The Ocpol then proceeded to clear the city completely, one section at a time. Anyone who resisted was summarily shot.
The people were crammed into trucks and moved en masse to a spot on the plain where large pens, surrounded by electrified wire and guarded by searchlights and watch towers, had been erected.
They were split into groups of a dozen, stripped, hosed down by two lines of mercenaries equipped with powerful water cannon, and issued with shapeless cotton smocks. The smocks were a dirty grey colour, with a large, easily identifiable yellow circle on both the front and the back. The circles looked ominously like targets.
After this process was completed the people of Feld were herded into the pens. There was no cover of any kind to protect them from the ever present drizzle. All they could do was stand in huddled groups and speculate fearfully about what was going to happen next. No one had told them that it was all part of A.A. Catto’s principle of Population Rationale.
The Court of Angels was one of the last sections to be moved out. Waiting under the guns of the troops that surrounded the area was bad enough, but the ride in the truck and the arrival at the pens was like walking into a nightmare.
It was the mercenaries and the Volunteer Legion who dealt directly with the prisoners. Many of the Legionnaires were simply thugs and cut-throats from the back alleys of the city who had figured out that putting on the uniform of the enemy was their best chance of survival.
They treated the prisoners with studied brutality. The black suited troops from Quahal, on the other hand, seemed to maintain an almost nonhuman reserve.
The trucks dumped the prisoners into a sealed area surrounded by high barbed wire. Along the top of the wire ran catwalks patrolled by armed Ocpol. Remorseless searchlights lit up the whole area of the pens with a sinister glare.
Urged on by whips and clubs, the prisoners were forced along avenues where the wire was so close together that they could only move in single file. A turnstile device manned by gleefully sadistic Legionnaires split them up into groups of twelve.
After the turnstile they emerged into a large compound. Here, a voice over a loudspeaker ordered them to strip. More Legionnaires moved among them, ripping the clothes from those who didn’t obey fast enough.
Carmen the Whore found herself grouped with nine of her sisters-in-trade and two professional beggars. Carmen and the other girls had removed their clothes before an audience so many times before that they didn’t hesitate to do as they were told.
One of the beggars, however, was so horrified at the prospect that he simply stood there openmouthed. Two Legionnaires grabbed him, tore off his filthy rags and then gave him a beating for his pains.
Once they were naked, the group was forced to run the gauntlet of the high pressure hose. Carmen gasped as the water smashed into her like an icy fist. The beggar who had been beaten up collapsed. Nobody made any effort to remove his body.
When they were out of the water, they had to line up beside a long trestle table. A rough cotton smock was thrust into Carmen’s hand. When the remaining eleven of the group had all been issued with their garments, they were run, at the double, into the main compound.
The main compound was a vast area of bare earth surrounded by electric fences and watch towers. The searchlights made sure that there were no areas of shadow where anyone could hide. The combination of the constant rain, and the hundreds of people who had been herded in there, had turned the ground into a swamp.
Carmen walked slowly through the mud. The only conversations going on were ones speculating on the eventual doom that was in store for everyone. Carmen found herself unable to join in any of them. She avoided the frightened groups of people. There was nothing to punctuate her wanderings. No food was given to the prisoners. Nobody informed them of what was going to happen next. It was even impossible to sleep.
The only thing that interrupted the dull despair of the prisoners were the squads of mercenaries and Legionnaires who roamed the pens, randomly terrorizing the captives.
Carmen kept out of their way as much as she was able to. In the general air of fear and gloom, however, it was hard to remain constantly vigilant.
Carmen was trudging along, deep in her own thoughts, when she was violently pushed from behind. She sprawled face down in the mud. She crawled to her knees and wiped the muck from her eyes. Three Volunteer Legionnaires stood laughing down at her. Carmen’s eyes narrowed. She climbed unsteadily to her feet.
‘I know you three.’
They sneered at her.
‘You’re a prisoner. You don’t know anything.’
Carmen stood her ground. For a fleeting moment she was the tough madame again. She planted her hands firmly on her hips.
‘Those fancy uniforms and fancy helmets don’t fool me. You’re just three snot nosed punks. I’ve thrown you out of the Tarnished Flowers more times than I care to remember.’
One of the Legionnaires smirked at the other two.
‘I think this prisoner needs a lesson in how to behave respectfully to her masters.’
Carmen spat in the mud.
‘Masters …’
Before Carmen could finish her sentence, two of the Legionnaires grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to her knees in the mud. The third one hauled off and slapped her hard across the face.
‘You got to pay us respect now, you dirty whore.’
‘Fuck all three of you.’
The three Legionnaires looked at each other with mock concern.
‘She don’t learn too fast, does she?’
‘She really don’t.’
‘She don’t learn fast at all.’
Carmen was about to abuse them some more when she suddenly realized just how powerless she was. One of the Legionnaires seemed to sense this and laughed.
‘You boys think twenty lashes might speed up her learning?’
The other two sniggered.
‘It couldn’t do no harm.’
‘Might just teach her some better manners.’
Carmen felt her flesh creep. She was hauled to her feet. Her smock was yanked up around her shoulders. She was pushed down on her knees again. Two of the Legionnaires took a firm hold on her. The third undipped a short plaited whip from the belt of his fighting suit.
Carmen shut her eyes and waited. She heard the swish of the whip as the Legionnaire practised his swing. Then one of the men holding her let go. She thought for an instant that she had been given some reprieve. Then he spoke and her hopes were immediately dashed.
‘How come you get to do all the whipping? Huh? How come us two don’t get a turn?’
‘You want to do the whipping?’
‘Sure I do. Fair’s fair.’
The first Legionnaire handed him the whip.
‘Okay, go ahead then. Be my guest.’
The second man took the whip. Carmen knew the respite was at an end. She tensed her body and shut her eyes again. The first blow fell across her back. Pain flashed through her body. Carmen screamed. She twisted and struggled, but the men held her fast. She heard the one with the whip.
‘One.’
Another blow fell.
Two.’
By eight the counting had merged into a confusion of tears and pain.
When it was over they left her lying in the mud. Her back was a mass of blood and red welts. They didn’t bother to pull down her dress. After a long time Carmen crawled painfully to her feet. She stumbled slowly to a spot by the wire. It was as far from other people as she could get.
***
The airship came out of the nothings and dropped into the darkness of the Quahal night. Bannion breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled grimly at the Wanderer.
‘It looks as though you managed to get us here, old man.’
The Wanderer grinned.