by JJ Wolficus
treat him. I want him
talking."
"Sir?"
"Korhal hasn't responded yet, and I'm tired of waiting for answers. That
man does not belong
here. I want to know who thought he did."
* * *
A thousand bruises fought for Gabriel's attention the moment he woke up,
but the pain was far
away, a mere silhouette on the horizon. He felt nice, even though he
couldn't move. Straps held
him tightly to a bed that was too clean to be his cell bunk.
"Awake at last."
Gabriel turned his head toward the source of the voice. Al he could see
were pretty lights
swimming around a vague shape. A vague, impossible shape that was
changing with each
heartbeat.13
"Why are you an apple? It's rude for an apple to melt into ice
cubes."Gabriel giggled.
The voice barked a quick laugh. "Enjoy the painkil ers while they last,
Feltz."Gabriel heard a
machine hiss softly, and the feeling of peace evaporated in an instant. The
sight of a thousand
dancing ice cubes resolved into the view of a brightly lit medical room and
Warden Kejora.
"Feel better?"
Gabriel's heart raced, and his mind spun around in circles. He felt alert, and
the pain wasn't so
distant anymore. "No. Very no."
"Get used to it. It's the same cocktail they put in stimpacks, only watered down by a factor of
six or so. Helps you focus even under unpleasant conditions." The warden
took a seat next to
his bed. "Inmates usually have to earn medical treatment through
exceptional performance,
Feltz. You haven't been here long enough to qualify. I'm breaking the rules
just for you."
"I'm flattered."
"I'm flattered, sir," Kejora said.
Gabriel briefly considered defiance. Very briefly. "Yes, sir."
"My people have a dozen different theories on who you are, Feltz." Kejora's eyes never left his.
"The only thing we can agree on is that you're not Icehouse material.
Intelligent, focused,
empathetic people don't belong here."
“Never allow your enemiesto lull you with a false front. Look behind their
deception, and the
threat shall reveal itself to you”. —Icehouse Precept #614
Gabriel couldn't keep sarcasm out of his voice. "Sorry to disappoint you,
sir."
"How did you end up here?"
"Sir?"
The warden leaned forward. "What crime did you commit? Why are you
here?"
"You don't know?"Gabriel said, hurriedly adding, "Sir?"
"Pretend I don't."
"Yes,sir."Gabriel gathered his thoughts. If ever his story needed to sound solid…
"My brother and I were part of a new resettlement a year and a half ago.
Turned out to be a
bad decision."
"Resettlement is a hard life."
"It's an impossible life with the Dominion running the show. First the red
tape, then the
abolishment of personal supplies, and within two months they had to press-
gang half the
colony into the mines just to keep the malcontents contained underground
for fourteen hours a
day. My brother was forced along with them;then he went missing."
The warden nodded. "So you did something about it."
"I went to the magistrate to ask a couple questions. He didn't want to hear about it, so I asked
louder. When he threw me out of his office, I managed to tip over a bottle of
his scotch on his
shirt. His grunts went to work on me, and I woke up on the shuttle to the
Icehouse."15
Warden Kejora stared in disbelief. "That's it?"
"You don't believe me."
"I believe that a colonial lackey would wantto send someone here just for
messing up his suit. I
just don't believe he could." Kejora seemed lost in thought. "It's not easy to land in the
Icehouse, Feltz, and you don't fit in."
"Sorry for lousing up the place, sir. What do you plan on doing about it?"
Kejora smiled. "Nothing."
"What?"
"The Dominion needs reapers. That's enough for me."
"That's… Sir…"Gabriel sputtered.
"Cut the throttle, inmate," Kejora said. "We build reapers out of nothing.
Most of your
neighbors down in the cellblock aren't worth the transportation costs to get
them out here, but
we give them a chance anyway. Maybe ten or fifteen percent of them rise
to the challenge. The
rest don't. No big loss.
"But you," Kejora continued, "you have more than half a brain. Until today, you backed down
from the fights you couldn't win. Raw power isn't everything. If you can
square up to this, you'l
be one of the finest assets in the service. My reapers have received
commendations from the
most respected commanders in the Dominion. My reapers put the fear of
the devil in our
enemies every moment in combat, and do you know why?"16
"We do what we must,"Gabriel whispered.
"Damn right." Kejora stood up. "Take that to heart. If you want to live, train and fight like the
others and get through my program."
"That simple, huh?"
Kejora ignored the absence of a "sir." "You'l be fit for training in two days. I suggest you start
making friends who can fend off more beatings."
Gabriel waited for Kejora to walk to the door. "I'l do what I must, sir."
Something in his tone
made the warden turn around.
