A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [63]
They were driven by dark, bulky figures, helmed and armored just as the runners were-but bigger than the runners, Geordi thought. He could hear the clatter of their wheels on the rocks now-even over the murmuring of his coworkers, the shushrush of the wind.
Would they, at long last, get a chance to see what all their hard work had been about? What purpose the bridge would serve? Geordi hoped so, he really did. It was nice to be able to look at the thing and know he’d had a hand in its construction. But he’d feel even better if he knew what ultimate good it might be supporting.
Before long, the first wagon had trundled out onto the span, and the crowd gradually gave way-either shuffling off to either side or retreating altogether. Geordi was one of those who stayed on the bridge to watch the passage.
Little by little, he got a better look at the first set of drivers. There were two of them, sitting side by side. One actually did the work; the other, apparently, was just along for the ride. As they went by, Geordi noticed that both of them had weapons strapped to their backs.
The runners had had weapons, too-but not quite as big or heavy. Geordi had assumed they were used to ward off wild animals, like the ones that had approached the construction site from time to time-especially at night. Even though the beasts had never actually attacked anyone, that didn’t mean they weren’t capable of it.
And these wagons might have traveled through places where the animals were more apt to be daring. Enclosed places, maybe, where they could strike from above.
Maybe.
But Geordi wasn’t quite convinced. Something in the way the drivers stared at them through their narrow eye slits made him wonder if the weapons might not have another use.
Of course, there would be no point in the drivers’ hurting them. The builders were there to help-they’d made it possible for the wagons to cross the ravine, hadn’t they?
He had almost talked himself into a false sense of security when the third wagon passed by him. And he got a look at its cargo.
Whereas the first two vehicles had had their loads under wraps, the third did not. Could not. Because its burden was alive.
Geordi felt the wind on his face turn cold suddenly as he realized what was in the wagon: people. Two beings not unlike himself, each with a pair of arms and a pair of legs. Of course, they didn’t wear seeing bands like the one he wore-but then, he seemed to be unique in that respect.
The beings were tied together, back to back, sitting upright. As they went by, they returned his gaze-regarded him, it occurred to Geordi, with the same mixture of curiosity and apprehension that he felt about them.
One of them had a wash of dark, dried blood from his temple to the point of his jaw-though the wound it came from must have been a shallow one because he seemed composed enough. Almost dignified, even in his sorry condition.
The following wagons brought more of the same. Not every one, but most of them. In a couple of cases, the prisoners’ wounds were grievous ones-to the point where they moaned softly every time their vehicle jolted a little on the rough-hewn planking.
What did it mean? Who were they, that the drivers had trussed them up like this? Where were they going?
As he wondered these things, the old questions came back to plague him as well. Once again, he felt the pit yawning before him. Once again, he had to drag himself back from the brink of it-reach out for one of the bridge supports to convince himself that something was real.
This is wrong, he thought. These are people. They shouldn’t be tied up and hauled around-they should be free to serve some purpose.
Then it came to him what his purpose had been-to smooth the way for the transportation of these pour souls. To aid and abet their enslavement.
How wrong he’d been-how incredibly wrong. And yet, when he’d first lent a hand, he’d been so certain that the bridge could be only a good thing-as certain as he was now that