Prison Moon_Ice Heart

by Alexandra Marell

  “Were you injured? Is that why you wear this? She ignored the pervert filming with his tablet, his sidekick dipping greedily into the pockets of Kelskar’s coat.

  Some sort of prosthetic protection for brittle bones, or bones too shattered to mend? She tripped over the break in the skull covering, the pleat of skin, pushed back from white bone.

  Poor man.

  “Were you in the military, a soldier?” He had the build of a soldier, the bearing of a man in command. An injured soldier with PTSD triggered to relive some horrifying event over and over. Yes, that fit. She desperately wanted it to fit.

  “Yes. Soldier.” Screwing up his face, Kelskar fought for control, mouth stretched wide, growling deep in this throat. “Remember. Dark gods, now I remember. Janie, listen, give nothing...”

  She couldn’t stop him bashing his forehead on the bars, or even begin to hold back the barely-contained strength of him. His grip threatened to snap her fingers and wrench her shoulders right out of their sockets, but she held on. Somehow.

  “I don’t care if they’re watching. Kelskar. Listen to me, concentrate on my face. Do you know, when I’m holding you like this, I forget to be cold?” She sank back on her heels. “Or perhaps I’m so cold I can no longer feel.”

  “Cold? Take this.” Kelskar broke her grip with no effort. Plucked at his rough-woven tunic and hooked it over his head. “Take.”

  For a long moment Janie stared at the offered tunic, unable to move. Unexpectedly touched by the gesture with more than relief. Lifting her gaze she sucked in a sharp breath at the first sight of the curved metal moulded to his solid chest. Cut to show every dip and curve, stopping above his belt, she saw clearly now the anchor points where metal blended with flesh.

  This man had suffered and given and yet still he gave.

  He was looking down at his offering, a veil of confusion clouding his face, as if he’d forgotten why he was holding the crumpled tunic. Closing his eyes, he trembled and then thrust it through the bars.

  “Take, before I forget.”

  She didn’t need telling again. He caught and held her when she put out her arm, leaning in to the bars.

  “Make me remember. Who I am. Janie, don’t let me forget.”

  “You’re Kelskar. That’s your name.” What else did she know about him? Nothing but the story she’d concocted in her head and given her record with men, the wounded hero, the saviour who swooped in and gave her the clothes off his back would turn out to the same hopeless fantasy she’d spun around the others.

  Outside the cage, the masked man filmed on, pausing to scratch the screen with a stylus and make random notes. Twice, he tilted the screen at his comrade and exhaled on a nasal whine that might have been a laugh.

  Getting his rocks off watching them, the sick bastard. Rejected booty from Kelskar’s coat pockets littered the floor at his comrade’s feet. A square slim box with a cracked screen, a ring clipped with thin silver discs. A pair of gloves, made of some rigid material, huge like Kelskar’s hands.

  Nothing to tell her anything about this armoured man who’d appeared from nowhere to share her plight.

  “Put it on.” Kelskar released the tunic with a little push of encouragement, an oddly intimate gesture. Lucid for now, but he shook with the effort of holding his demons at bay. She clutched the rough cloth to her chest, relishing the lingering warmth of his body, the comforting scent of him.

  Who was he really? A battle-scarred soldier with delusions of being a video game character or a real alien from planet Zorg?

  Wriggling into the tunic under the watchful, masked eyes of her kidnappers, the alien theory was starting to look alarmingly credible.

  “What this?” The coat thief peeled back his lip and drew something from Kelskar’s pocket. Soft and squashy and pink, with smart black polka dots studding the small, paper case. Janie stilled, halfway through pulling the tunic over her knees. The man brought the mess to his nose, sniffed and then touched his long tongue to the sponge.

  A squashed cupcake? One of her cupcakes? What in God’s name was that doing in Kelskar’s pockets? The coat thief made a choking sound of horrified disgust and held the cake at arm’s length, as if it might bite him. Cake crumbs and pink icing crumbled through his clenched fist.

  Kelskar tipped his head, watching the rain of falling crumbs. His tongue made a slow sweep over his top lip as if testing the sweet scent.

