by Devin Hanson
“I’m not here for you!” he cried. “Piss off and I’ll forget I saw you here.” His voice boomed from the entrance where he had planted the loudspeaker.
One of the miners set his feet for another sprint and Min shot him in the chest. From the distance of ten feet, the monomol round punched through his suit and ripped into his chest. The miner coughed and blood splattered the inside of his facemask.
Min turned the gun on the other miner. “I’m not fucking around,” he said grimly. “Is your life worth the five credits a monomol round costs me?”
The decision was visible on the miner’s face before his posture loosened and he dropped the pick. “Alright, wujin,” the miner held up his empty hands. “You win.”
“Go over there in the corner and sit on your hands. If you so much as shift your weight before I leave, I’ll kill you.”
Min held the gun on him until he complied then turned to Sarah. She was sitting against a nearby pillar, both hands crimping the slash in her suit closed. Ice had formed on the inside of her facemask, but it looked like she had gotten it closed in time.
Min knelt down next to her, careful to keep out of range of her arms. She had to keep both hands on the tear or she would freeze to death in seconds, but he wasn’t about to risk her deciding to take both of them to the grave.
“Sarah Esperalda, you have been found guilty of murder of a marshal, trafficking in illegal ovum, kidnapping, and twelve counts of murder.”
“Only twelve?” Sarah laughed bitterly. “That the best you marshals can do?”
“That’s only in the last year,” Min clarified. “I could keep going, but what’s the point?”
Sarah gave him a wintry smile. “Indeed. What’s the point.”
Min stared at her, sensing the connection between her criminal choices and years of meaningless immortality.
“So,” she asked, breaking the silence. “What’s my life worth then? Five credits?”
Min returned her earlier smile. “A whole lot more than that.” He raised the pistol and shot her twice in the chest.
Sarah’s face twisted in surprise. Her mouth opened and her lips tried to form words, but her strength failed and she slumped. Min watched as her eyes lost focus and the last breath of air came from her lungs.
He sighed, suddenly feeling every bruise from the last few hours. With a last glance toward the miner to make sure he was staying put, Min set about preparing Sarah’s body for the long trip back north. He was due for a vacation.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Excerpt from the medical journal of James Womack, detailing his lab results and discoveries leading up to the codification of the Womack Process:
Even the primates seem to have the same issues as the mice. I was hoping the more developed nervous system would prove more responsive to the treatment. The Helix Rebuild is a simple thing, once it’s understood, but it is wholly reliant on an exact DNA match. Any attempt to use incompatible DNA results in immediate organ shutdown. Complete systemic shock happens in less than thirty seconds in mice, and takes only marginally longer in primates.
My process circumvents the necessity of using matching DNA, but while Dr. Everard’s genius lasts an entire year or more, I cannot seem to hold off the catastrophic withdrawal symptoms for more than a few days. Without an extended period of cellular regeneration, my process will never be a viable alternative.
More testing is needed.
Angeline slowly regained consciousness and very much wished she could return to sleep. Her head pounded and her mouth was sour with bile. She tried to sit up and discovered her hands were trapped behind her. She fought for a moment against whatever was restraining her, and then paused, panting. Her arms were numb to the elbow, and her exertions had gotten blood flowing in them again. Pins and needles stabbed pain through her arms and she moaned.
There was something wrong with her vision. All she could see was perfect blackness. The pain and disorientation was slowly replaced by fear. Initial misgivings grew into fear and fear grew into panic. She tried to scream and found her mouth had been taped shut. Angeline struggled against her bonds again, almost mindless with fear. The skin around her wrists chafed against her bindings and it wasn’t until she felt the sticky warmth of blood running over her hands that she forced herself to stop.
Angeline sobbed in the darkness. Through her mind ran every horror story she had heard growing up. She thought of the jiangshi, the reanimated corpses of lost astronauts. She thought of the trow, misshapen creatures that lived in the deepest tunnels and fed on children. She thought of the stories of Martians, skeletal beings who lived in caverns deep beneath the surface and rose in vengeance whenever a human mine dug too deep.
And she thought of Anton, his pink eyes smiling as he bought her another drink.
Memory of the afternoon spent with Jasmine came crashing back. The exotic restaurant with its bar and fantastic imported drinks. She remembered dancing with Lucien, feeling impossibly beautiful and light on her feet as he had swung her about.
She remembered, and she knew then what had befallen her. There was no jiangshi holding her prisoner, no trow had her in its lair. She had been kidnapped by the wujin. At that thought, her fear of the dark fled to be replaced by something darker and more sinister. It was one thing to be scared of a monster she knew deep down didn’t exist. It was another to know she was being held by men who were going to kill her for her ovaries.
She had heard the stories. Who hadn’t? There were whispers of older girls who had gone on a trip to a different cluster and simply vanished. There were the funeral processions winding through the tight hallways, at the head of each, the image of a deceased young girl, barely older than Angeline.
