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Authors: Susan R. Matthews
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thing, though, minor perhaps, but important. He might want women. We should have someone from the service house to start him off, at least until we find out what he likes.”
Something seemed to shadow Belan’s face for just one instant; or perhaps it was just a wisp of cloud crossing the face of the sun. There was no shadow in Belan’s voice as he answered, that was certain.
“Administrator. Absolutely correct. So obvious now that you mention it, and I hadn’t even thought. I’ll see to someone suitable myself, sir, that is — unless you’d like to make an inspection visit — ”
Geltoi waved the idea off. “No, Belan, you’ve done so well here, I want it to be all your accomplishment.” And most of the women at the service house were Nurail, which meant one might as well have carnal relations with a beast of burden. Geltoi had rather too much respect for himself to do any such thing, though an Inquisitor’s standards might be rather more flexible. “I’m very pleased. Everything a man could reasonably want for his comfort and recreation. It’s all right here.”
Once there were women on site this would truly be a self-sufficient installation.
Once Belan took care of that detail, Andrej Koscuisko would have no reason to leave his little piece of the Domitt Prison at all, until his Captain called him back to Fleet and Scylla.
###
The local planetary police fleet that had intercepted their fleeing ship — just off the Gelp shoals, so close to the Ninies vector and escape to Gonebeyond — had brought them here, to Port Rudistal. They were bound over as a group to the Domitt Prison, and the Domitt Prison held them at the landing site until night fell. They could see where the relocation camp was being built, across the river, the lights gradually brightening as the sun went down; but when the Domitt Prison came to move them, they were not urged in the direction of the river and the bridge to the relocation camp, no, they were marched through to the town instead.
First in one orderly group, at an easy pace, across the launch-field and into the dark streets beyond. It was the landing area, the warehouse section, no one there but night security, and that likely all automated; and the Domitt Prison began to move them a little more briskly as they went out until they were all crowded into a fast trot through the side streets.
Herded like cattle through the town, they were run all the way into the courtyard of the prison by men in transports with shockrods and other weapons. Some of the people stumbled in the streets; they were pulled into the transports by the Pyana, and once they were out of the town dropped out of the back of the moving cars once more, but on a rope this time. Dragged, if they couldn’t find their footing.
Robis Darmon was one of the lucky ones; he could run as well as the next man, even older as he was. He did not lose his footing. They tried to help the ones being dragged up to get their footing and run, to avoid injury, but the Pyana would just as soon drag a Nurail in the dust as spit on them, and drove them away from the backs of the cars with the shockrods turned as high as they would go.
One of Darmon’s companions, trying to get a young boy back on his feet, was struck by a shockrod, and he went down as well. They were out of the town by then. The Pyana didn’t bother to tie his hands, they tied his feet, and dragged him headlong in the dirt all the way up to the Domitt Prison before they stopped to cut his body free.
He was not dead; Darmon saw him breathe. They threw him on a cart full of limp bodies, and the cart went away into the corner of the courtyard, and rising high above the wall in that corner were the steam-vents of a furnace.
They couldn’t burn the body.
The man wasn’t dead yet.
Darmon raised his voice to protest, but was only clubbed for his pains; and began to understand.
They didn’t care that the man wasn’t dead.
They were more than willing to
Something seemed to shadow Belan’s face for just one instant; or perhaps it was just a wisp of cloud crossing the face of the sun. There was no shadow in Belan’s voice as he answered, that was certain.
“Administrator. Absolutely correct. So obvious now that you mention it, and I hadn’t even thought. I’ll see to someone suitable myself, sir, that is — unless you’d like to make an inspection visit — ”
Geltoi waved the idea off. “No, Belan, you’ve done so well here, I want it to be all your accomplishment.” And most of the women at the service house were Nurail, which meant one might as well have carnal relations with a beast of burden. Geltoi had rather too much respect for himself to do any such thing, though an Inquisitor’s standards might be rather more flexible. “I’m very pleased. Everything a man could reasonably want for his comfort and recreation. It’s all right here.”
Once there were women on site this would truly be a self-sufficient installation.
Once Belan took care of that detail, Andrej Koscuisko would have no reason to leave his little piece of the Domitt Prison at all, until his Captain called him back to Fleet and Scylla.
###
The local planetary police fleet that had intercepted their fleeing ship — just off the Gelp shoals, so close to the Ninies vector and escape to Gonebeyond — had brought them here, to Port Rudistal. They were bound over as a group to the Domitt Prison, and the Domitt Prison held them at the landing site until night fell. They could see where the relocation camp was being built, across the river, the lights gradually brightening as the sun went down; but when the Domitt Prison came to move them, they were not urged in the direction of the river and the bridge to the relocation camp, no, they were marched through to the town instead.
First in one orderly group, at an easy pace, across the launch-field and into the dark streets beyond. It was the landing area, the warehouse section, no one there but night security, and that likely all automated; and the Domitt Prison began to move them a little more briskly as they went out until they were all crowded into a fast trot through the side streets.
Herded like cattle through the town, they were run all the way into the courtyard of the prison by men in transports with shockrods and other weapons. Some of the people stumbled in the streets; they were pulled into the transports by the Pyana, and once they were out of the town dropped out of the back of the moving cars once more, but on a rope this time. Dragged, if they couldn’t find their footing.
Robis Darmon was one of the lucky ones; he could run as well as the next man, even older as he was. He did not lose his footing. They tried to help the ones being dragged up to get their footing and run, to avoid injury, but the Pyana would just as soon drag a Nurail in the dust as spit on them, and drove them away from the backs of the cars with the shockrods turned as high as they would go.
One of Darmon’s companions, trying to get a young boy back on his feet, was struck by a shockrod, and he went down as well. They were out of the town by then. The Pyana didn’t bother to tie his hands, they tied his feet, and dragged him headlong in the dirt all the way up to the Domitt Prison before they stopped to cut his body free.
He was not dead; Darmon saw him breathe. They threw him on a cart full of limp bodies, and the cart went away into the corner of the courtyard, and rising high above the wall in that corner were the steam-vents of a furnace.
They couldn’t burn the body.
The man wasn’t dead yet.
Darmon raised his voice to protest, but was only clubbed for his pains; and began to understand.
They didn’t care that the man wasn’t dead.
They were more than willing to
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