Satan's Forge (Star Sojourner Book 5) by Jean Kilczer Page B

my sticky tongue on my shirt collar.
    Outside the window, morning stirred. The sound of shuffling feet as slaves went to their work stations. The smell of frying dough as breakfast was prepared. The snort of a horse. An overseer, Fulg, I think, shouting to some slave to get back in line. The clank of metal plates being stacked.
    The heat hadn't begun yet. It crouched in the eastern wings, red as the rising sun.
    Dannie, lying on the stone floor beside my cot, stirred and rolled over. She mumbled something and woke up. "Oh, Jules. How do you feel?'
    “A little better,” I lied. “Dannie? Could you get me some water?”
    “Sure, hon.” She scrambled to her feet, went into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water.
    I gulped it down too fast and coughed. “Another one?”
    “Sure.” She went for it and came back with a fresh glass. “Drink it slow!”
    “OK.” I gulped that one, too, and coughed again. I closed my eyes.
    “I wish I could make it better for you,” she said.
    I nodded.
    She twirled a strand of the long hair at my neck. “You know, hon, they're waiting for you.”
    “The slaves? It's up to them now. I've got nothing left to give.”
    “All they want is you. When they took you back to this cell, people were following, crying and moaning. One Denebrian woman stopped and picked up a stone that had your blood on it.”
    I exhaled a breath. “They're looking for a religious leader.”
    “They're looking for you. They want to know that Boss Slade didn't break your spirit.”
    “Maybe he did.”
    “Then they're lost. They'll give up.”
    “Do I look like Spartacus, Jesus Christ, M.L. King, Nat Crowell? I'm worn down, Dannie. I've got nothing left to give.”
    She brushed fingers through my hair. “They know that. If you went out there now, it would give them the hope they need that the spirit can't be broken. They might come together and plan their own rebellion. If you wait until you're healed, it won't have the same effect.”
    I pressed my hand to her round cheek. “How come you're so wise for such a kid?”
    She knitted her brows. “I think a lot.”
    “Christ and Buddha. OK. Get my shirt, Dannie.” It lay across the chair, with my jacket.
    “Suppose you leave it off?”
    “Oh, I get it. Wear my wounds like a badge of honor. Why not?”
    It was morning, but New Lithnia's hot sun already blazed and threw stark shadows like bars across the mining camp. Dannie tied my shirt around my waist. I squinted in the glare of the sun. It burned my back with strokes of heat. Sweat trickled down my ribs. My mouth felt dry again. The crack of pick axes breaking through slabs of salt mixed with the mindless rhythm of pumps.
    I stumbled and caught myself. “Hold onto me, Dannie.” I felt light-headed and dizzy.
    “Oh, I will.” She gripped my arm tighter.
    A murmur of voices from slaves as Dannie and I walked into the center of camp, mixed with the brash bell that announced breakfast. Five BEM kitchen slaves were setting out bins of food, Terran and alien, on a long table made of wooden planks.
    Work stopped and the slaves formed lines alongside the table.
    The smell of food turned my stomach. “I can't eat.”
    “You've got to try, hon. You need something in your stomach.”
    I nodded.
    As we approached the table, the line of slaves broke up and they moved aside to let us through. Some bowed their heads as we went by. Some reached out to touch me.
    I smiled at them, murmured a few “Good mornings,” though it seemed that “Hosanna” might've been more appropriate.
    The mounted guards unclipped their coiled whips and lifted them threateningly, but their horses felt the riders' anxiety. They snorted and threw back their heads. One reared and jolted his rider when he came down on stiff front legs.
    Dannie and I took metal plates from the stack. A BEM behind the table filled them with oatmeal, pats of butter and scrambled eggs with four of his eight tentacles.
    As Dannie and I turned to walk