  “You liked my cupcakes?” This tough, scary-looking guy sure knew how to melt a woman’s heart. He must have gone inside the tea room, seen the scattered cakes intended as a gift for the new owners. Tried one and saved this one for later.

  A small wedge of fallen fondant icing lay near to the bars. Janie moved without thought, scooting across to grab it. Kelskar moved too, a split second later. Her captor’s heavy boot lifted and crunched down on her knuckles but the hell she was giving up her prize.

  “You want to know who you are?” She thrust the sticky wedge at Kelskar, half-crouched between her and the locked door to his cage, face twisted in a feral snarl at the kidnapper scrabbling for his weapon. The shorter man took a step back, flattening himself against the corridor wall at the sudden flurry of movement, the tablet still filming.

  “Kelskar, you like cupcakes. I already know that about you. Somewhere in your past, someone baked you cupcakes. Remember?” Outside the cage, Brol snapped the slider up and down the long barrel of the weapon. It whined to life.

  “No,” she said, praying they really did understand her. “No more shocks. I can help him. Let me help him.”

  Brol glanced at his boss, weapon braced high at his shoulder.

  Damn, she didn’t want to do this with them watching and filming. Is that what Kelskar meant with his plea not to give them anything? She’d lost him again to the growling beast released by the stun-gun. If they came for her now, he’d do himself real injury on those bars.

  “Make it good.” The shorter man’s mouth stretched wide in a ghoulish smile. She wanted to punch him in that stupid masked face. Kelskar growled softly.

  “Who baked you cakes, Kelskar? Do you remember? You had a life and it’s still there, in your head. You just need to remember.”

  “Cakes?” He edged nearer his cage door, but she felt him coming down, the tension in the air, in his locked muscles and rigid mouth, easing.

  “Take it. Someone baked for you. Who was it?”

  Head hanging, braced arms trembling, Kelskar closed his eyes. Moments ticked by, heavy between them. Their captors still and waiting, Janie reciting every prayer she knew.

  “Tell me,” she whispered. “And then maybe we’ll figure out a way to get home. Wouldn’t you like to go home?”

  “Who baked for me?” Near enough to touch through the bars. He opened his mouth and rested his forehead on the metal, gently this time.

  Take it slow, like he did with you. She’d never forget the gift of his coat, the tunic.

  A slow exhale as he savoured the sweet fondant icing and then he raised his clear eyes to hers.

  “You did, Janie Roberts. You did.”

  Chapter Four

  Janie became his touchstone on the journey to their new life. The keeper of his memories and the reason for this massive sacrifice. She sat in her cage, the dark fall of hair hanging in listless hanks over her face and shoulders, huddled in the metallic survival blanket and boots thrown into her cage as concession. Despondent, always shivering. Using precious energy to keep him with her. To stop the chip from firing and taking him back.

  “Smile, Kelskar. You remember when you smile. Tell me what you remember today.”

  He knelt at the bars, in possession of himself for the present. Marvelling at the limitless well of smiles humans kept inside, no matter how terrible their fate. It took some effort, but he managed a tight tilting of his lips that did little to light his face. He tried again, picturing in his mind a laughing child from his past, the rich dark chocolate sauce in the devil’s cake he’d eaten at Janie’s home. For
a brief moment, his spirits lifted. She spoke wisely, even forced optimism helped. He’d awoken from sleep on the hard metal floor with questions and thoughts running riot in his brain with no idea how long he’d stay lucid. How long the chip would lie quiet before it sparked and fired and tried to drag him away.

  Now was a time to remember and give those memories to Janie for when he lapsed again into forgetting.

  “Your fingers are hurting?” He inspected her swollen fingers, red and raw from cold, with growing rage. At himself as well as at the hunters for the part he played in her capture.

  Then he had no choice. Now he did, as long as this demon-cursed chip allowed.

  “Chilblains, from the cold. I’ve always been prone to them.” Janie sucked in a hissing breath when he rubbed at the red welts. She tried to pull away. He held her fast.

