ankle-deep in mud, and could practically feel the cool liquid trickling down his throat. But what if the magistrate appeared? What if the guards ordered the prisoners to disperse? He'd lose his turn at the spigot, and the knowledge made him edgy. He started to see those in front of him as enemies, as people who, through their slow, dim-witted piggishness were out to steal that which was rightfully his. He fidgeted, resisted the urge to shove the person in front of him, and telepathically ordered everyone to hurry up.
A commotion was heard. Orders were shouted, guards stood straighter, and a processional appeared. It had a medieval feel, complete with an heraldic device and robes of black. The magistrate had arrived! Dorn was only three people away from the spigot now, his throat burning with thirst, his tongue swollen in his mouth. Water! He had to have water! The first person drank, stepped aside, and was followed by the second. An order, amplified through a bullhorn, boomed across the pit. "You! By the water spigots! Take your places at the platform!"
Dorn was about to drink, about to take his chances with whatever punishment might come his way, when a hand touched his arm. He turned, ready to snarl, and found himself face to face with a teenage girl. She had big brown eyes, a dirt-smeared face, and a six-month-old baby in her arms. The infant was clearly ill. The older child had a calm, matter-of-fact voice. "Please, mister ... my brother has diarrhea. He'll die without water."
Dorn felt a terrible shame settle over him as he looked into that face, for the girl's lips were as cracked as his, but she asked nothing for herself. He forced the semblance of a smile. "Quickly, then ... up to the spigot."
The look of gratitude the girl gave him reminded Dorn that no matter how desperate things got for him, there was always someone even worse off. A man attempted to push the girl aside, but Dorn blocked the way. The guards pushed into the crowd. Their whips cracked right and left. People screamed and hurried to escape. The girl appeared next to Dorn, shouted words he couldn't understand, and placed something in his hand. Then, still holding the baby, she was swept away.
Dorn turned toward the platform and followed the people in front of him. The youngster's hand felt wet. He examined the object, saw it was a scarf, and realized what she'd done. Working quickly, so as to conserve every precious drop, he crammed the fabric into his mouth and sucked as hard as he could. Nothing had ever tasted so good as the rusty, brackish water that trickled down his throat.
The moment the last vestige of moisture had been removed, Dorn pulled the scarf out of his mouth and tied it around his arm. A guard demanded their attention. ' 'Court number six, of the Oro municipal court system, is now in session. Judge Janice Tal presiding."
The hearings were conducted in alpha order, which meant that he had plenty of time to observe the way things worked. Moving slowly, so as to avoid negative attention, Dorn eased his way through the crowd. He joined the first row and craned his neck to see.
The magistrate wore her hair in a carefully constructed topknot. She had thin, heavily plucked eyebrows, half-hooded eyes, and a slit-shaped mourn. The proceedings were more form than substance. A name was called; the person who answered to it was pulled, shoved, or dragged onto the platform where charges of vagrancy were read; a halting, often tearful defense was offered and gaveled to silence. The magistrate wore a boom mike, and her voice issued from a sphere that hung over the crowd. "Guilty as charged. Sentenced to five years compensated labor. Next."
Then the haggard man, woman, or child would be directed to the far side of the gravel pit, where the condemned waited, their chains laid next to them. More than three hours passed before the youth heard his name. "Voss .. .Dorn ... take the platform."
Like most of his peers, Dorn had spent a lot of time
A commotion was heard. Orders were shouted, guards stood straighter, and a processional appeared. It had a medieval feel, complete with an heraldic device and robes of black. The magistrate had arrived! Dorn was only three people away from the spigot now, his throat burning with thirst, his tongue swollen in his mouth. Water! He had to have water! The first person drank, stepped aside, and was followed by the second. An order, amplified through a bullhorn, boomed across the pit. "You! By the water spigots! Take your places at the platform!"
Dorn was about to drink, about to take his chances with whatever punishment might come his way, when a hand touched his arm. He turned, ready to snarl, and found himself face to face with a teenage girl. She had big brown eyes, a dirt-smeared face, and a six-month-old baby in her arms. The infant was clearly ill. The older child had a calm, matter-of-fact voice. "Please, mister ... my brother has diarrhea. He'll die without water."
Dorn felt a terrible shame settle over him as he looked into that face, for the girl's lips were as cracked as his, but she asked nothing for herself. He forced the semblance of a smile. "Quickly, then ... up to the spigot."
The look of gratitude the girl gave him reminded Dorn that no matter how desperate things got for him, there was always someone even worse off. A man attempted to push the girl aside, but Dorn blocked the way. The guards pushed into the crowd. Their whips cracked right and left. People screamed and hurried to escape. The girl appeared next to Dorn, shouted words he couldn't understand, and placed something in his hand. Then, still holding the baby, she was swept away.
Dorn turned toward the platform and followed the people in front of him. The youngster's hand felt wet. He examined the object, saw it was a scarf, and realized what she'd done. Working quickly, so as to conserve every precious drop, he crammed the fabric into his mouth and sucked as hard as he could. Nothing had ever tasted so good as the rusty, brackish water that trickled down his throat.
The moment the last vestige of moisture had been removed, Dorn pulled the scarf out of his mouth and tied it around his arm. A guard demanded their attention. ' 'Court number six, of the Oro municipal court system, is now in session. Judge Janice Tal presiding."
The hearings were conducted in alpha order, which meant that he had plenty of time to observe the way things worked. Moving slowly, so as to avoid negative attention, Dorn eased his way through the crowd. He joined the first row and craned his neck to see.
The magistrate wore her hair in a carefully constructed topknot. She had thin, heavily plucked eyebrows, half-hooded eyes, and a slit-shaped mourn. The proceedings were more form than substance. A name was called; the person who answered to it was pulled, shoved, or dragged onto the platform where charges of vagrancy were read; a halting, often tearful defense was offered and gaveled to silence. The magistrate wore a boom mike, and her voice issued from a sphere that hung over the crowd. "Guilty as charged. Sentenced to five years compensated labor. Next."
Then the haggard man, woman, or child would be directed to the far side of the gravel pit, where the condemned waited, their chains laid next to them. More than three hours passed before the youth heard his name. "Voss .. .Dorn ... take the platform."
Like most of his peers, Dorn had spent a lot of time
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