Free EarthRise by William C. Dietz Page A

answered truthfully, “and of pride, envy, and occasional doubt.”
    The painmaster ran the still-cooling rod down the inside surface of the Ra ‘Na’s left arm, paused at the nearly bare axillary, and pulled the instrument away.
    Though less intense than the injuries that preceded it, the burn made a river of pain, and Has jerked in the opposite direction.
    “Don’t toy with me, slave,” the Zin warned ominously. “You won’t enjoy the results.”
    “Yes, your eminence,” Has gasped, “I am innocent, ask Dro Tog.”
    The painmaster examined the rod’s tip, decided in favor of a touch-up, and shuffled toward the forge. “Who is Dro Tog? And why should I believe what he tells me?”
    “Dro Tog is a prelate,” Has answered earnestly, “and one of the most important leaders the Ra ‘Na have.”
    The last part was not exactly true, given the fact than many of Tog’s peers viewed him with something akin to contempt, but Has saw no reason to mention that. He was a subordinate after all—a relationship that mandated respect.
    Having equipped himself with a fresh rod, the Zin returned from the forge. “So, which group does this paragon of virtue favor?” the Sauron inquired patiently. “The resistance? Or those who remain loyal?”
    “Those who remain loyal,” Has answered honestly. “ ‘Order is superior to chaos, the Saurons provide order, so why change?’ That’s what Dro Tog likes to say.”
    “How very perceptive of him,” the painmaster replied. “This rod is extremely hot . . . Where would you least like to receive it?”
    Has was tempted to lie, to name a part of his anatomy where the pain might be less intense, but managed to resist temptation. The truth—that was his only hope. “My genitals, eminence. I would least like to have the rod touch me there.”
    It was this simple statement more than anything else that convinced the painmaster of the slave’s veracity and thereby brought the session to an end. Still, it was always best to leave subjects with something to remember, so the Zin brought the rod upward. Has heard his genitals start to sizzle, screamed the Great One’s secret name, and fell into darkness.

ABOARD THE SAURON FACTORY SHIP LA MA GOR (SOURCE OF PLENTY)
     
    The La Ma Gor ’s interior, once the very definition of well-defined order, had been literally transformed into a nightmarish maze of vats, tanks, and pipes, all dedicated to the manufacture of pink glop.
    That’s what the humans called it anyway, although their Ra ‘Na counterparts, slaves like Toth, had another name for the substance. Loosely translated, the word meant “shit.” However, regardless of what the viscous material was called, it refused to be constrained by the plumbing designed to contain it and continued to weep, ooze, and dribble from the countless joints that the archaic plans called for. Plans, which if rumor could be believed, came straight from the Book of Cycles.
    What wasn’t known, however, and was the subject of much speculation by Toth and his pals, was the glop’s purpose. It wasn’t food, they were sure of that, since not even Saurons could stomach something that looked like the glop did, nor was the substance medicinal, since no one had seen a member of the so-called master race rub, slather, or dab the stuff on.
    All of which explained why Toth, having little else with which to occupy his rather active mind, had decided to solve the apparent mystery. An impulse completely in line with his history as a petty thief, slacker, and all-around miscreant.
    The answer, if one was to be found, almost certainly resided in Kol-Hee’s office, a space definitely off-limits to the likes of Toth. A fact which made the task of digging it out that much more interesting. But the Fon was no fool and literally wielded the power of life and death over his subjects, which suggested that a good deal of caution was in order.
    That being the case, Toth made no attempt to tackle his objective directly, but