Sol knew that tonight they'd both relive the nightmare memories of Hydra.
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Chapter Eleven
In the Star Year 1251, the newly launched Guild battleship, the Icarus, neared the prison planet of Hydra on the outskirts of the Straits of Tralarie. So far, their routine patrol had been uneventful. The seasoned Captain Soledad Scott knew the quiet wouldn't last, it never did. Patrols were never uneventful for long so far out in the Straits.
"Captain to the bridge. Captain to the bridge,” the com's command blared, and Sol hurried to comply. When she stepped on deck, a downed ship's SOS was sounding loud and clear over the com. Set on automatic, the unmanned signal appeared to be coming from the planet's surface.
"No response to our hail, Captain.” At Sol's nod, the com-operator switched off the sound and tried to establish communications again. But Sol didn't expect an answer from Hydra. There was no technology on the prison world. Or there hadn't been before now. No telling what the prisoners would or could do with a downed ship. And may the gods help the crew or passengers. Sol shuddered. She knew this was a trap at best. Most likely, the ship's survivors were all dead by now and the convicts were using the radio beacon.
"You can't mean to land there, Captain.” Sol's first officer raised his brows at her order for a landing party. His clear-eyed gaze searched her face, but he kept his voice pitched low for her ears only. And she heard him clearly, perhaps too clearly.
Sol bristled. “Are you questioning my authority, Lieutenant Jones?” Sol tried to still the thundering beat of her heart at what she planned. She risked her command as well as the lives of her crew. And she counted Asher as one of her few friends as well as her first officer.
"No, sir,” the gray-eyed first lieutenant jerked to attention, his back ramrod straight. He only came up to her chin with his average height, but his broad shoulders hinted of hidden strength.
"Good,” Sol spoke aloud, lifting her voice so all in the vicinity heard. “Because—I'm not giving a command. I'm asking for volunteers on this one. I won't order my Marines to go against Guild law. It says we don't land on Hydra for any reason. Therefore we don't land—we'll shuttle down.” At the wry expressions reflected on her crew members’ faces, Sol couldn't help the answering tug at the corner of her mouth. “For humanity's sake, I can't ignore a distress call even from a civilian craft.” She sobered at the thought of what might be happening on the surface. A sick feeling roiled in her stomach.
"Sir,” the com-officer said, interrupting her thoughts. The distraction calmed Sol's rising gore. “I've traced the signal's signature to a pleasure dancers’ vessel that has gone missing, overdue in the Straits for over a month now."
"How the hell would one of them end up on a prison planet way out here in the Rim?” Sol muttered to no one in particular. The ship was way off course from the Straits of Tralarie. The Rim was the edge of explored space; beyond that was undiscovered mystery. There was no reason for a bunch of pleasure mates to be anywhere near the Rim. Maybe they had made an emergency landing—though it would take one hell of an emergency for any intelligent being to put down on Hydra. A chill stole up Sol's spine at the thought. But then, perhaps one of the dancers was trying to rescue a convicted lover. Too many questions crowded to waste time speculating. Sol turned to her first officer. The lieutenant waited stoically for her orders. “Tell whoever volunteers that their military ass is on the line, but I'll take full responsibility. Now, jump, Lieutenant. I want to land within the hour. You'll have the helm."
"No, sir.” His steady gaze with his cool gray eyes calmed her flare of anger. His lips barely moved when he voiced the low negative. The rest of the crew didn't hear him. Or did they?
"No?” Sol couldn't believe Jonesy had refused a direct order. All other crew personnel kept their heads down, busy at their stations. “Are you questioning my orders—again, Lieutenant?” she hissed under her breath.
"With the Captain's permission, I wish to volunteer.” Bright spots of color decorated his cheeks, lightening the freckles on his broad bones into vivid display. Sol knew that the lieutenant personally hated his inherited ivory skin, so she hid her grin and the relief she felt at his obedience or, rather, lack thereof.
"Why?” She folded her arms across her chest. Did he think she couldn't handle the operation? He had to know better. Was he pushing one night of drunken mutual sexual relief between them into something more than what it was? That immature mistake had happened months ago, and Sol thought she had established her command better than this. Despite her youth, Sol was a seasoned warship captain.
