13'Sao-La
Sunlight bit at the rough floor of the cell, its direct effect shifting the temperature from
tolerable to intense. Once more, just as yesterday, full of tedium and clocked only by this
creeping tide, 13'Sao-La mustered with the others into the cell's dwindling shade. Of the seven,
he recognized three from the League and tallied just one as Ally. Not that those oh-too-simple
rules applied anymore. He acknowledged none of the others, though he shared their sweat and foul
breath and the bland food delivered through an automated slit in the canvas roof.
With a sound more like a snore than a growl, vehicles invaded the afternoon's monotony. One bus
and one freighter, they rose from the gray-brown distance and parked at the top of the cell
layout. Troops, sent by the Voiceless to complete their power over him, scurried from the bus.
Such was their confidence, their disdain, for their captives that they'd put away their armor.
However, they did wear a full-body uniform, plain, tight-fitting, in a soft blue with boots, far
more than the olloman's brief tunic, and they did carry dreamsticks, working dreamsticks, no
doubt. Overwhelming advantage seemed to be their rule.
In pairs, the soldiers drew rectangular frames from the freighter. About the size of a door, the
dead-black tek rolled easily. Each pair took a column of cells and worked their way down it.
At each cell, a cycle of motion began. The soldiers clapped the frame against the bars and
beckoned. A captive heeded and stood before the frame. A soldier stroked the captive with a
wand. The other signalled for pivot, then retreat. Soon, each captive in the cell had given
witness against himself to an agent-for-identity and mobile Beobachtung.
13'Sao-La heeded each step in the line toward him. No rules here, only procedure. In time, he
resisted.
The frame arrived, clanged against the bars. The soldier signalled and one of the Unknowns stepped
forward. In a moment, the soldier gestured again ... and again. Each time, 13'Sao-La slipped to
another spot, eclipsed by a different body. No rules applied here except ornery.
At the eighth signal, 13'Sao-La stoked his Ally. Surprised, she heeded quickly, moved to the
front.
"Number Eight," the soldier said, shaking his head with an innocent smile at the Ally. "You." He
pointed elsewhere.
13'Sao-La ignored the finger boring at him.
"Dark hair, cut short. Dark eyes, massive eyebrow. Crooked hand. Over here, now."
And the others parted around him. Enemies all now. That old rule sprang from vex. He just might
keep it.
13'Sao-La sauntered forward and centered on the frame. Dead-black, the Beobachtung sucked his
image and gave nothing back. Just like the Voiceless had sucked at his soul and gave nothing back
to him. At least, he hadn't let them drain that soul completely away, and he wouldn't as long as
someone, anyone, could see him.
With a quick lick, the agent-for-identity sampled his unique genome. Soon, the Voiceless would
gather their data about him. They would know his father, may buzzards peck out his eyes and liver
while he watched helpless. They would know his mother — did she still live? They would know his
given name, but they would never really know him — because they didn't want to.
13'Sao-La turned away from the Voiceless' virtual sight and settled into a corner of his cell to
wait some more. Time did rule here as it did everywhere, one second at a time. He would just meet
it that same way.