Strangely, her panic calmed, but she was left with a deep, gnawing fear. The dark was friendly now, rather than frightening. It hid her from the wujin, it kept her safe. But what was she to do now? Would people come looking for her? How long had she been unconscious?
Now that she had some control over her fear, she discovered she desperately needed to go to the bathroom. Her hands were tied together behind her, and her feet bound, but she could still explore the space a little bit. By inching around and rolling from side to side, she was able to determine the size of her enclosure. It was a box, four feet wide and six feet long. Bent nearly double by her bonds, she hadn’t realized how cramped the space was.
She waited, and fear came and went in surges. It was completely silent. A subtle vibration came through the floor of the box, suggesting she was on some sort of transportation vehicle. Eventually, with pain stabbing through her pelvis, she gave up on trying to keep from going to the bathroom and wet herself. The urine smelled strongly and she crawled to the far corner of the box.
Then, with despair heavy in her heart, she cried herself to sleep.
Angeline woke as the box she was in tipped over and the pool of cold urine ran over her, shocking her awake. She was jolted as the box hit something, then she felt a swooping in her gut as she was lifted, eventually coming down with a crash. Stale urine fumes stung her eyes. She forced her stiff muscles to action and she struggled upright, determined to be sitting when her box was finally opened.
The tape over her mouth had loosened after getting wet and she was able to work it off by rubbing it against the side of the box. She shouted until her throat was sore without any results. Eventually, she gave it up. If nobody had heard her by then, nobody was going to.
She was moved several more times before being loaded onto a cargo autodolly. The engine was loud enough to make it through whatever insulation was lining her box and the vibrations numbed her rear. She almost lay down, but the revulsion of lying in her own piss kept her upright.
The autodolly stopped and started several times before grinding to a final halt. Angeline heard laughter, muffled by her box, and then she was picked up and carried by hand. Her bearers threw her box and she slid before banging into a wall. She lost her balance and sprawled, getting he
r clothing wet again.
Gingerly, she forced her body back into her sitting position and waited. Wherever she was, she got the impression that she had arrived. Fear grew in her again. She didn’t have enough of an imagination to picture the horrible things that were bound to happen to her now, but if anything, her unknown fate made her fear even worse.
Still, she refused to cower and sat with her hands bound behind her and her ankles tied together, waiting for her box to open. It was a small act of defiance that settled the roiling in her gut. She didn’t have hope. Girls that were kidnapped were never found again. She knew that. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but remain upright. If she was going to have bad things happen to her, she would face it as best she could.
A metallic clunk sounded and the top of her box was lifted off. Bright light stabbed into her eyes and she winced, but refused to cower.
“Jesus Christ, she pissed herself.”
Angeline’s eyes grew accustomed to the light and she saw a tall Chinese man leering down at her. Her box had been left inside a cage of wire mesh, maybe ten feet on a side.
“Where am I?” she asked.
The man chortled, slapping his knee with one long-fingered hand. “Heaven, girlie. Or the next best thing. Get out of the box.”
“My ankles are tied,” she protested.
“Like I give a shit.”
Angeline felt tears brimming behind her eyes and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She would not cry in front of this man.
“Come on, Stinky. I haven’t got all day.”
Awkwardly, she got to her feet, wobbling as she tried to find her balance. She didn’t trust herself to jump over the lip of the box. It would have been an easy jump yesterday, but her muscles were sore from dancing and cramped from her long imprisonment. While still trying to figure out how to get out, her vision abruptly started to swim as blood rushed to her head. She lost her balance and toppled sideways out of the box, landing with a bruising crash on her shoulder.
Thankfully, the box didn’t tip over. Angeline got herself back into a sitting position as the man dragged the box out of the cage. She was in a room with a low ceiling by Martian standards, barely eight feet high. The man had to hunch his shoulders so he didn’t hit his head on the ceiling. There was a ring of cages around the room, most of them empty, but three of them held boxes like the one she had traveled in.
Once the box was out of the cage, the man kneed Angeline roughly in the back, knocking her sprawling. She hit her chin on the rough concrete floor and yelped. There was a pressure on her back as the man kneeled on her, then there was a tugging at her hands. With a pop, the bindings on her wrists came free and her arms flopped to the floor. Before she could do anything, the man was up and out of the cage. The gate swung shut and a magnetic lock clunked home.
Angeline rolled herself over and worked the pins and needles out of her hands. Her wrists had been rubbed raw when she had panicked, and blood was dried between her fingers. As Angeline started working the bindings loose around her ankles, the Chinese man Angeline had begun to think of as her jailer moved to the next cage and opened the box within it.
A familiar shriek met Angeline’s ears. The jailer reached into the box and hauled out Jasmine with a fist knotted in her hair. Jasmine kicked and screamed, which earned her a punch to the gut. Jasmine folded over, gasping for breath and weeping. The jailer cut her wrist bonds with a folding knife, moving with practiced boredom and left her lying on the ground.