  “Let me,” he said. Janie knew the drill and slipped her hands under his arms to warm them. The hunters never interfered. A bonded couple made for better sport, but as yet they’d been allowed only this small intimacy through the bars. In times of lucid mind, he wanted so desperately to be in there with her. To be her shield.

  There would be time enough for that. He had no illusions they would ever leave the maximum security prison moon. The last escape attempt ended in a fight on the hijacked transport and a fiery crash on Valiera 5. Mutinies made for good ratings but override systems, mandatory on any vessel approaching the penal colonies, ensured that stolen vessels never reached their destination.

  Bonding gave better chance of survival. She wouldn’t make it without him. Watching and touching through the bars he’d learned her hands and face, the way she moved. Listening to her, he knew the sounds she made when nightmares took her in sleep, the lilt of her voice.

  And she knew him better than he knew himself.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said “That break in your...helmet’s looking infected.”

  “I’m strong, I will fight it.” He needed no mirror to see the heat building at the jagged break. More than that, without a steady supply of drugs and reset charges to keep his enhanced physique in fighting form, his body would invariably reject the implanted armour. It was happening already.

  “Don’t leave me, Kelskar.” Janie rested her cheek on the bars, the nearest she could get to him. She didn’t have to say it. Don’t die on me, I need you.

  The blush crawling her cheeks sparked another memory deep in his mind. A woman he would never have back blushed like that at his gentle teasing. So long ago, in another life. An ominous prickling at his nape signalled the chip revving to life, stealing his will. Each lapse risked a permanent return to the cipher who would care little for Janie’s plight. She saw the change in his face, the gleaming light in his eyes.

  “Listen to me,” she said. “You’re Kelskar Vespasian. You were married once, had a child. Tell me their names. Your wife, your son. It’s there in your head, Kelskar. Say their names.”

  Names? They were there, lurking in dark corners of his mind, refusing to come into the light. “I can’t remember.” It hurt to breathe, the implant points where metal cleaved from bone, jarrred with every movement of his chest and limbs. He did carry an infection in the break at his head, likely from the impact with dirty bars.

  “You can, think harder. Stay with me, Kelskar.”

  “Lora, Lira. Something like that, I think. Keep it for me.”

  “I will. Can you remember anything about your son? Think, Kelskar. You had a son.”

  Did he? Booted footsteps stomped nearer from the depths of the ship. A sure sign of the chip stuttering to life, re-engaging and bringing with it enhanced senses that heard and saw more than ordinary beings. Colours sharpened, pain from the rejecting implants faded. His consuming concern for Janie morphed into a confused indifference.

  “They’re coming. But the chip, I can feel it.” Gently he removed her hands. Lifting his chin, he ordered her silently to her corner. Janie nodded, scooting away, clutching the blanket closed with a tight fist. She understood, though the fog in his brain, the wildly charging neurons would not grant him the same mercy.

  “We’re in this together, Kelskar.” She watched him carefully. “Remember that and you’ll come back to me. I won’t let those demons in your head keep you.”

  The blast door rumbled and rattled open, letting in a cacophony of roaring male voices. Three hunters and someone new struggled through the opening. A frantic three-armed Regian let loose a guttural yell, kicking out at the bars to Janie’s cage as they dragged him along the corridor. She pushed herself farther into the wall, following the procession with frightened eyes.

  Janie Roberts. Kelskar pushed her name through the mayhem in his head. Here to protect her. Remember. Remember why you’re here.

  They shoved the Regian into the cage next to Janie, holding him at bay with a sharp blast from the stunner. The creature rose, waving the arm with the missing hand, marking him as a thief sometime in his history. He threw himself at the bars separating his cell from Janie’s grinding his crotch to the rusty metal.

  “Do I smell an Earth woman?” The Regian leaped at the bars separating Janie from him, crawling sideways arm over arm to hang over her. A face carved with etched tattoos marked the Regian as a warlord.

  Kelskar remembered the stench of blood, the last Regian he slaughtered in the arena. Damned hard to kill, the creature kept on rising to mock the baying crowd demanding its head. His own objective calm as he ensured their credits were well spent. Memories warring with these new revelations, this new history he could make for him, for Janie, if only this demon-cursed chip would allow.

