Breaking the Wheel

Chapter 12

Mako wasn't entirely sure what he had expected, as the train took them to the camp, but the place looked more like a town than a prison, many of the inmates seeming to live in small, flat-roofed houses. The tall wooden doors of the pallisade parted to let them in and closed smoothly behind them, the team of workers on the walls mopping their brows in the heat.

"Welcome to camp fourteen." Their assigned escort, a middle-aged earthbender with close-cropped hair, walked a little ahead of them, her black boots raising dust from the track. "You might think you're special, but we get pretty much everyone in here; reactionary leaders, petty warlords, supporters of the... previous regime. Trust me, you don't stand out." They passed a row of tattered canvas tents, the occupants staring out at them with thin, weatherbeaten faces. "Here are your meal tickets," she said, and her assistant, a well-built soldier with a ponytail and a handsome moustache, handed each of them a booklet with thin, perforated pages. "You can exchange these for food at the big building at the south end," she continued, still walking. "You want more tickets, you sign up for a mining detail."

"What are you mining here?" Mako asked, and the guard shot him a withering look.

"A word of advice," she said. "You might be here on the orders of the Great Uniter, but she isn't here right now. We get a lot of leeway in how we treat you. So keep your head down, and don't ask too many questions." She stopped abruptly, and Mako had to catch himself to not walk into her.

At the side of the track, there was a patch of bare earth, deep grooves in the soil marking a square.

"This is yours," said the officer with a shrug. "Do what you like with it."

"We're not earthbenders!" Mako protested, as the woman turned to go.

"You'll figure something out." She gestured to the ramshackle tents and buildings that dotted the camp. "All the others did."

"Mako," Varrick stalked to the middle of the plot, turned sharply, and sat down. "Give me your ration book."

Mako stared at him. What was the inventor thinking?

"We're about to get mugged," said Varrick, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. "So give me your tickets."

Mako felt like he was twelve years old again, one of the older kids prying yuans from his hands, and his grip on the little booklet tightened. "I grew up on the streets," he said. "I know how to handle myself."

"You're going to fight, then?" Varrick's eyes gleamed as he looked past Mako and down the path. "You might be a pro-bender, kid, but I don't rate our chances highly here."

Turning, Mako saw the group approaching them. Dressed in traditional earth kingdom greens, the gang was five strong, all of them powerfully built, with geometric tattoos around their arms and shoulders. They didn't look friendly.

He frowned, glancing back at Varrick, who smiled grimly, his usual mania bubbling just below the surface, and thrust his booklet into the nonbender's hands. "Your plan better work this time," he grumbled.

Varrick turned away, tucking the books under his shirt. "Watch and learn, kid," he muttered, brushing his moustache into place with one finger. He turned on his heel again, all smiles. "Gentlemen!" he said, stepping brightly up to the gang. "Can I interest you in a business opportunity?"

Mako stood back as Varrick talked, his fists balled tight at his sides. He'd expected the violence to start quickly, but Varrick's approach had put them off balance.

"Name's Varrick," said Varrick, extending his hand to the largest thug. "Iknik Blackstone Varrick." He lowered his voice, conspiratorial. "You might have heard of me."