Weekly Drabble #215 (Patreon)

This week's prompts are "waiting in the wings" from Knightress, "red is such a beautiful colour" from George and "a watcher's folly" from pyro hawk. It should come as no surprise then, that we return to the City and its inhabitants. Our last two stories in Horrak-Sarn featured a look at those attempting to escape the notice of the Masters and eking the best living they should out of the alien metropolis. This time, we walk on the other side of the fence. Enjoy!

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Unchained Gang:

“Pick up the pace, you slackers!” Kevin Kepper snapped at the dig teams. “You want to be out of here by sundown, you meet quota! You don’t, you’re working through the night and the ones that are left in the morning get flogged!”

The slaves increased their pace. Most of them were new; they didn’t fully understand what night meant here on Horrak-Sarn, but they knew enough to mind the pit boss’s orders. Kepper walked among the teams, his large rifle cradled in his arms like a newborn baby. Those not working fast enough moved quicker when he was close and if they didn’t, they got one warning before the boot. Then it was the shock baton and after that, well... after that, the rest of the crew had to work faster to make up for a shortfall. That rarely needed to happen.

Kepper thought himself a decent pit boss, strict but fair. Some of the others were harder than he was. They had higher turnover on their crews. Too high though, and a guard detail and their boss could find themselves in place of the slaves they’d been overseeing. The Masters might be capricious, sadistic, mercurial and inscrutable, but they didn’t tolerate over-zealousness amongst their underlings, particularly when that impaired efficiency... and it was a very thin line between ‘servant’ and ‘slave’ for the humans who toiled under them. Kepper had been the former once earning an elevation, seemingly on a whim, when one of the Masters saw a much younger Kevin smashing another boy’s head to paste with a rock.

He’d never go back to that life. No matter what he had to do, he’d never go back. So he worked his crews hard, getting the best from them. If they wouldn’t give him the best, he’d find a way to get it whether they liked it or not. That had earned him a modicum of respect from the Masters. They gave him the new crews. He was good at breaking them in, showing them the ropes. Today was going to be a teaching moment for this bunch. He could feel it.

Kepper had heard all the stories about Horrak-Sarn, every last one of them. That they weren’t on Earth anymore was obvious even to the slowest-witted newbie. But where was here? Nobody knew. Kevin had been to one of the High Towers – once – and he remembered standing on a balcony, looking out at everything. There was only the City, its inhuman sprawl stretching from one end of the horizon to the other without break. No one Kepper knew had ever reached the edge of the City. Some said that the entire planet was like this: an endless ecumenopolis. Others said that there was no planet at all, just Horrak-Sarn floating in the void. Others claimed that the City was in some strange intra-dimensional realm, caught between here and nowhere. Kepper didn’t know the truth, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that there was no way out. Once you were here, you stayed here. You could escape the Masters, but you could never escape the City.

Service meant safety, at least as long as you were still useful. Kepper had been useful ever since one of the Masters had bade a small boy covered in blood and brains come with him. The rest of the guards on his shift – tough, dangerous men and a handful of like-minded women – understood that. Most of them. Today’s lesson wasn’t only going to be for the cattle. Kepper had a new man in his crew. Jalson. He was soft. Not in body or mind – he was smart and strong – but in his heart. He cared too much. He took pity on the slaves. Kepper could see him now, walking up and down the lines. Encouraging and urging in low whispers, checking on the work crews, the women most of all.

If it were anyone else, Kevin would have suspected an ulterior motive there. Since it was Jalson, he knew it was just because the man was a chivalrous idiot. This was Horrak-Sarn, not a dating service. If any of those cows gave Jalson anything more than a glare, it was because they were hooking him for privileges, trying to ply him for information or hoping for a chance to slip a shiv in his ribs.

Kepper had talked to him, but Jalson hadn’t changed. So, today he was going to learn about that soft heart of his. If he lived, maybe he’d understand and take the right lesson. If he didn’t, then at least it happened when Kepper was expecting it and could control the situation.

