Escape from Altera Ch. 04

Escape from Altera

[Note: This is not a "sexy story". It is a mix of WW II "The Great Escape" and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's "The Gulag Achipelago"... set in outer space)

Chapter 4: Establishing an Equilibrium

Early the next morning I hobbled over to the hospital, a smaller version of the barracks building we were housed in. The walls on the inside were white, and the place looked cleaner than the barracks, and the wooden shelves actually had rough sheets on them, but otherwise it looked much like our barracks. There was no scientific equipment, no examining tables, and no medicines I could see.

Kerensky spoke and then argued with someone in charge, from the looks of it a fellow prisoner wearing a heavily stained and tattered white lab coat. I would have loved to have understood what they were saying, but all I could see was that they were arguing. The man in white was pointing to the beds and shaking his head, and Kerensky argued more furiously. Finally Kerensky dug into a pocket and shoved over something small wrapped in white cloth.

The man, without even looking, shook his head. Kerensky took out a second white clothed package.

The man considered, waiting.

But Kerensky didn't produce a third cloth wrapped object.

Finally, the man nodded, and pointed to one of the beds.

Kerensky turned to me. "It's done."

"What was that all about?" I said, as Kerensky led me to one of the bedding areas.

"He was just arguing about the price," said Kerensky. "I could only afford to put you here for two days, not more. Then you must be fit."

"Fit?"

"For work in the mines, and to tell me more," said Kerensky. "I have spent a lot on you, you had better be worth it."

And so, for two days, I rested! As long as I kept to my bed, no one bothered me, except during the periodic inspection by the Redcaps. They didn't seem to inquire too closely about my illness, leading me to believe that they, too, had been paid off. Some of the patients here were genuinely ill, and some of those moaned quietly from time to time, but I was so consumed with exhaustion that I blotted them out of my mind.

And the food! A full serving of the tasteless kem, plus parts of a long unidentifiable bitter root. I shuddered as I bit into it, and actually spat it out on the ground. Another prisoner scooped it off the floor like a pelican and swallowed it whole in his mouth.

He was right. Any food, however vile tasting, was better than nothing. Gritting my teeth the next time, I broke the root up into small chunks and forced myself to eat it. It settled uneasily into my stomach.

Two mornings later after breakfast, I was ejected from the "hospital", deemed "cured", though I had received no examination or treatment, and sent back to the mines. I endured another grueling day of mining, but nearly 48 hours of almost continual sleep and increased food rations gave me more endurance. I knew however, that I would not survive for long in the mines under any condition. Prisoners were expected to work six and a half days a week, and the half day of "free leisure" could be partially or totally consumed by punishment detail or mandatory state lectures. But if one were very, very lucky one might get five or six extra hours of sleep on Sundays, between inspections and head checks.

I was curious to see what would happen at dinner that night. Would Antonio and his thugs ambush me, or was I still protected? I found that answer immediately after I received my bowl of kem when I found Sasha, the giant with the feminine name, standing at my side. He motioned me to a far off table, where Kerensky and someone else sat.

Kerensky's dining companion made a disparaging remark as I sat down.

"In English, for our guest, Valonikov" said Kerensky sharply.

The man glared at me. "I think we have wasted a lot of time and effort on this one."

"If he gives me the information I want, neither will be wasted," said Kerensky mildly. But however softly he said it, the man, Valonikov, looked rebuked.

"Now," said Kerensky, "Tell me more about your League worlds."

I spoke rapidly, trying to prove my worth to him. He seemed fascinated by everything, our economic system, our culture, even the latest fashions on August. We talked into the night, and for several nights after that. Kerensky seemed satisfied with the answers to his questions, and all went well.

Until one night, as I was turning in, Valonikov said to me, "I think your time is just about up, Richman."

I stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"The Professor has learned nearly all he needs to know from you. Soon your time will be over."

"What do you mean?" I said again.

Valonikov gave me a condescending stare and walked away, laughing softly.

