Cauldron of Ghosts Read Online Free PDF Page A

crossed their minds. The XO had a reputation for being something of a wizard with his sensor gear. That ability could make a world of difference to the outcome of their mission. Torch assault troops might be the modern analogof Viking berserks, but analogy was not identity. More than three thousand years of civilization had elapsed, after all, since the legendary Ragnarr Loðbrók led his longships across the North Sea to plunder France and the British Isles.
    “Two hatches up, on the left,” Loren said. “That’ll let us into the slave quarters through a storage compartment. It’s unoccupied.”
    * * *
    It also turned out to be very full, almost to the point of being impassable without hauling supplies into the corridor, which would have been too time-consuming.
    Not quite. It helped that the battle armor worn by the assault troops made it quite easy to crush whatever cartons, containers and cans needed to be crushed to clear a path.
    One of those containers, as it happened, contained some sort of bright purple fruit juice. So it was on a garish note that they emerged into the slave quarters, as if they had camouflaged themselves to blend into a psychedelic landscape.
    The compartment they entered was packed almost as full of people as the one they were exiting had been packed with supplies and equipment. The people were plastered against the walls, staring at them with wide-eyed alarm.
    Kabweza had been expecting that, so she’d had Sergeant Supakrit X lead the way. As soon as he entered the slave quarters the sergeant opened the faceplate of his armor and stuck his tongue out.
    Supakrit X was an escaped slave. His tongue displayed the genetic marker used by Manpower to identify their products. The marker was unique and difficult to duplicate—impossible, really, if it was examined at close quarters.
    Which his marker was, almost immediately. A small young female slave came up to him, quite fearlessly, and pried his mouth further open with her fingers. Supakrit, who was much bigger than she was, leaned over to help her in the project. She gave the marker on his tongue a short but intense examination and then stepped back.
    “It’s real,” she announced. “But they’re not Ballroom, I’m pretty sure.”
    Supakrit straightened up and grinned. “Bunch of maniacs. No, girl, we’re from the Royal Torch Army.” He hooked a thumb at Commander Damewood. “We’re working with the Biological Survey Corps.”
    Hearing that, one of the older male slaves grinned even more widely than the sergeant. Very few slaves had yet heard of the new former slaves’ planet of Torch. But some slaves knew the truth—some of it, anyway—about the BSC. Apparently he was one.
    The young woman was scowling, however. “Don’t call me ‘girl.’ ”
    Kabweza moved forward. “Give us a name, then.”
    “Takahashi Ayako. You can call me Ayako.”
    The fact that she had a full name and was willing to use it publicly was significant. Manpower did not give names to its slaves. They were raised with the last three or four digits of their slave number serving the purpose. Over time, though, slaves managed to create a society of their own, with adoptive parents who took most youngsters into their shelter. Manpower’s managers tolerated the practice, because it served their own purposes. It was simpler and cheaper to have slaves raise the youngsters who came out of the breeding vats instead of Manpower having to do it directly.
    But while they tolerated the custom of slave families—and even made an effort not to break them up if possible—they did not tolerate the slaves doing so openly. A first name could be used publicly, including one chosen by the slave herself. After all, even animal pets had names. But a slave who used the surname of their parents in public was considered to be a borderline rebel and was likely to be punished.
    Apparently, Ayako was such a borderline rebel—or someone acute enough to have realized almost instantly