Racers of the Night: Science Fiction Stories by Brad R. Torgersen (6 page)

This time the kiln was sufficiently cool. Needle in the green.

Lisa used the dumper’s claw arm to lever the kiln’s huge door out of the way—like the angel rolling aside the stone at the crypt of Jesus—and we all walked in to inspect our work. Even Ivarsen, who seemed to take genuine pleasure in seeing the finished bricks, all lined neatly on their stacked ceramic pallets, ready to be sent north and laid into homes, shops, offices, apartments, and everything else that needed building.

Lisa and I showed Godfrey how to check for cracks and damaged bricks, which we’d separate from the rest when we used a shovel—now modified with a fork on its arm—to lift each pallet from the kiln and place it carefully near the dumper.

The kid just grunted, saying, “Whatever,” and began examining the kiln’s contents. He did it with the enthusiasm of a six year old being made to eat asparagus.

Lisa followed me out of the kiln while I went to get my canteen. Constant hydration was an ever-present necessity this far south.

“Lee,” Lisa said as she leaned close to me, “I’m so sick of getting stuck with these morons.”

“Yeah. Must be slim pickings these days. Pretty soon Corrections might have to start drafting civilians for the brick brigades.”

Ivarsen, who had been getting out of the dumper’s cab, laughed mightily. “That’ll be the day! Imagine how much they’d have to pay union workers to come out here and do what you guys do for free.”

“You’re
union,” I said, with sarcasm.

“Damn right,” Ivarsen replied, thumping his chest with a fist.

We shared a smile between the three of us. Then came a sudden yelp from the kiln, followed by the sound of a pallet collapsing and bricks tumbling.

“Lord,”
Lisa said, rolling her eyes.

We hurried back through the kiln entrance to find Godfrey hopping up and down on one leg while he held the other foot. Obscenities peeled from his lips.

Lisa, Ivarsen and I almost fell over, it was so funny.

“Stop laughing,” Godfrey fumed.

“Kid,” I said, “One man’s pain is another man’s pleasure.”

Godfrey’s mouth grimaced sourly as he prepared to give me a four-lettered broadside, but then he stopped.

All the pallets were rattling violently.

“What the—?”

The booming rumble shuddered through the floor of the kiln.

“Quake!” Ivarsen yelled.

Really? I’d not been through one of those since I’d been a boy.

What happened next was a slow blur.

Stacked columns of pallets swayed like hula dancers. Lisa was screaming and trying to get to the door, only she kept having her feet knocked out from under her. One of the columns tilted too far, and collapsed against the side of the kiln. Then another. Godfrey managed to keep his feet, his mouth hanging open and his eyes gone stupidly wide. The column next to him started to give—this time, towards the middle of the kiln.

Ivarsen’s reaction was so fast I didn’t even realize what had happened until both he and Godfrey were on the floor, sliding out of the path of the collapsing bricks.

One of the walls popped thunderously, and a new crack split wide from floor to ceiling, shining a shaft of light crossways to that which already flooded in from the main door.

Two more columns of bricks went down.

And then … silence.

Lisa and I were coughing spastically on the dust that had filled the kiln. I discovered I’d been sitting on my butt the entire time. Heaps of whole and broken bricks were everywhere, and I got to my feet to move around to where I thought I’d last seen Ivarsen and the kid.

I got there just in time to see Godfrey crown Ivarsen with a brick the size of my forearm. Our guard crumpled.

“Oh shit—” I said.

The kid moved quickly, snatching the pistol out of Ivarsen’s holster and pointing it at me while he used his free hand to explore the pockets of Ivarsen’s shorts.

Lisa froze when she came around the corner and saw what was happening.

“You stupid, stupid asshole,” I said to Godfrey. “Ivarsen saved your life.”

“Fraccaro, you and Phaan get against the wall.”

Lisa and I didn’t move until Godfrey thumbed the pistol’s safety and pulled the hammer back. Then we raised our hands and backed into the shadows as Godfrey came away with the keycard for the dumper.

“You won’t make it,” Lisa said, deadpan. “The chip is already sending its alarm to the satellite.”

Godfrey scoffed. “Pig ‘aint dead. Just knocked out.”

I looked at Ivarsen’s still form, and thought I saw thick, dark fluid running from the back of his head where Godfrey had hit him.

“If he dies,” I said, “then we’re dead too.”

“You, maybe,” Godfrey replied. “I’m out of here.”