"Why volunteer, sir?” His brows rose, “Maybe temporary insanity.” He shrugged one sturdy shoulder.
"Yeah, there's a lot of that going around,” Sol muttered. “I don't think the Guild is going to buy that defense though.” She raised her chin, “But I will.” She unfolded her arms. “Go on, get your volunteers and full war gear, and I mean that, Lieutenant. Volunteers only. Meet me on the flight deck. Michaels can take the helm.” Sol strode stiffly towards the ship's arsenal for her own fighting gear. She couldn't believe that after all she had worked for, all the years of fighting and rising in the ranks, that she'd risk it all for an SOS from some idiot that had landed on Hydra. Didn't they know the whole planet was a prison of the worst kind?
* * * *
Sol watched from the jungle's safety as the scantily clad woman picking berries edged closer to the wreck only to be jerked roughly to her knees by the cutting vine wrapped around her ankle. She caught most of her fall on her palms but still grunted from the ground's impact. She didn't react further to pain; she just got back up and gave her captor a heated glare that promised future retaliation. The man holding the other end of the vine chuckled and shook his dirty finger at her without getting up from where he lay in the shade.
"Don't get any funny ideas about getting away, bitch. I'm watching your black ass. And I'm wise to your devilish tricks. Harris wasn't, and look how he wound up—dead as dirt.” The man holding the rope leered at her with his broken, brown teeth. “Well, I'm not a pussy like Harris. I'll kill you first.” He pointed a jagged piece of metal from the ship's wreckage shaped into a knife at her and shook the vine. “Now get back to work."
Gellico de'Marco, a dancer in an earlier life, picked more of the big red berries that gave the prisoners the needed nutrients in their meager diets. She ignored the blood dripping down her ankle from the cutting vine. Gellico ignored the scraps of clothing that barely covered her as much as she ignored the groans of her hungry belly. She had lived through worse. In the time she had been on Hydra, she had lived a lifetime of worse torment. Only one thought kept her alive—vengeance. She wanted to live long enough for payback. Harris was lucky she had only bit through his carotid artery and he had bled to death. This asshole wouldn't be as lucky. No, she wanted this one to suffer a longer, more painful, slower death. If she could reach the remnants of the Scheherazade, the ship that had crash-landed her here she'd make her own weapons. And nothing would stop her except her death.
The dancer gritted her teeth and bided her time. Surely, a Guild ship had to answer the SOS soon. All she had to do was remain alive long enough.
It was all a waiting game. The convicts knew of the distress signal. They'd discovered it that first awful day of the crash, but they had left it going. Nothing of value remained of the wreck's scavenged hull except the signal. The convicts planned to steal the rescue ship that answered the call. That's why they posted their spy here every day as lookout. Picking berries was just an excuse, as if the convicts needed any reason for anything they did. But someone had heard a strange, mechanical humming last night. Or at least, someone had said that he did.
Another thing that Gelli learned a long time ago was that some prisoners would lie just for attention, for the favor of the leaders. Some of that favor ended in death, and Gellico didn't want a useless death. She wanted hers to count for something. It was better to wait and se
e, not get your hopes up—not waste energy.
"You've picked enough damned berries.” The man jerked the vine again, but this time Gelli had made sure to keep the rope slack. The thorns didn't cut her. She glared at the man holding the rope's end. He grinned at her with his yellow-brown teeth and wagged his tongue at her. From the crazed shine in her captor's eyes, he had other things on his mind than eating berries. Gelli swallowed against a bruised, swollen throat. He'd have to hold his knife to her again, but he'd get what he wanted just the same. Hold on, Gellico told herself. Just hold on. Surely, someone would come soon. For a moment, she couldn't see through the haze in her eyes, and she stumbled, cutting her ankle on the vine's thorns all on her own. But the pain centered Gellico, focused her thoughts. Her gaze cleared. She tightened her jaws and clenched her teeth for what would come next.
