Four nights hence, she had arranged a swording match between him and a man from Newusa. Exactly why, she didn't say. He assumed it would give the officers some entertainment, and, in exchange, she would be able to do him some favors. She had already arranged for him to be on light duty, and he would get a hot meal everyday. He would also have his own private cell.
Somehow this didn't seem like enough. Oh sure, he could survive under these conditions, but how long would he be in here—ten, fifteen years? Maybe longer if the rebels were unsuccessful in overthrowing the Hurd regime. It could last his whole lifetime, which meant he had to escape.
With Sharpie's help, he thought, escape is a distinct possibility. But what if she refused to help him? In that case, he might get Roqford to help him.
He saw an empty seat and started toward it, but just then one of the prisoners stood up from a table and stepped in front of him. Another man quickly joined in. Ben looked them over—two of the uglier and meaner looking rebels in the prison—not quite as ugly and mean looking as Tillo and Sweyn. As the men sneered at him, unbeknownst to Ben another one came up from behind.
In the form of a question, the ugliest of the pair said, "You must be Ben Hillar?"
"That's right, and you?"
"Me? Why my name's Mensk and this here," he pointed to the man on his right, "is Josef."
"Nice to meet you. Now, if you'll get out of my way, I would like to eat this while it's still hot."
"Actually," replied Mensk, "that's what we're here to talk about. Rodde sends a message. He says he likes your spunk, so he's going to give you two more days to join a gang, but the price of his generosity is the food on your tray. Hand it over and no one gets hurt."
"You know," said Ben, "if this conversation is going to take much longer, I can eat just as easily standing as I can sitting." And with that Ben grabbed a handful of the stew and stuffed it in his mouth. Josef doubled his hand into a fist and raised his arm. But Mensk was quick to intervene. He pushed the other man’s arm down. "Just a moment, Josef," he said calmly. "Watch and learn."
He slipped a five-inch metal blade out from under his sleeve. "Mr. Hillar, if you don't hand that tray over right now, I'm going to have to hurt you in spite of Rodde's feelings for you."
Now I get a peek at the infamous shive,' thought Ben, and then as he swallowed he said, "It doesn't have to happen this way. We should be bonding together to find a way out of this rat hole, instead of fighting each other."
"We're not fighting each other Mr. Hillar. We have a set of rules that everyone follows and as it turns out, you're the only one who's fighting, refusing to conform to the standards set by our leaders."
"Oh, you mean like the standards set by Hurd."
Mensk didn't like Ben's comment and his hand tightened around the handle of the shive. "Hand it over," growled Mensk.
"Just a moment," said Ben as he calmly grabbed another handful of stew and stuffed it into his mouth.
Mensk drew back his hand holding the shive.
Ben knew that with his athleticism and his training in combat, taking care of these two thugs would be no problem. He moved his feet into the proper stance taking into consideration the position of each man and which man he would have to attack first—that would be the one on the right—the loud mouth. He readied himself and was about to throw his first punch when suddenly he was grabbed from behind. A pair of large arms wrapped around Ben and locked his hands in front of Ben's chest pinioning Ben’s arms against his sides. Now he had no immediate chance for defense.
Mensk shot his hand forward and drove the shive a full five inches into Ben's abdomen.
The hot, searing pain sent shock waves throughout Ben's body. For a split second he was paralyzed into helplessness, with a sick feeling of wanting to run, but unable to part from the paralysis caused by the knife in his abdomen. The feeling of horror swept through his brain for another moment, but then the adrenalin kicked in and the pain, the paralysis, and feeling of horror were no longer there.
Mensk pulled the shive out of his flesh and drew his hand back in order to make another stab, but Ben saw it coming and turned his tray vertical spilling the food to the floor in order to shield his abdomen from the next thrust.
"What the . . . " said Mensk as he watched the food fall to the floor. He was already driving his hand forward with the shive when Ben turned the tray. The shive hit the metal tray and careened harmlessly into the air with Mensk's arm flailing behind it like a flapping shirtsleeve in a breeze.
