Runners: Escape Prison World or Die (Empire of Time Series) by John Argo

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Runners: Escape Prison World or Die (Empire of Time SF Series Novel#6) by John Argo

Page 10.

Runners: Escape Prison World or Die (Empire of Time SF Series Novel#6) by John ArgoStill no outcry, no roaring inrushing skimmer firing staccato bursts of cannon beams, no rat-fuck ceramic bullets stitching deadly rows among flying stones and drifting dust. Just the endless, merciless plantation silence between serfs and overseers, under the timeless bluish-purple sky, the distant sleeping mountain ranges, and the red sand desert that baked away in cracked, desolate agony.

As he emerged in a small sandy clearing, he almost bowled over a trustie in dirty white uniform, who was just fussing with a field stove. In a blur, Kion spotted billowing gray mess tents, smoky pot stoves, and hulky drinking-water cylinders.

The two men froze and eyeballed each other. As humans did under such circumstances, the two men spoke with their eyes, faster than tongues could move or sounds pour forth. Kion thought he might have to kill the man if he opened his mouth to raise alarm. The shorter, hairier, slightly older man instantly comprehended the situation and said: "Take me with you. My life is so fucked here."

"Come on," Kion said. He slapped the other on the arm as he ran past. He heard the man trundling after him as they ducked into another alley of boulders arranged with all the logic of a million teraton explosion millions of years ago.

Still no outcry. Is Goddess Fortune on my side today?

The man breathlessly introduced himself on the run as Jac Piri, Mess Sergeant, Pagyol Duchy, 909th Field Service Battalion attached to Treaty Marches armed forces. His entire sector had been taken whole, over a quarter million male, female, and neugend colonists, police, and fighters, when the alienian Riksh Division of Generalissimo Riksh-a-Pn overran their dirtside defense forts on a frontier world in the Ruby Arm.

Piri had been stuck on Manaul 5 for over two years thus far, with no end in sight. He would never see his wife and kids again unless he made a run for it. He praised Kion, Fortune, and his home world tutelary gods for this decisive break today. Piri wore a rag of nondescript color around his neck, serving many uses. Just now, he used it to wipe sweat and grime from his eye orbits.

Kion, an athlete by training, pounded on. The other man seemed weaker—perhaps a liability. O gods, what have I done to myself? Kion thought.

But this was already a new and changed now. That fleeting choice two minutes ago was then. Letting the man come along was another free life choice from which there was no going back. What if he'd left Piri there?

For all he knew, the mess sergeant might have continued trying to light his flickering field stove, and silently wished him luck. Or, grim reality being what it was, Piri might have raised an outcry and received an extra protein patty with dinner for being a good trustie. Or a good toggie.

"I could have stopped for lunch," Kion joked as they ran, he slightly ahead of the harder-breathing NCO.

Piri reached into his loose white jump and brought out a half-size h'andybar, in edible papery wrapper, like those in which most camp meals came. "I prepare these for special moments. Mostly dried tog meat with whatever other protein available mixed in, or a little chopped fruit. Being a kitchen supervisor has its perks."

"I picked the right man to run with," Kion said, and thought: after all. "Fortune is with us."

"I hope you have a plan, boss," said Piri while sharing the small packets wrapped in dirty paper.

Already, Kion heard a certain human irreverence and stubborn defiance welling up in his fellow Runner. Probably a good sign of independence and self-determination, but he'd see. "That shadow line in the ground ahead," Kion said, pointing to a ridge line interrupted by boulders. "I figure it's got to overlook a canyon of some kind."

"Hope so. We'll know in a minute."

But it wasn't a canyon—just a dip in the desert with a field of boulders spreading as far as the eye could see. An ancient sea had formed these sandy balls and moved them around in its cool, blinding currents—in a primordial xenologic age when giant lizards paddled around killing each other. But that had been eons ago, and the planet had lost half its water to evaporation since then. What remained were huge, briny seas near the equator, containing the desert continents and one large jungle continent.

"Just keep running and hope for the best," Kion said.

"Speaking of mess sergeants, my stomach just sank. No canyon, no shelter, no hope for escape."

"Your heart just sank, is the expression."

"Yeah, well, I think like a cook."

"Let's not waste our time being pessimistic. But the humor is appreciated."

A canyon might have meant more places to hide, more shade, maybe even plants and water. Instead, they continued over the ridge and down into this interminable spread of rocks over which lingered the odor of macab insect decay. The bugs were everywhere. They darted about fast, in small clouds, and got into your shirt, on your skin, with their raspy little biters, and both men constantly slapped their necks and shoulders while cursing as much as the hot air and their burning lungs would permit. It was worse down here than up on the ridge from which they'd just come.

"What I would not give for a mouthful of water," Piri said.

"Make that two of us."

Kion and Piri were on the run for about two uras by the time their alien captors and humanian underlings took the next head count. That would be the last head count, before the march from the quarries back to the sweltering acres of Aerag-15 POW camp for men. When two prisoners were found missing, the camp's hideous hurp-sirens started pushing dinosaur cries over the glowering deserts of Manaul 5D.

Which was, Kion realized, right about now. "They are on to us. Pick up your speed."

The first burst of the siren in its tower exploded over the desert silence:

Hu-u-u-u-urp!

Long pause.

"O gods," Piri said. He blanched as he heard the terrifying, primordial predator sound echoing far and wide. It was like the hunting cry of a prehistoric animal at the top of the food chain:

Hu-u-u-u-urp!

Long pause.

Hu-u-u-u-urp!

Long pause.

Hu-u-u-u-urp!

This would go on until dark, Kion knew. He felt rattled, and knew Piri was about to wet his pants. It was a noise that drove into your skull harsh as a nail gun, and made you unable to think or concentrate. That was its intended effect. Some prisoners, even chained in dungeons, on hearing this sound would be starkly reminded of their powerlessness, and the cheapness of their lives, and the imminence of death—and would wet themselves or start crying.

Within a minutes, merk skimmers whirred low over the desert. The bought-off humanian scavengers came out in force. They were the lowest form of humanity and humaniandom, cashiered from every army and rejected by every police agency in the Dominion. Among them were rapists and murderers or worse. Many had found refuge in the supposedly neutral Treaty Marches. Then the Swarm violated all treaty obligations and began conquering swaths of the Ruby Arm. Merk types found their niche again as scavengers and bottom feeders. They readily became state-sponsored outlaws amid methane-breathing, meth-head dominions. The hurp siren was their kind of music. It was their old tough luck song, with them being chased by the law intead of the other way around, as now.

Soon enough, a merk skimmer spotted the two running dots on the red sands among stationary, rust-colored sand-balls.

As the skimmer darted toward them, Kion thought: Here we go…

Luckily, the merks were not likely to cooperate on a kill or capture. Each would try and steal the meat from his fellow scavengers. For the moment, only one skimmer was their challenge. So far, not so bad. Terrible, but things could be worse.

A deadly pinprick bullet whizzed past Kion's head and impacted in the desert sandstone near his feet. It was a warning shot, meant to intimidate. More shots rained down as the merks narrowed in for potential kill shots if the two did not drop in terror and wait to be taken in. For what? A hanging? Don't make me laugh, Kion thought as he speeded up to the limits of his endurance. Just a little while longer now. It would soon be dark, and they'd put off the hunt until morning.




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