The next morning, I asked Kerensky what he meant. He gave Valonikov a sharp glare, but said, "I am protecting you, but protection comes at a price. As long as you give useful information, you are protected."

"And once I tell you everything I know?"

"Then you will be on your own again," said Kerensky.

Oh oh. Then I would be chased by the gangs again, beaten up, and half starved to death. I couldn't allow that to happen.

That night I told more details about life on League worlds. For the first few days everything was going well. But I noticed that Kerensky's questions, formerly coming in at a rapid pace, were becoming less frequent. At times he looked bored. Valonikov would give me sly glances. I knew my time was running out.

Kerensky wasn't interested in "popular literature" such as Bugsy Spagetti. What else did I have to offer him?

I noticed the topics that excited him the most were discussion of League politics and economies. When I first told him how everyone was able to vote in free elections, he scoffed.

"Come now, we have heard that before. It is all League propaganda. Your large corporations decide the results of your elections in advance."

And then I spent a half hour arguing with him to convince him that the League really did have a participatory democracy. He also had trouble believing other facets of life--that there were no internal passports, that people could travel freely, that anyone could start any business they liked without permission, even post their thoughts freely on the interstellar information network.

"And they would not be insulted, if they offended your President?"

"More likely they would get their own show," I said. And then that sparked an idea.

In my discussions with Kerensky I started asking him questions, challenging his assumptions and beliefs about political systems. I did it in a gradual way, still providing more information than I received, but over the next few days we spent more time arguing politics, culture, and economics, than we did discussing the nature of the League Worlds.

Valonikov noticed it immediately. He even said, in plain English for me to hear, "He has told us all he knows. Let us be rid of him now."

Kerensky paused for a long moment.

I gulped.

Then he looked at me, and nodded.

Valonikov gave a low whistle and Sasha the giant appeared.

"You have told us much of what you know," said Kerensky.

"I can tell you more!" I said desperately, eyeing the giant behind me.

"That will not be necessary," said Kerensky. "Sasha!" He spoke rapidly in Slurian, and then, in English, "Idaaho friend. Protect."

The big blonde giant looked down impassively at me.

"Sasha protect," he said in a deep voice. He extended a big hand. Cautiously I extended mine. He grabbed it carefully without crushing it, shook it.

I looked curiously from the giant to Kerensky.

"You have smart mind," said Kerensky. "Very rare here. You may join group."

"If I am to join your group, I have one condition."

Kerensky raised his eyebrows at my audacity.

"I'll continue to teach you about my world, but I want you to teach me your language."

Kerensky looked impassive for a moment. Then he broke out in smiles. "Agreed, Idaaho, agreed."

"Call me Iday," I said.

Over time I learned a lot about my associates. Most of the prisoners were organized into gangs which protected and extorted from them at the same time. A few, like Kerensky, had the protection of strong individuals like Sasha.

Kerensky, as it turned out, had been a professor at Sluria Polytechnic, one of the leading universities on Sluria. A professor of political philosophy, I enquired?

No, a leading subatomic physicist. For many years Kerensky had worked on top secret classified weapons programs for the Slurian Union. A hero of the revolution, he had been decorated numerous times. It was only when he started to question the political system that he had fallen into trouble. First he was banned from classified work, and then repeatedly arrested and harassed. The Slurians gave him many chances to "reform" himself, but he refused. So they sent him here, effectively a death sentence.

Valonikov was quite the opposite. He was a common thief who Kerensky had befriended. Each helped the other, in their own way.

And Sasha? Much to my surprise, Sasha was really an intellectual; not only that, but a professor of political philosophy! I admitted my disbelief to Kerensky. "How could this silent giant be a professor of political philosophy?"

"Size means nothing," said Kerensky coldly. "And he was not always silent. Before they took his family away and sent them to camp, he was not silent."

"What happened to his family?"

"They are here," said Kerensky.

"Where?" I said.

"They are here," said Kerensky. He spoke no further on the subject.

Things started to stabilize after that. I was no longer harassed by other prisoners. I could fall asleep at night on my shelf without fear of being robbed. I had the luxury of eating my entire portion of kem.