Ben raised his foot and drove it down with all his force smashing the heel of his shoe into the arch of the man's foot behind him. He could feel the snapping and crunching of bones, and the man quickly let go, falling to the floor,
howling in pain.
At the same time Ben formed the knuckles of the second joints of his right hand into a spear-shape and drove it into Mensk's Adam's apple. The windpipe was crushed blocking the flow of air to his lungs. He fell backwards to the floor. His eyes were bulging and his tongue was hanging out flapping around in the air, which he so desperately wanted to get into his lungs. He rolled over on his stomach and clawed at the floor a couple of times.
Josef stood with his mouth open as he watched Mensk scratching helplessly for air. Josef looked at Ben with doubt and uncertainty written on his face. It was obvious he didn't know what to do.
But Ben knew what to do. He swung the metal tray with great force and hit Josef on the side of the head and face. He could feel a grating through the vibration of the tray, which told him Josef's jaw had been broken in several places, and when he pulled the tray away, it had lost its neat little metal ridges and now looked like an artist's rendition of a man's head and face in profile. There was blood trickling from the side of Josef’s head.
He crumpled to the floor like a man in slow motion and lay there unconscious with his mouth hanging open in an unnatural position.
Ben thought the attack was finished, but it wasn’t. He heard a noise from behind. For a moment it puzzled him. He thought the man behind him had been incapacitated. He spun around in time to see that four more assailants had jumped from their seats to join the fight. Two of them had shives, and another one had a small, wooden club.
Ben knew he couldn’t protect himself from all four of them, especially with his wound. It looked like Hurd was going to get his wish. And then, three allies, which Ben didn’t know he had, joined the brawl.
Samsung came in low and kicked one of the men in the knee. The man’s leg was broken. He dropped the shive and went down screaming. Then Samsung did an astounding jump into the air and kicked the other shive-carrying prisoner in the face knocking him off his feet. The man was unconscious as he hit the floor with a thud. Tillo hit the man who had the club from behind with a huge fist, and when the man turned to face him, Tillo started viciously pummeling him. Blood splattered. The man’s nose was broken. There were several cuts above his eye, and then Tillo swung a huge fist and broke the man’s jaw before he fell to the floor.
At the same time Tillo was kicking the one prisoner’s ass, Sweyn attacked the other one with the same viciousness. It was horrific to watch. It was as if they were spilling huge volumes of red-molten anger that had stored up since they arrived at the prison. It exploded in wrath and resulted in brutal beatings of the two men they attacked. They kept kicking them, even as they lie on the floor. Ben could hear ribs cracking.
Finally Samsung had to grab their legs and throw them down. He held up his hand. “Enough!” he shouted.
Tillo and Sweyn calmed down and stood up.
“If you kill them,” said Samsung, “you will receive the death sentence.”
Ben was surprised that these men would help him, especially since they had nothing to gain by it.
“Thanks,” said Ben. He was feeling woozy.
Samsung grunted, “My pleasure.”
And the two mountain men nodded their heads. Then the three of them returned to their tables and sat down.
But Ben wasn’t finished. He looked at the table on his left and singled out the man in the middle. "Your turn, Rodde," he said behind gritted teeth. "Get your ass over here and let's see what you got."
But Rodde just sat there and said nothing.
Ben was the only one standing when a blur of guards ran into the room and spread out with phasors drawn while some of them ran down the aisle. "What's going on here?" shouted the one in the lead as he looked at the seven men lying on the floor.
"They wanted my food," said Ben. He pointed at the prisoner whose face was starting to turn blue. “You better get him to the doc quick. He’s dying of suffocation.”
Ben could feel the adrenalin starting to wear off. He grabbed his abdomen with his hand and sat on the bench nearest him. He was starting to feel feint. The blood was seeping between his fingers and dripping to the floor.
And then the blackness closed in.
Chapter Fifty-One