* * * *
Lieutenant Jones won the coin toss and led the small scouting recon, but Sol wasn't surprised at what he had reported. From her hidden spot on the hill, she was a little surprised at how she reacted to watching the convict torment the female prisoner he kept tied to a line. Only strict military training kept her from giving away their position. But the training didn't keep Sol's stomach from revolting at the inhumanity of the rape. She knew that her failure to act right then and there would haunt her for the rest of her days. She vowed to never forget that she owed the tortured woman.
Sol wiped the last trace of bile from her lips onto her sleeve and refused to look away. If the woman could endure the pain, how could Sol be any less brave? The black female was as thin as a rail. Her sharp ribs jutted out from sunken flesh. Her knee and elbow joints looked like knobs sticking through her skin. One side of her head oozed blood from a raw, bloody scalp where her hair was missing. Long braids filled the other side with a messy collection of leaves, twigs, and dirt. She needed medical attention badly. Her stoic bravery humbled Sol.
"How many?” Sol muttered to her lieutenant when Asher knelt next to her without disturbing the brush surrounding them. She wiped her mouth again. She'd made certain none of the Marines saw her empty the contents of her stomach.
"In the camp? I can't tell for sure, a hundred or more. Records show that over two hundred prisoners have been sent here. How many left alive now? I can't tell without further investigation.” The lieutenant's grim features were hard and as gray as stone. His pale eyes looked haunted. Although outnumbered two to one, he didn't say there were too many convicts to fight. “There are several more females in their main camp, but they won't be of much use in the rescue. They're in worse shape than that one.” He pointed toward the berry thicket near the ship's ruins. Asher grimaced, and Sol noted the long shudder that ran through him. It was evident that her lieutenant, too, had witnessed the brutal rape.
He whispered in a harsh voice, “They've hamstringed some of them, Captain. Crippled them so they can't run, and the men could use them over and over. What kind of animal would do that to a woman?"
Sol pretended that she didn't notice her lieutenant's distress. She had enough of her own to deal with. “Sick animals, Lieutenant, real sick ones. That's why they're here on Hydra.” She gave a soft sigh, her mind made up. “I don't think we can risk any more time. The shuttle's bound to be discovered sooner or later. Even landing at night, someone had to have heard us."
He nodded. “I agree. Tonight, when it's dark again, is our best chance."
"Our only chance.” Sol checked her ammo and her laser pistol again. “Explain the situation to the men, Lieutenant. Leave any who aren't fully committed to the operation with the shuttle. And whatever you do, don't leave it unguarded. We may need to leave in a hurry.” Sol repressed a shudder. Dear gods, she didn't want to be stranded here.
"Yes, sir,” Asher flicked Sol a respectful salute and slipped into the brush with hardly a leaf disturbed. The man blended with the forest. One second here, the next gone. Asher Jones was too good a man to risk on an operation that could cost him his career as well as his life. Sol regretted their one and only time of sexual gratification. She liked him as an officer and as a friend. And she knew he felt the same for her. But now was not the time for woolgathering. Sol drew a deep breath. She would do everything in her power to keep all her Marines and their careers safe. She'd never ask them to do something she wouldn't do herself. If they followed tonight, every one of them would be committed fully to the cause.
Sol need not worry. All her crew followed her. In fact, Asher had to order the two left with the shuttle to stay behind. Only the importance of their protecting the vessel for escape kept them from arguing about joining the rescue team. Sol had never felt so proud of them. And someday, she was going to check that damn coin of her lieutenant's. He had won the toss again—he got to lead the assault with his group. Sol and the others would lay down covering fire.
Despite their superior technology over the prison's primitive condition, confusion reigned that night. Mortar shells exploded. Dirt and smoke roiled. Short range cannon from the Marines blasted again and again from the shelter of the thick trees. The shooter deflected his shots, missing the known areas where the female captives were being held. But as in most wars, some innocents got in the way. Hamstrung cripples couldn't run. The Marines who carried some of them came under heavy attack from the prisoners’ deadly accurate arrows and spears. Some Marines never made it to cover. Others fought against overwhelming odds. Some won. Some lost—as in any war. But some of the captives fought, too.