The dig teams continued their work. From time to time, the Masters would need things done in the City. Often these were archaeological works – excavating one of the many subterranean chambers. The City was built layer upon layer, like a jenga board. Sometimes the old sections collapsed under the weight of the new, exposing long-buried levels. Sometimes mercenary or slave explorers delving through the Beneath found other things of interest. Sometimes the Masters simply sent their slaves out to a specific area, digging and hacking through metal, stone and concrete and never said why.

Today was simpler. They were in the Lowers – one of the parts of the City where the buildings didn’t reach as high. A skyscraper had collapsed after something underground had shifted, coming down across several blocks, crushing several ‘free’ human encampments under it as it brought down more buildings, filling a swath of urban sprawl with debris. Machines and excavator units were hard at work elsewhere, but the Masters had insisted that the ‘delicacy’ of human hands was needed here. Other than that, they hadn’t deigned to explain. He never did. He suspected that there was something here that the Masters wanted, exposed or hinted at by the building’s collapse, but he knew better than to ask. He never did.

They were clearing and digging out the wreckage. It was slow going, but they’d been given a goal to reach by sundown. They were already on track, but Kepper wasn’t going to let the cattle know. As far as they knew, they still needed to move their asses. They worked harder when they had a goal. If they beat the goal by 10%, he’d let them leave early. Less than that, and they worked right until the last minute. No one was staying out after dark. If the cattle had to, then he and his people did, too. He wasn’t doing that shit. No fucking way.

There were a lot of reasons as to why that was. Two of them were perched on the roof of a nearby building, a pair of Watchers. Both of them were slender, but he thought one was male and the other female. Red-lensed helmets over their faces, clad in form-fitting bodygloves and armour, and weapons on their waists. The male had a knife on his left breastplate. Kepper would love to know where they got that shit. Uglies and the free had to make do with whatever they could scrounge or steal, but Watchers were always armed to the teeth. Including the teeth.

Neither of the mutie freaks approached the dig crew. True to their name, they were just watching, studying the slaves and the guards, looking for openings to swoop in and grab some dumb bastard. It wouldn’t matter who they took. Master, human or animal, man or woman, guard or cattle. Watchers would go after anything that moved. These two weren’t going to chance the firepower the guards had, though. They were waiting for sundown. They’d either strike once darkness fell or head off to look for other prey. Kepper planned to be long gone before the aerial predators had a chance to make that choice.

“Keep an eye on this group,” he told Jalson as he passed a small group of slaves, stepping out of the way of a water girl. Those too young, sick or frail to do the heavy work were put to other use, running water and food to the workers. A dehydrated, hungry slave was a slow slave. Some pit bosses only provided water, saving food for the end of day. Others withheld it if their crews didn’t make quota. Kepper made sure his cattle had full bellies. If they did well, they got a bit extra and that little time off. If they did poorly, they still ate, but not as much as they could have and the worst performers got a taste of boot, stick or whip.

Seems like the lesson is coming up, he thought. He had a nose for troublemakers. There were several in this group. They thought he didn’t know about them, but he did. That was why they needed a lesson. Kepper had given them a special one the first day he’d had them. One of the bulls tried pulling that ‘I have rights, I’m an American’ ratshit. Whether the man was so deluded that he thought that meant anything nowor he was so terrified that he was taking refuge whatever he could, Kepper didn’t care. Americans talked too much, but the pit boss had a way to deal with that. With a pair of his men holding the bull in place, Kepper had reached in the man’s mouth with the tongs on his belt, grabbed his tongue and then sliced it out. He didn’t hear any more shit about ‘rights’ from any of the rest of this group of cattle, but they weren’t wholly broken in yet.

Today, he’d take care of that.

Just as expected, Jalson paused by one of the women in group. She was what Kepper had years ago learned was a ‘Latina’. He supposed that meant something on Earth, but Kevin had never been there. She was pretty, with very dark hair, very dark brown eyes and bronze skin. So of course Jalson, dupe that he was, tried to be gentle. Moron. If he’d been doing his job and paying attention instead of worrying so much about the cattle, he would have seen what was going on. He’d have seen the way the cow stayed close to the bull next to her, the way they whispered to each other in a language they didn’t think anyone here knew. The furtive glances they shot at the guards whenever they walked too close, the way the cow had been watching Jalson and sized him up as a mark and the way the bull had looked at Jalson after the woman had pointed the guard out.