“Where are you going to go, kid? There’s no native forage on this land mass. And they can track the movement of the dumper. You’ll be—”

“Shut the hell up, Fraccaro. Maybe you like being a slave. Not me. Freedom’s better than nothin’. I’ll take my chances.”

Finally, the rage that had been rising in me, boiled over.

“Damn you, I was getting
paroled!”

Godfrey considered this while sidling towards the doorway. He looked back at Ivarsen, then to Lisa, and then to me.

“Sorry man,” was all he said.

Then he was gone, and Lisa and I were rushing to Ivarsen’s side. The guard’s heart still beat, and his lungs took in air. That was good. But the deep laceration on his head bled profusely, and I dared not explore it for fear of finding pulp where there should be skull.

Lisa ripped open Ivarsen’s shirt and we tore off pieces to use as a temporary bandage.

Outside, the dumper’s electric engine started up. We heard its large tires crunch on the dirt while Godfrey drove away.

Lisa was cursing and started to rise to her feet, but I stopped her.

“Let him go. We’ve got more immediate concerns.”

She thought for a second.

“We can take him on the shovel. It will be fastest.”

I nodded—there was a first aid locker in Ivarsen’s hooch.

Would we get to it in time?

• • •

Godfrey had gone off-road and disappeared over the southern hills by the time we got Ivarsen back to camp. I drove the shovel while Lisa sat on a pallet that we’d cleared, and which now held Ivarsen’s unmoving body. The pallet was perched on the fork of the shovel’s hydraulic arm, and I did my best to avoid bumps. At ten kilometers an hour, it took precious minutes to motor out of the crater and follow the trail along the rim wall to where the hooches sat.

I set the pallet down and Lisa leapt off, running into Ivarsen’s hooch to get his cot. It wasn’t a perfect stretcher, but we managed to get him onto it, moving him into his hooch so he’d be out of the sun. Lisa helped me rummage through the first aid locker and apply a more suitable bandage to the head wound. Next I checked his pupils with a flashlight, and was alarmed to see that one of them had gone as wide as the iris would allow.

“Damn,” I said.

“Is it that bad?” Lisa asked.

“Bad enough. We need Ivarsen’s satellite phone. If he doesn’t get a medevac soon, he’s as good as dead.”

“I think the phone was in the cab of the dumper,” Lisa said. “He always kept it there when we were working.”

Lisa and I looked at each other. Neither of us needed to say what was on our minds.

When the SWAT guys got here, it wouldn’t matter what story we told them. All they’d find was a dead Corrections officer, and two live prisoners. And that would be that. Meaning me and Lisa. Done. And Godfrey, when they tracked him down, as surely they would. We’d all be lucky if they sent us back to The Island. More probably, we’d be shot.

I stood up from Ivarsen’s side and stomped out into the glaring sunlight, sweat making my shirt damp and my eyes squinting in spite of my sunglasses. I screamed and kicked the treads on the shovel. Years of patient effort. Down the toilet. Thanks to a dumb kid. I’d have kept screaming, except that I thought of Ivarsen, and how he’d deserved this even less. Me, I’d lost my life a long time ago. And deservedly so. But Ivarsen had been a decent man. Such a waste!

I went back inside to find Lisa rummaging furiously through Ivarsen’s other things. Our patient’s breaths had become quicker, more shallow, and a sheen of sweat covered the exposed areas of his skin. I unzipped his sleeping bag and threw it over him for a blanket, then went to help Lisa. She was obviously looking for a backup phone. Surely they wouldn’t issue Ivarsen just the single unit?

The only thing we found was the remote for the mirrors in the crater.

Lisa threw the remote to the floor in disgust, but I picked it up and walked outside, staring up into the cerulean sky. Lisa came out and looked up with me.

“What?”

“How many satellites watch this region?” I asked.

“Heck if I know.”

I kept looking. Then I quickly strode to the crater’s rim wall and scrambled up its side until I was standing on the top and staring down into the circular field of mirrors.

The remote had several preset codes. I chose the toggle for manual movement. The circular thumb pad in the middle illuminated, and I depressed it, pushing first to the north, then to the south. Out in the field, the little servos on the base of each mirror began to whine. The mirrors obediently leaned to the south, then back to the north.

Okay …

I programmed in a repeating series of motions, pressed the SEND button, and then dropped the remote into my pocket and watched the mirrors begin their slow dance.