  “I’ll have you, female When we get there, I’ll have you. And when I’ve had you, I’ll sell you to the highest bidder.” The Regian swept a yellow tongue over the dirty bars. “If you survive me.”

  “Kelskar.” Janie’s shriek cut through the noise. She rolled away from the creature, knocking her head into the wall, terror pouring from every cell. “Don’t let that thing in your head take you. Remember who you are.”

  The creature would make a play for her the moment the hunters unleashed them on the prison moon. Who would not want such a fine prize? Kelskar snarled darkly. She bid him remember who he was?

  Gladiator Kelskar, prince of the arena, lord of death. Sold to Madame Lakmi to aid her in a murder and pin the blame on this woman. Lakmi Sadiri would rightly punish him for disobeying orders and failing to return to her.

  He eyed the hunters standing on point, weapons braced, trained on the newcomer. The chief, running a finger around his greasy collar releasing a wave of stale musk into the air, eyes narrowed to calculating slits. They would die too, Kelskar vowed. The instant opportunity allowed.

  The leering Regian would prove no contest in the battle for this black-haired woman yelling his name as if she should know him.

  “Put her in with him.” The chief hunter tapped his teeth with a long fingernail. “Viewers want stories. This is a good one.”

  Janie stopped dead, entreaties and pleas catching in her throat on a ragged sob. The smallest of sounds, her face drained white.

  “No.” The roar tore from his own throat. Kelskar put down his head and charged the wall, ignoring the pain. The splintering skull cap sparred with skin and bone. A white flash from the stun gun seared his left ear, blasting a web of sparks over the dirty wall.

  “I’ll take her now.” Laughing, the cursed Regian was laughing. “Give the Earth woman to me.”

  But Kelskar was remembering.

  His. Janie Roberts was his. He lifted his throbbing head and put out an arm. Janie ran to the bars, pushing her hand through the gap with such desperation her face mashed into the corroded metal. Their fingers entwined and it felt right. How long had they been together on this journey? Without sight of sun and moon to mark the days, he had no way of telling. Their world had become one of palms sliding together, of gazes locking, of voices soothing.

  He would die before anyone took her from him.

 
; “You want me put her in with Regian?”

  “For Loka’s sake, you think I’d give a catch like her to that thing?” The chief hunter huffed at the subordinate and pushed out his barrel chest. “Do you know how valuable a bonded pair is to us, to the Corporation?”

  “She’s mine. I’ll fight every man on Prison Moon One for her, starting with that thing.” Kelskar stabbed a finger at the Regian. Time to make his claim clear and loud enough for all to hear. Janie let out a shaky breath, and he saw the moment she knew reflected in her eyes.

  The moment she realised this was real. This was happening.

  “You think? She’ll be mine before you take one breath of moon air, warrior.” The Regian opened his mouth and let out an undulating howl. A white charge from the stunner dropped him from the bars. He landed and rolled, muscles quivering, the hellish sound going on and on.

  The chief hunter’s face split in an avaricious grin. “Better than I imagined. Give her to the gladiator. That faltering chip in his head makes him the unknown quantity here. He’ll kill her or keep her. Whatever, we get paid.”

  Janie’s eyes shone bright with tears. This woman who’d borne it all, the humiliation, her life stolen from her because of him. Kelskar found he could not bear to see her tears.

  He let go her hand, fingers slipping through his, trusting he heard it right. Blood, sticky and hot ran red webs down his cheeks, blurred his vision and dripped onto the floor. Flesh and blood would heal. If he lost her now, that wound would never heal.

  The wait for Brol to find his key, to lift and point it at the cage door lock proved an eternity. Janie glanced to him for assurance, instinctively knowing that staying calm and measured might keep her with him and hysteria might change the game completely.

  Kelskar nodded once, his sole focus on Janie. Brol took her arm, dragging her with unnecessary force. She had the wit to grab at her blanket before leaving the cage.

  “Any heroics, gladiator, and we give her to the Regian.” The chief hunter shuffled backward, reluctant to be too near Kelskar and an open cage door. “Got that?”