Jean lay in his bunk, staring at the metal slab above him as he waited nervously for news from Mik’t. It wasn’t odd for him to be there in the middle of the solar, especially since he’d turned in a shard of gravitrum early that day. Most people would do the same if given the chance early enough in the day.
Life on this world of slavery was exactly the way the Scalador intended; monotonous and boring. There was no news from the outside galaxy to give hope. No entertainment to stimulate the mind, and very little companionship to stop the days from becoming years.
Most prisoners would wake up, pull a clean and sterile jumpsuit over an emaciated and dirty frame, then slip their feet into a pair of slippers that offered no protection. There was no need for most to seek food because the very presence of food meant the job was done and another day in purgatory was over. Instead, they would shuffle toward the elevator with empty bellies and soulless eyes and wait to be dropped into the pits of hell.
A few would get lucky in those first few hours and stumble over a small deposit of ore. They would return to the surface with the life-giving material clutched between dirty fingers, praying that any listening gods protect them from prisoners desperate enough to kill for a meal.
This plan could never work on a normal day. The number of people in their cells so early in the day would have tipped off the guards. By planning the attack for immediately after the change of guard, the staff wouldn’t be up to date on production numbers and other vital information needed to anticipate the attack.
The radio tucked under his pillow clicked softly, and it took everything Jean had not to react. That click was part of a predetermined code. With Mik’t still pretending to be a loyal guard, speaking in the human tongue wasn’t something he could do without getting caught.
*Click *click dead air *click.
Jean’s heart pounded with anticipation. Mik’t just gave the order to begin the attack. It was all or nothing now. If the alien was planning to turn them in and collect his due, it would happen and they would all be dead soon.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The bald man rolled out of the bunk and pulled three short metal bars from under his mattress. With a quick twist of his wrists, the bars connected to form a weighted staff. Monique jumped from the bunk above him and landed gracefully on the cold metal floor.
*Click *click dead air *click.
The message repeated, making sure the attackers got the message.
Jean slipped the radio into his pocket and walked to the door. If they were going through with this revolution, he would lead the charge. But he wouldn’t be alone. The blonde warrior fell into step beside him, fingering the hilt of the stinger hidden under her clothing.
The story would be similar across the complex. Prisoners everywhere were rolling out of bunks, finding makeshift weapons, and marching toward the barracks. While the new wave of guards unpacked for their forty-five-day rotation, they had no idea they were seconds away from death.
*Click *click dead air *click.
Jean turned the corner with a growing army behind him. Ahead, the steel door of the barracks waited for the attack. With Mik’t in the security officer’s station, the Scaladorian army had no loyal soldiers to warn them of the waiting mob.
“You, you, and you. Stand against the wall outside the view of the door. When they open it, I will bar the door with my staff. Follow Monique’s lead. When she attacks, you attack. When she retreats, you retreat,” Jean said, turning away from the three large men to face the main body of his army. “We may all die here. That is something I’ve never hidden from you. But if we die, we do it on our feet and on our terms.”
The prisoners nodded, accepting the possibility of a short and bloody future. Some wouldn’t see the morning, and they were ok with that knowledge if it meant their people were free. A grim smile spread through the army like smoke across a war-torn battlefield.
Jean and Monique drew their weapons and took their places against the wall.
The door swung open and the first non-suspecting Scaladorian guard went down with a stinger lodged deeply in its gut. Taking the opening, Jean slammed the bar between the hinges and wedged into place. Reaching down, he pulled a vibro-knife from his belt and charged into the room. It wasn’t the same as the frequency used in the stinger, but it was a low enough pitch that it would annoy the creatures to no end.
Across the room, Monique danced through the guards, pulling weapon after weapon from the utility-pouches of the dead and expertly placing them inside the bodies of her enemies. Behind her, a wave of human prisoners flooded into the room with weapons raised.
As predicted, some fell in the first clash, never to rise again. Jean hated the idea of losing even one ally to this bloody exchange, but every guard needed to die so humans could claim this place as their own.