Kepper knew those two were up to something. He’d been wondering if both of them were necessary for the lesson, then decided on just one. Bull or cow? The bull was the better worker, but the cow had some fine-ass tits.   Even if Kepper didn’t bother with her, she was nice to look out. What cinched it for the pit boss was when he’d looked in the man’s eyes. The slave had looked away, but not fast enough. The cow was quicker to submit. The bull was going to be trouble no matter what, probably even more without the girl. So he’d be the example. That decision made, all Kevin had to do was wait.

It happened sooner than he thought. The cow was saying something or gesturing and Jalson leaned in, raising an arm to call for a water carrier... and then the bull made his move.

He had a shiv. With a surprising degree of stealth and speed, he came up behind Jalson and jabbed a jagged piece of metal into his back, up under his cuirass. The guard screamed as the bull twisted the shiv. The woman pushed him over and then they were both running, dashing for the edge of the rubble-strewn courtyard as fast as they could go.

“Hold fire!” Kepper barked in Servants’ Tongue, holding up his right hand. “Suppress!” His guards were quick and turned to cover the rest of the slaves to make sure they didn’t take advantage of the confusion. “Medic!” he pointed at Jalson, writhing in the dirt, blood seeping from the tear in his back. Lassiter hustled over to Jalson’s side. “Hanna – the girl!”

With a grin on her face, Hanna raised her weapon. It was a non-lethal tangle gun, and she was a good shot. Better than with regular guns.A bolas went spinning out, wrapping around the cow’s arms and legs. She toppled to the ground, wriggling in the dust like a grub. The man stopped. She screamed at him to keep going. He hesitated. Kepper gave him some incentive, bringing up his rifle. The cow screamed again and the man ran for it.

In seconds he was out of the courtyard, close to the safety of the buildings and the maze of alleyways around them. The slaves were cheering. Kepper grinned. They didn’t understand. They were about to.

The Watchers were gone from their perch.

The male struck the fleeing slave first, swooping out from between two buildings and slamming into him, sending him flying. The Watcher came to a perfect landing. The slave didn’t, rolling across the concrete. He picked himself up. He was scraped from the dirt and street, but otherwise uninjured. They’re going to play first, Kepper noted. Good.

The bull picked up a rock, brandishing it and shouting something in his language. The Watcher wasn’t impressed. It click-hissed at him. Ke-ke-ke-ke-ke-ke .Even from here, that sound made Kepper’s blood turn cold.

The Watcher dropped low, almost to all fours, his wings spreading out. The feathers glinted like oil. His attention on the enemy in front of him, the slave didn’t notice until it was too late. The female dropped silently behind him. He saw the motion in his peripheral vision, turned-

-then reeled back, clutching his chest as the Watcher slashed him vertically across the ribs. A shallow cut. The bound cow wailed, writhing as if she was trying to crawl her way to the man’s aid. It was too late for him.

The slave staggered back, then howled anew as the male Watcher darted in and raked his back in a matching strike to his female companion’s. The bull spun, lashing out with the rock in his hand in a haymaker that a child could have seen coming. The Watcher dipped back, just enough that the blow barely missed. The female cut the bull again, this time on the other side of his back. The male sliced him once more, another matching blow. The slave was bleeding from each quarter of his torso now.

Kepper had seen Watchers do this. If they considered you a threat, they killed you outright. If they didn’t, they might just toy with you a little. The slave threw the rock at the female. She hopped out of its path, hissing. Laughing at him. He tried to run. They blocked him in, cutting his arms and legs. He threw punches that they slapped aside. He was starting to understand what was happening, but he wasn’t there yet. He still thought he had a chance. In desperation he went full bore at the male Watcher. The female grabbed his left arm, sinking her claws deep into the meat and twisting the limb around. The bull howled. He looked back at her, tried to beg.