* * * *
"Come on!” Gellico pulled the thick tree branch that she had plunged into her tormentor's stomach free, but she didn't take time to watch the man die. Too much mayhem existed for gloating delays. But the dancer would savor the sight of the convict rolling on the ground, holding his gray and pink guts inside with his hands, at a later time.
Another mortar shell exploded nearby. Dirt showers pelted Gellico. Sharp pebbles cut her skin. Hell of another kind had come to Hydra. At long last. Escape was Gellico's only thought other than to help the solders rescue as many of her fellow dancers as she could—if she could kill convicts on the way, so much the better. “Fight, damn you,” she yelled at the straggling dancers who, stumbled in her wake.
"Come on! Help yourselves. Help them.” She dragged one of the dazed dancers to her feet and shoved a cooking stone into her hand. “Use this. We're being rescued, you dumb bitch, fight.” The stunned woman struggled after Gellico, and more were added along the way, their eyes cloudy with dull confusion but willing to follow her. A few were lost to the fighting convicts, and more died under the shelling but those cripples had longed for death. Gellico finally reached a stand of sheltering trees and nearly ran into the camouflaged chest of a Guild uniformed woman with a long rifle who rose up in front of her.
"Here.” The woman shoved a long laser rifle into her hand. “Know how to use this?"
"Hell, yes.” Gellico pressed the kill switch and swung the barrel. From the corner of her eye, she noted the gold officers’ bars on the red and black uniform. “Thanks, Captain."
"My pleasure. You've earned it. Just don't hit any of my men.” The captain drew her pistol and laid down covering fire for the Marines that Gellico saw searching the camp.
"Call them off, Captain.” Gellico pulled on the woman's arm. “There aren't any more left alive."
"You sure about that?” The officer frowned, and with a start, Gellico realized how young the captain was. Her big bronze eyes were wide, and her intense gaze searched the camp.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I know them all, and I've helped all the ones who were left alive. There are too many convicts for you to fight.” Gellico paused to catch her breath, and an awful thought came to her. “Others may be attacking your ship, wherever it's hidden. They've been waiting for you to come out."
Sol nodded to the rape victim and clicked on her mike. She yelled, “Abort operation. Repeat. Abort operation. Return to ship,” into her mouthpiece. She hoped her Marines heard her command above the firing. Determined to atte
mpt an extraction of her men, Sol set the command to auto and stepped from cover only to hear Asher's breathy voice rasp in her earpiece. He must be running; his words jumped high and low.
"All clear, Captain. Head for the shuttle. We're right behind. Will cover you."
"Roger that.” She closed the link. Jonesy still overstepped himself. She would lay down covering fire in relays.
"You conniving bitches!” A convict, screaming and firing a Marine's stolen laser, rushed Sol's location. In seconds, the man and his followers overran their position. So close that she smelled the awful sour stench of sweat and grime, the convicts reached Sol just before she shot the leader between the eyes. Hot blood and loose brains sprayed her face, but Sol didn't take more than a moment to wipe her eyes free of the gore. More raging convicts followed behind the first. Sol vowed to go down fighting before she'd allow herself to be captured and tortured like the dancers had endured. With the black female fighting at her back, Sol bullied their way through the forest from tree to tree until they reached the shuttle. Twice she saved the dancer from sure death only to have the dancer return the favor in the next second. Sol's Marines were hardpressed to protect them in the hidden jungle.
Covering fire zipped past them and cut leaves. Bark splintered from the trees. There seemed no end to their nightmare struggle. As one convict went down, another took his place. Once Sol felt a sudden jolt to her companion, knew the dancer was hit, but in one breath, the bony shoulders straightened. The woman screamed her defiance.
"Come on, you bastards. Come and get me now, why don't you?” The dancer fired her laser, and a rocket fired from the shuttle at the same time. A whole section of forest went up in smoke and debris. The men who were hiding inside flung themselves forward, only to die under another blast. Dazed by the blast and unable to hear, Sol shook the woman by the arm. Dull, glazed, red eyes stared blankly back at her. Sol doubted the woman could hear, but she mouthed the words at her as loudly as she could.
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