Free Early Byrd by Phil Geusz Page A

"well . . . What about
honor? What about our obligation to the future of the universe as a
whole to do what we can to make wars of conquest unprofitable
ventures? Better to die proud and free than submit to the likes of him ," he declared, jerking his thumb in Rapput’s general
direction.
    "Everyone else they've ever defeated were
either wiped out or became slave-races," Tim continued. "Or so they
say, and who can know otherwise? We're the first they've ever
negotiated with. And so far—at least according to the news
shows—they're living up to the Treaty's terms in every last
detail." He looked at Yukon. "Isn't that better than dead?"
    The old Canadian's eyes narrowed, and for a
moment I thought my brother had pushed things too far. "So we're
not slaves, eh? Then tell me this: why exactly were we sending them
innocent little boys to hold hostage against our good
behavior?"
    Tim blinked, and I couldn't come up with an
answer either. Where exactly did living up to the terms of a harsh
peace treaty end and outright slavery begin? Dad didn't think we
humans were slaves, and what he thought mattered a lot. But then,
neither Tim nor I had thought to ask him if he'd changed his mind
after learning he was going to be forced to give up his children.
Might he think differently now? Quite possibly, I had to admit.
    "See?" Yukon said in triumph as he rose to
his feet and smiled. "Just because a jar's label says something on
it doesn't mean that's actually what's inside." His smile faded.
"Let that be today's lesson, in the absence of textbooks and
classrooms and such." He patted Tim's head this time. "You're smart
boys, and I'm sure you'll pick it all up in time."
    Tim smiled, but the expression faded almost
as quickly as it'd appeared. "I don't feel so good," he said,
rubbing his belly. His eyes met mine, and I nodded ever so
slightly. "I might even be a little sick."
    Sure enough, Tim looked amazingly sick. His face
paled, sweat covered his forehead, and his breathing became
labored. Long ago he'd told me that all he had to do in order make
that happen was pretend he was being forced to eat maggoty meat. In
any event, it was certainly effective.
    "They're under a lot of stress," Linda
explained to her superiors. "What with all they're going through,
we're lucky it's not a lot worse. Some kids might even go
catatonic."
    Yukon and Sam nodded but clearly felt put
out. Meanwhile, Tim continued his act, causing our keepers to
scramble for cold cloths, aspirin . . .
    . . . and, worst of all for our hopes, a
basin for him to get sick in if he had to. We'd never thought of
that! He looked helplessly up at me, for the moment outfoxed.
    "He gets like this sometimes when he needs
fresh air," I said. "Once he's outside, he's always a lot better.
It works almost every time."
    "Yeah!" Tim agreed. "Can I please go outside
for a few minutes?"
    "I don't see why not," Yukon replied.
"That's where the latrine is, anyway. We were just about to show
you."
    "Good!" I agreed happily, not about to let
us be separated at this late date. "I need to go."
    "Then let's take a trip upstairs," Yukon
agreed, rising from his chair and reaching for his hat. "Maybe
it'll do me some good too."

15
     
    Tim continued to drool and retch as we made our way
back up the tunnels to the entrance. That had to be distracting for
him, so I looked things over twice as closely to make up for his
inattention. Where the tunnel branches came together, I carefully
attempted to go the wrong way.
    "No, Robert," Yukon urged. "That's a dead
end, and there're dangerous places too. It's not like this part
we've fixed up."
    "And this way?" I asked, keeping my tone as
innocent as possible while pointing down another passage.
    "Don't you worry about that one,"
Yukon answered, his eyes hardening. And just like that, I knew
where all the really important stuff was located. Including, more
likely than not, Rapput and Li.
    The anteroom—the above-ground part of the
complex which was all that