But it wasn't enough. My feet, wrapped in thin rags over my footclothes, were freezing. Kerensky got me a pair of work shoes two sizes too large with a large gash in the left foot. I used rags to make the fit tighter and to seal up the gash as best I could. That helped some.

But the work was still killing me slowly. Digging in the mines was wearing me out. If I didn't work fast enough, a guard would slash me with an electrowhip, and then kick my prostrate body, telling me to get back to work. And the work was dangerous--every day or two a rockfall would injure or kill a group of prisoners. All the guards seemed to care about was making their quota.

And if that wasn't enough, the kem diet wasn't enough to sustain me. I was literally starving to death on full rations.

"Naturally," said Kerensky one night at dinner. "That's why the average lifespan for mine workers is about six months."

"For the hardy mine workers," Valonikov sneered.

I looked at Kerensky's bowl. He seemed to have more kem, and even a few roots in his bowl. He caught my gaze.

"Workers are fed based on their jobs," said Kerensky. "I work in administration, have an easier job, and get more food."

"How do I get a job in administration?"

Kerensky gave a laugh. "They are highly sought after."

"What about another job, like... working in the kitchen?"

Kerensky gave a deeper laugh. "That is most sought after job."

"Then what is available?"

"Officially? You must stay where they put you. But perhaps I can get you something else."

"Something else" turned out to be a job on the construction gang. The work, while still labor intensive, wasn't nearly as badly as work in the mines. I was sent to work in a group with another prisoner named Kolya, who instantly befriended me. He didn't speak any League English, but by now I knew enough Slurian to get a rough understanding what was said around me.

We were working on constructing a new building for administration under the watchful eyes of the guard, when Kolya pulled me aside and said in Slurian, "What are you doing?"

"Working," I said.

"No Richman," said Kolya, laughing. "Is time for some tufta." He pulled me farther inside the partially completed structure.

"Toughta?" I said.

"Tufta," said Kolya.

"What does tufta mean?"

"It is.. business word. It means they pretend to pay us, we pretend to work."

"But if we don't work, we'll get beaten by the guards!"

"Look, Richman," said Kolya, peering out of the structure and pointing where we could see out. From our angle, the guards could not be seen, nor could they directly see us.

"Won't they come and investigate?"

"That is why we bang this," said Kolya, picking up an iron rod and banging it at irregular intervals.

"What if they don't see us?"

"That is why every few minutes one of us must go into view and pretend to work."

"If we don't work, won't we eventually get caught?"

Kolya laughed. "You have much to learn, Richman."

Kolya became my teacher. He showed me how to build hollow walls, to build with fewer beams than the plan called for, and to get things done in the quickest and most sloppiest ways.

"But won't it be obvious that this building was poorly built?" I asked.

Kolya laughed again. "Of course! But plan only calls for building, not well built one. Is expected that everything is poorly built here."

Kolya also adopted a waste-not, want-not attitude, selling some of the "excess" work materials on the camp's black market to generate some income. The guards, who might've been blind to our lack of work, surely were aware when we carried goods off-site. When I saw Kolya hand a guard something wrapped in cloth, I didn't ask questions.

Gradually I started to accumulate some small measures of prosperity. I obtained some cloth rags to put over my wooden shelf to make it a bit softer. It wasn't as luxurious as the furs that a few of the gang leaders had, but it was something. I even managed to gather up enough rags to bundle up in a small pillow!

Worried that my little bits of rags would be stolen, I talked to Kerensky. He confirmed that all your possessions should constantly be carried around to prevent theft. But he said not to worry about beddings.

"Simply mark them in a small way, and if someone steals them, I will send Sasha to do the laundry."

I nodded. "You know, I'd love to get my boots back."

"And I would like a pleasure cruise to Sluria."

The message was clear; being a member of Kerensky's group didn't entitle me to get help righting past wrongs.

But meanwhile my Slurian was improving, and my health was stabilizing. I suffered from a series of minor colds, and I always felt the chill of the wind, even through my two jackets, but I started to feel that I could survive from day to day. With Kolya's help I worked less than half a day every day, leaving much time to loaf, and think.