"We'l see."
Gabrielfelt the cameras and sensors tracking him at all times. He managed
to avoid any more
confrontations with Polek, and the Lisk helped scare off attacks from
others.
After three months the adjutant ushered them to a room they had never
entered before. It was
the closest thing to a treat they'd had in the Icehouse. The long, narrow
room waslined with a
series of armored suits. Smaller and leaner than a marine CMC, each bore
a large jetpack on its
shoulders. The suits, inert as they were, looked ready to leap. The Lisk
smiled at the sight.
When the adjutant ordered the inmatesinto the suits,there were no
jokes.Just eagerness.
Within minutes, the next phase of training began, and the Icehouse
managed to get worse.17
The first challenge was the jetpack. The inmates initially had no control
over the boosters; it al
belonged to the adjutant, which seemed to delight in igniting the things at
the worst moments,
launchingmen into ceilings and walls until they learned to steer.
Concussions were common.
Two recruits died from skull fractures.
They began training with new weapons. The "Scythe" P-45 gauss pistol
was a small spitting
monster, the suit barely compensating forthe recoil. The shooting range
was torn to shreds.
Several men were cut down by fellow inmates.
When they finally reached seventy-five percent accuracy,the adjutant
congratulated them.
Then it asked them to use two at once.
Last there was the D-8 explosiv
e charge, designed to blow apart structures.
It had more than
enough power to plaster the less attentive against the wall. Bomb prep and
disposal were the
objectives, but the conditions were extreme and relentless: loud noises,
total darkness or
blinding light, rooms where gravity wassuspended. Injuries and fatalities
stacked up quickly.
The inmates battled on. Some died in action; others were found dead like
Henisall; a few were
suicides. Gabriel kept going. There wasn't a choice.
Kejora had a new addition to his routine. Before lights out, he would review
the training
footage of Gabriel Feltz. He couldn't explain why. Well, he could, but he
wasn't ready to admit
it.
These last two years in the Torus system had been productive and
satisfying. Once out of the
Icehouse,the reapers went where they were needed, safeguarding
Dominion interests with fire 18
and death. Medals and accolades, many of them posthumous and
classified, trickled back to the
Icehouse, the names of the receivers joining a growing list of success
stories.
But never before had an innocent man been subjected to the Icehouse, so
Kejora watched and
worried. It was a threat, a very simple one. What if someone found out?
What if the story of
Gabriel Feltz, the colony boy with a streak of incredibly bad luck, hit the
nightly news on UNN?
Even those talking heads would risk wrath from up the ladder for a lead that
good.
The notion of a leak wasn't unlikely. Somebody had already violated
protocol: Feltz should
never have been sent here. Kejora stil hadn't tracked down the person
responsible. The
magistrate hadn't returned his calls, and the computer logs suggested that
nobody had actually
given the order to have Feltz transferred.
The notes from the techs weren't helping, either. Feltz's character was the
center of plenty of
debate.His behavior had changed. The loner attitude was gone. Instead
he'd established some
bonds with others, especially Lords—the one who called himself the Lisk.
The two ate together
at every meal and teamed up during exercises and sparring matches. To
most observers, they
had become fast friends.
Kejora let the technicians speculate; he hadn't told them about the advice
he had offered to the
recruit. Feltz knew getting close to the scariest man in the Icehouse kept
less friendly attention
off him.
Stil … Feltz was improving. Dramatically. Moreover, he was showing an
unusual aptitude for
tactics and strategy. Leadership potential. What if he joined the ranks of the
reapers?
He would be a successful test case, Kejora realized. Feltz would be living
proof that the reaper
programneeded skil ed, intelligent recruits, instead of just squeezing the
last few drops of value
from the defective dregs of humanity. The reapers were already widely
sought for frontline 19
action, but if they could be even better, every commander in the Dominion
would demand that
Kejora receive a better class of recruit.
In short, if Feltz was victorious, he'd usher in a new age of Dominion
warfare.
Kejora made his final notes and closed Feltz's file. The last phase of
training for the current
group of inmates would begin today. "Graduation day," he said with a thin smile.
He gave the command to the Icehouse staff.
"Final exams approved. Spike the next food batch and activate all
predators in two hours. Time
to cook the Icehouse."
"Something's off, man."
Gabriel smiled at the Lisk. "You've been saying that the last two days."
The Lisk spooned another beige lump into his mouth. "You know what I'm
talking about."
Gabriel had to admit that the Lisk was probably right. Their training had
plateaued. They'd even
had enough free time to get a decent amount of sleep for two days in a row.
That couldn't be
good.