Lisa nodded, catching on. “I hope someone is paying attention, Lee.”

• • •

The day wore on, and we stayed in the guard’s tent. Lisa occasionally sponged Ivarsen down with a wet rag, and I ran checks on his vitals every fifteen minutes, as well as checking his pupils. The dilated one stayed dilated, and I wondered if the man wasn’t just a vegetable already.

Out in the crater, the mirrors kept spinning and swiveling.

There was no sound, other than the occasional wind across the camp.

Evening came quickly. When I checked the supply bunker I discovered that Godfrey had been there before us and taken most of the cases of microwave meals. He’d at least been that smart. But without water I knew he’d be getting thirsty soon. And unless he found a natural spring, or we got some rain, he’d be in a bad way before the following day was out.

I allowed myself a small amount of satisfaction at the thought of Godfrey dying for lack of water, then I heated two trays for Lisa and I, and went back into the tent.

I almost dropped the trays when Ivarsen’s head turned to look at me.

“Fraccaro,” the man said, whisperingly.

My relief could not have been more obvious. “Good heaven, Ivarsen. I thought you’d gone to mush on us.”

“Can’t,” he said, then stopped. “Hard … to think.”

“Can you drink water?”

“ … Try … “

Lisa put her canteen to his lips and gave him a sip, which he kept down. Giving him too much would be worse than giving him none at all, so we waited and watched while he blinked randomly.

“Godfrey?” Ivarsen finally asked.

“Gone,” I said. “He took the dumper, your gun, and most of the food. And your satellite phone. I’ve got the mirrors in the crater waving around, hoping to attract some satellite attention. Like it will do us any good after dark.”

“Good … idea.”

He went silent again for several minutes.

Then, “Leandro … “

It was the only time he ever used my first name.

I leaned over him. “Yah, boss?”

“Not your fault … have to … tell them.”

“Just hang in there. You’re not dead yet.”

“Will be … soon.”

Lisa held Ivarsen’s hand. Her expression was agonized.

“Lisa,” Ivarsen said. “Find my … PDA.”

Lisa and I bugged our eyes out at each other. We never knew he had one!

Reading our surprise, Ivarsen said, “Access panel on the … solar power battery.”

Lisa and I both raced out into the gloaming light, finding the big battery for the camp. We pried off the service plate with our fingernails. The little PDA was perched out of sight, just inside and to the left.

Lisa grabbed it and we charged back to the hooch, freezing when we looked at Ivarsen’s face.

His eyes were still open, along with his mouth. But his chest no longer drew air.

• • •

We did what we could for Ivarsen’s body, then despondently trudged for our separate hooches, figuring there was nothing to be done but to sleep, and wait.

To my surprise, Lisa stopped me and motioned me towards her door.

“Last man that went in there came back without his cojones,” I joked.

“Last man who went in there did so without an invitation,” Lisa replied.

Raising an eyebrow, I went with her into the hooch. It was amazingly neat and orderly, right down to the dirt floor having been lined with used meal trays—as makeshift tiles.

She sat down on her cot and I took a seat next to her, the lights from EC5’s three small moons shining through the mesh walls around us.

“Months? That was all?” Lisa said.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Three. I was getting real short.”

“I can’t even think about parole yet.”

“Shoplifting?” I said, smiling at my own joke.

“Drugs,” Lisa replied, not smiling. “I used to be a pharmacist, back in the world. Got hooked on my own product, you might say. Started dealing. Stupid. Got caught. Wound up detoxing on The Island. Almost killed me. But at least I got clean.”

“That sucks,” I said, turning serious.

“You ever been addicted to anything, Lee?”

“Not really. I’m a teetotaler.” And that was the truth.

Lisa shuddered. “Don’t. Don’t ever.”

I’d never seen her more stone-cold serious.

“Yes ma’am,” I whispered.

And that was all I could say

Silence filled the dark. This was more personal information than Lisa had ever shared with me before. I felt we were both in particularly uncomfortable territory.

“Do you think we’ll be executed?” She asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Corrections doesn’t play around when it comes to one of their own going down in the line of duty. On my last brick site, I saw a guy actually try to take out the guard with a shiv. Guy was crazy to do it. The guard emptied a whole clip into the perp. Corrections never even did an investigation. The hurt guard left on a medevac, and we three prisoners who remained, all got split up. That was when they sent me here. To work for Ivarsen.”