Once I could speak basic Slurian, I started talking to the other prisoners. It was both fascinating and chilling to learn how they had been plucked out of society to be sent to the Alteran death camps. There were some obvious dissidents like Kerensky, of course, but many others were sent here for little or no apparent reason.

Some common criminals--rapists, thieves, and murders were mixed in with us. But one man I met was sentenced for ten years for making a joke about the ruling Govitbureau. Another man was serving a twenty year term for not reading the party newspaper one day. Really!

It came about like this: the man (whose name I think I will wisely withhold, for his own safety), came into a communal dining hall and struck up a conversation with his immediate boss. He made an offhanded remark about farm production and praised the Minister of Agriculture. The problem was that the Minister of Agriculture had been sacked the previous day and declared an enemy of the state, for failing to meet production targets; he had been accused of "economic sabotage". The man had been too busy to read the party newspaper that morning, and as a result, was sent to Altera for praising an enemy of the state. I began to see how knowledge of current events could be a life or death situation here.

It was quite common to be sent here for "economic sabotage", which could mean many things, like meant underperforming ridiculous work quotas, accidentally damaging work equipment, or simply being unlucky enough to be selected to be a scapegoat for others' failures. Did your laser drill break during mining? Was this the third time this had happened this season? That might be considered economic sabotage.

Did a groundcar you serviced crash, injuring a party member (or worse yet, a member of the Loyalty Police?). You could be charged with attempted assassination. You might not even make it to Altera.

Did your work unit consistently underperform its work quota? Did your coworkers, under the helpful pressure of the Redcaps, identify you as the saboteur? Welcome to Altera!

Were you related to someone who was a convicted saboteur--a wife, husband, brother, father or son? Perhaps you were complicit as well. Welcome to Altera!

I even had the curious experience of meeting someone whose crime had been failing to lie enough about work output. This fellow had been an economist in administration, charged with reporting the progress of the work units in his section. He falsified the results to show that the work units were barely making their work quota (while the actual result was much worse). After a few years of doing this he got caught: the center sent Loyalty Police in to audit him, and they found out what he had done.

Why had he gotten audited? The center got suspicious when they saw that this group of work units were just meeting quota, while other work units in the same area were reporting that they were regularly exceeding or even meeting double their quota. In other words, this person got arrested for not telling a big enough lie!

Once they got here, prisoners' lives meant nothing. Few prisoners survived long enough to serve their sentences, and the authorities clearly didn't care, as long as a fresh flow of prisoners replaced them. This was how the Slurian system worked. By using slave labor, the system kept costs down. Funneling the dissidents into the system was only an incidental benefit. I was told that life at labor camps on other planets wasn't as harsh as it was on Altera, but that conditions at prison mines and factory and farms around the Slurian Union could hardly be considered a picnic either.

And to top it off, the Slurians expected us to "reform" ourselves, by attending their weekly political lectures on Sundays.

At first I laughed it off. We only had half a day off on Sundays--why would anyone choose to waste a precious hour of it listening to a political lecture from a Redcap? Attendance wasn't even mandatory.

But Kerensky warned me that most of the camp attended. He told me that careful note was made of who attended and who didn't, and that the Redcap guards paid "special attention" to those who didn't attend.

So I attended. The first few weeks I had no idea what was going on, but gradually as I learned Slurian it started to make sense. Well, actually, "making sense" might be the wrong way to put it, because what political officer Captain Sergei Olov said made no sense of any kind.

"Communitarians," he said, using the official Slurian term. "Witness the generosity of the great Slurian Union! Though you have committed vile crimes against the Community, you have been given a chance to reform yourself through work. The State has generously provided you food, clothing, and shelter, and a productive use for your time to repay your debt to the Community."

"But you must not only reform yourself through labor, you must reform the very corrupt thought patterns that brought you here in the first place. Who here wants to be a good member of the Community?"

Everyone wearily raised their hands.