The Lisk slammed his palm flat on the table, making his half-empty bowl
bounce off the surface.
"I can't take much more of this."
Gabriel flinched. "I know."20
"You don't know!" The Lisk jumped up, snarling. "None of you do.
Especially you! I'l kil you
first, right now!"
Gabriel stumbled to his feet and backed away. This wasn't the normal Lisk.
If he didn't shut his
mouth, Gabriel might have to kick him in his teeth and rip his head off and
then get to work
tearing apart every other one of the recruits until he, and only he, stood
alive...
What? Gabriel was jolted back to lucidity.
Madness swept over the entire mess hall. Fists clenched; faces contorted
in anger. It started
with shoving, then grappling, and in seconds punches were being thrown.
The Lisk seemed to
have lost focus, searching wildly for someone to fight and grinding his teeth
loudly.
Gabriel looked down at his bowl. The food.Of course. This had to be
Kejora's game. Fury burned
like acid in his chest, and his lips pulled back in an involuntary grimace.
Kejora would pay. In
blood. For everything:for the training and the dead and especially for
Dennis—
Stop it!Gabriel forced the rage down by sheer wil . "Lisk! Back off the
throttle; it's the food! It's
just the food!"
The Lisk didn't hear him. He was walking in a small circle as if he were in a
cage. Gabriel
grabbed him by the arms.
"They've put something in the food!" The Lisk was shaking his head, but Gabriel pressed on.
"There's no zerg here, right? Nothing's worse than the zerg! That's what
you told me!"
The Lisk's eyes focused on him. "Yeah," he managed. "Nothing worse than the zerg..."21
Gabriel almost fainted with relief. So, Kejora wanted them spooked and
angry but able to
control themselves. This had to be part of a new test. What would come
next?
The mess hall was emptying as inmates made for the exits, shouting and
flailing. Several
prisonerslingered, Polek among them. Gabriel dragged the Lisk over to
him, resisting the red
voice in his veins. "We've got to get going too."
Polek sneered. "In what universe do we listen to you, runt?"
Gabriel jerked a thumb behind him. "You wanna end up like them?"
Seven of the inmates had reacted very, very badly. Four of them were
already dead from
repeated blows to the head; another was clutching his ruined face. The last
two were trying to
crush each other's throat. Even Polek looked sick.
"Come on; we gotta get out of here." Gabriel led them away.
They left the frenzy of the canteen to find the corridors flashing. The
adjutant's voice boomed
through the complex. "Al trainees, proceed to armory bays 1 through 8 and
prepare for
combat. This is not a dril . I repeat—"
"We're riot police now?" someone asked.
Gabriel kept his head on a swivel, searching for new threats. "This is stil training. Stay alert."
"Hey! You hear that?"
Steel claws clacked on the ground.22
Something was crouching farther down the hall. It looked and moved like a
cat, but it was a
machine the size of a vulture bike. It turned its bullet-shaped head toward
the inmates and
opened its metallic maw. A bloodcurdling shriek assaulted their ears.
"Run!"
They bolted through the corridors, the galloping stamp of metal feet not far
behind. One man
was dumb enough to look back. The mechanical beast had him a moment
later, jaws snapping
around his torso.
“Dictate the battle to your enemies. Leave them no option but to face you in
the manner of
your choosing.” —Icehouse Precept #7
The others kept their heads and ran on until the open doors of an armory
loomed ahead of
them. They hurled themselves through the opening as if it were the path to
heaven.
"Shut the doors!"
The doorsstarted to close, too slowly. The machine slammed into the gap,
unable to force itself
all the way in, yet its blood-flecked head squeezed through, snapping its
terrible mouth. At last
Polek freed a gun from the racks and emptied it into the robot, shredding
itlike paper.
Before he could brag,Gabriel pointed past him. "More of 'em!" Sure
enough, an entire pack of
the things was rushing down toward them. Gabriel shoved the battered
remnants of the
robotic cat away, and the doorsshut tight. There was a crash against the
other side, swiftly
followed by the sound of metal scraping through metal. A cacophony of
roars reminiscent of
every beast imaginable came muffled through the doors.
"What now?" asked the Lisk. 23
Gabriel looked across the armory at the reaper suits, the pistols, the D-8s,
even a set of
specialized stimpack delivery systems.
"What now? We'l do what we must."
Kejora glanced over the figures the techs were relaying. Four trainees dead
within the first
minute. Twelve dead by the end of the first ten. There had been worse
starts.
The spiked food had done its work. He had suspected Gabriel Feltz would
be an early casualty,
and was surprised to see the other survivors so readily accepting him as a
leader. The data from
this exam would be interesting.
