Jailors who thought dropping Aleron Pitre into a dark, dank
hole was any kind of real punishment were idiots. At least,
that was Aleron's assessment. Small, insurmountable spaces
were his specialty. Anyone with half a functioning brain
cell should know that.
How did they think he'd stolen the
Leriph Crosier? The only way in and out of the shrine, other
than the all-too-public front door, was the network of
tunnels that ran below the planet's surface. Some of the
passes were barely big enough for him to squeeze through. He
still had a scar along his left side where he'd scraped the
skin raw shimmying back with the abbot's staff firmly
strapped to his stomach.
So when they kicked him over the
miry edge of the narrow breach, he laughed the whole way
down. It didn't matter he fell the length of five men. The
earth at the bottom was as soft as that above. His hip and
shoulder took the worst of the impact. He would have
attempted to slow his descent by clawing at the sodden
walls, but the heavy cuffs they'd clamped on to him when
they'd picked him up on the Athess Space Station were new
models. They extended over his fingers like gloves and
folded his thumb against his palm to render it useless. All
they were good for was blunt force.
He knew that for a
fact. He'd swung at the more brutish of the pair who'd
cuffed him and felt the bones crunch beneath the blow. Few
sounds were as satisfying as a thick-skulled thug's howls of
pain.
Aleron rolled to his knees and straightened as
gracefully as the muck would allow. Tantoret's pallid sun
barely penetrated the hole, and he had to narrow his eyes to
see anything in the darkness. What he'd first thought a hole
was more like a rip in the planet's crust. It stretched
indefinitely ahead and behind him, and a hollow whistling
slithered along its towering sides. It curled around his
bare ankles and crept up the loose pants they'd put on him
on the landing craft. Goosebumps erupted along his
legs.
Cruel laughter drifted down. "Welcome to your new
home, Pitre!"
More laughter, harsh and mocking. An
electronic pulse vibrated against his eardrums. A moment
later, the cuffs fell from his hands and landed with a
squelch in the mud.
Aleron crouched to pick them back up
before the dampness ruined the mechanisms. Everything had a
use. The trick was being patient long enough to discover
it.
At the distant roar of the landing craft, he jerked
his head upward again, though he saw nothing beyond the
slice of yellow sky. The chasm vibrated from the force of
the ship's take-off, loosening clumps of sod and rocks to
rain around his head. He pressed his body to the wall and
discovered something else about his so-called new home. The
ground was alive. Through his shirt, he felt hundreds of
individual movements, the wriggles of wormlike creatures,
the crawling of those with legs. Tantoret might have been
subjugated as a prison planet, but it was still capable of
sustaining independent life. Those who thought to sculpt the
universe in their own image, with their own narrow set of
rules and tenets, had forgotten one very crucial element in
selecting Tantoret to house criminals.
Life begat hope.
And hope was all a man like Aleron needed to
survive—and better, to escape.