She drove a knife all the way through his wrist and in one smooth motion, sawed it out. The hand came loose. The cow screamed. The bull stared at the ragged stump as if in a daze. That was when he finally realized. They were playing with him and they were going to take him apart. He turned and ran, back towards the courtyard and the guards. The male Watcher looked at his companion and gestured to the fleeing slave. She drew a small shaft from her belt, depressing a stud. A long, black cord spewed out from it. A razor whip. It cracked, lashing across the distance between the slave and the Watcher, wrapping around his right knee. The female jerked the whip back. It sliced through cloth, skin, meat and cartilage like scissors snipping paper. The bull’s right shin came loose and he fell to the dirt.

In blind panic now, he was crawling on his belly, using his elbows and his remaining leg. The bound cow was shrieking his name, crying, demanding that someone help him. No one moved. Even if they wouldn’t have been crossing Kepper, you didn’t get between a Watcher and their meal. The bull was sobbing, turning pale from blood loss, but he was running on adrenaline. He didn’t know he was dead.

The male took flight in a short, lethargic little swoop, landing with his feet to either side of the crawling slave. It reached down and sunk the claws of its left hand into the skin of his eye sockets, pulling his head up to look at the other slaves. They were the last thing he saw as the Watcher drove a knife through the base of his skull and out his mouth. The trapped female slave let out a despairing wail as she watched him die.

The male Watcher rolled the slave’s body over as his female companion came up to him. They stared at Kepper and his people for several seconds. He didn’t move. Neither did any of his guards. Cautiously, the pair of Watchers knelt over their kill, tearing away his clothes. The lower parts of their helms retracted, exposing their mouths. They sliced into the slave’s belly, by turns one of them ducking their head to feed while the other watched Kepper’s people.

He let them, ignoring the increasingly pathetic sounds the bound cow was making. After a few moments, he figured the lesson had set in and he raised his gun. Both Watchers immediately stiffened, red eye lenses on the pit boss. He didn’t meet their eyes or point the weapon at them. He wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he fired a single shot into the air to make his point. The pair of predators took flight, the female grabbing the bull’s dismembered leg. They swept up and away, perching again on a nearby building, setting upon the slave’s limb.

It was all well and good to use the Watchers as a lesson, but Kepper didn’t want to encourage them to hang around his crews. “Bring that one back in,” he told one of his men with a nod at the tangled slave girl. “Put her in the box. She can spend two days in there, one for each man she cost me.” He turned to Lassiter. “Well?”

“He’ll live,” the medic announced, looking at Jalson. “He’ll be laid up for a while, but he’ll live.”

“Good.” The injured man had been sedated. Once he woke up, Kepper would have a talk with him. He’d point out that one of the cattle Jalson had been so concerned with had lured him so another one of them could shank him. That’s what trusting them got you. That lesson would either get Jalson to open his eyes, or Kepper would arrange another teaching moment for the man... and that one he wouldn’t live through.

“You see?” he said as he turned back to address the work crews. “You think you have it hard working for the Masters? You think what you’ve got is bad? That,” he said with a jerk of his head at the dead slave’s remains, “is what happens if you run. So go ahead. Try us. Maybe you’ll get lucky and get away. Congrats, you’re free. Now you’re on your own in Horrak-Sarn. Now you don’t have to worry about us. Now you have to worry about them,” he pointed up at the distant Watchers. “So go ahead. Fuck around. Pull shit. Do all your little plans to get away, because you know what they mean? They mean you don’t have us any more. They mean we’re not between you and them. This is the City, you ungrateful shits. You think we’re the worst part of it? The Masters?” He shook his head. “Not even close. So get back to work. We’ve got a quota to meet.”

The cattle got back to their tasks, and with a certain alacrity and dedication that had been missing until now. Kepper smiled as he looked over them, like a proud parent. That’s why the Masters trusted him with the new crews. He knew how to keep the cattle motivated. Even the difficult ones got broken in. You just needed to find the right lessons to teach and the right way to reach them.