CHAPTER 6

Persephone: 15 Months Ago

Odds are good I’m gonna die here, but maybe I can take him with me. Don’t even start to get clear of my chair when a great weight drops on each shoulder. Good ol’ Mister Smiley.

“Jacob, please. Calm yourself and listen. I do not own slaves, nor as a matter of course hold indentures. This is merely an insurance policy to ensure your cooperation in a short, and highly profitable business venture I have in mind. Should you agree, when your work is completed I will gladly turn over to you the indenture contract. And, as recompense for any damages to your person last night a sum of, shall we say, five hundred creds? “

Ah, the carrot. If true, that’d get me clear of this place with coin to spare. Whatever this job is it has to be worth BIG money. But why do I suspect he wants to use me for sumthin’ dirty, then drop me down a deep hole?

“And if I respectfully decline?”

“Well, then I’m given to understand that there is a chronic labor shortage on the terraforming projects. Very dangerous work, I believe”.

And the stick, leavin’ me caught between a rock and no place. Damn.

“Mr. Barty, I’m your man.”

“Excellent. Mr. Smiley will show you to your quarters, and after you have cleaned up a bit, I believe a change of clothes would be in order. “ True enough. I stank.

Back into the elevator and down a level. It opens onto a short hall, a couple of doors on each side, grubby window down at the end. Possible escape route? Have to check into that later, too stiff and sore to make much of a run right now.

Smiley’s hand in the middle of my back shoves me into the left-hand room down to the end of the hall. The door shuts and locks as I fetch up against the sink. Note to self: kill that sumbitch at the first opportunity. Look around.

Sink I just crashed into, mirror above it. Rap knuckles on the mirror: thunk thunk. Plas, won’t break so I can use a shard for a knife. Sink and toilet are both plas, no joy there either. Coffin sized shower unit in the corner, no door, rust stains in the bottom. Ah, my sleeping arrangements. Blanket, no pillow or pad, coveralls and a change of skivvies on top, all the last still in plastic wrappers. Booty from downstairs, no doubt.

Sort through the pile. No soap or towel, didn’t expect there to be. Bastards forgot the damn toilet paper too. And....oh joy. Oaty bars.

I HATE frikkin’oaty bars.