Angeline crawled over to the mesh that separated her cage from Jasmine’s. The older girl made no effort to untie her ankles, and lay on the cold ground, curled into the fetal position and crying.
Jasmine rolled to her side and looked out her with disbelief on her face. “You!” Jasmine snarled. “This is your fault!”
“What?” Angeline sat back, surprised at the hate that twisted Jasmine’s features. “What do you mean?”
“You ruined everything! My daddy is going to find me, but I’ll tell him to leave you behind. You stupid gweilo whore!”
“Oy!” the jailer slapped the cage mesh. “Shut your hole or I’ll come in there and give you a kicking!”
Jasmine spun around. “Do you know who my father is?” she shrieked. “He’ll find me, and your life will be ruined! You’ll spend the rest of your life mining ice as a slave! Let me out!”
“Right. A kicking it is.” The jailer left the third box unopened and opened Jasmine’s cage with a series of taps on the keypad.
“Stay away from me!” Jasmine screamed, scrambling backward to the back wall of her cage.
Angeline crawled to the corner of her own cage furthest away from Jasmine and watched in horror as the jailer knocked Jasmine over and started kicking her. After the first couple blows, Jasmine curled up in a ball to protect her stomach and sobbed into her arms, crying out every time a blow landed.
After a minute, the jailer grew tired of the punishment and left Jasmine alone, locking the gate behind him and returning to his interrupted task of releasing the other captives.
Angeline watched, feeling numb as the other boxes were opened, both containing girls of Spanish descent like herself, though they were older, in their mid-teens. Both tried to fight and got the same curt, rough treatment that Jasmine had received, though neither of them dared to challenge the jailer afterward.
Jasmine remained where she lay, sobbing hopelessly and cradling her bruised limbs long after the jailer had left.
An hour passed, or so it seemed, before the jailer returned again. Afraid of what the punishment would be for speaking, Angeline didn’t respond to either of the other girls’ questions, though she did learn they were called Adora Martina and Eva Lupe. Both Adora and Eva came from the Elysium Cluster, hundreds of miles from where Angeline lived.
When the jailer came back, he was pushing a trolley cart piled with bedding. He stopped outside Angeline’s cage. “Get against the far wall,” he ordered. “Sit on your hands. If you move, I’ll give you a beating you won’t soon forget.” He brandished a length of iron pipe meaningfully.
Angeline didn’t doubt his word. She followed his instruction and watched as he brought in a folding cot and an old mattress. He threw a tatty blanket on top and turned to leave.
“Excuse me,” Angeline said timidly.
“What?”
“Could I get something to clean up? And fresh clothes?”
The jailer grunted noncommittally and locked the door. Angeline stayed against the wall, not daring to move until the jailer had finished giving the other girls their cots and had left once more. She badly wanted to curl up on the cot and hide under her blanket, but she knew even if she stripped naked first the cot would smell like urine for days.
After only a short wait, the jailer returned. He slid open a small panel at the base of the gate and pushed a bottle of water and a tin of yeast paste into the cage, along with an old shirt, a bottle of water-free shampoo, and a packet of sanitary chemwipes. “Share it around,” he instructed. “That’s all you lot will get for a few days.”
Apparently he was referring to the sanitary supplies, because he proceeded to give the other girls their own food and water before leaving.
After only a moment’s hesitation, Angeline stripped down and cleaned herself. She tried to be frugal and use as few wipes as possible, but she was filthy and despite her efforts ended up using nearly half the package. Her hair was matted with urine and though the bottle of shampoo was large, she ended up using most of it.
She bundled her rank clothes up and left them by the gate before dressing in the shirt. It was sized for a tall man and it came down to her calves. If she’d had a belt, it would have made a fairly functional dress. Finally, feeling freshened and clean, she passed the bottle of shampoo and the remaining wipes through the mesh to Jasmine’s cage.
The food the jailer had provided was the most basic form of yeast. Straight from the vat, it was drained of excess liquid and heated to kill the yeast cells. The
result was a grey-brown sludge that smelled like an armpit and tasted vaguely cheesy. With the yeast came a packet of algae nori, square sheets of pressed blue-green algae from the oxygen-processing vats, dried and salted. The nori made the raw yeast paste palatable and Angeline ate hungrily.
“If you’re done, pass the wipes through,” the girl named Adora said, drawing Angeline’s attention.
Jasmine pointedly ignored the other girl. She picked at the yeast and shuddered, before eating a leaf of nori plain with a grimace.
“Hey!” Adora slapped the mesh making it rattle. “Stop being a little bitch and pass the wipes!”
“Why should I?” Jasmine asked frostily. “You gweilo all smell like dirt and sweat anyway. The wipes won’t do you any good. Besides. I need them, and Angeline used more than her share.”
“Like I care if your girlfriend pissed herself. Pass the wipes!”
“She’s not my girlfriend!” Jasmine screamed. “I hate her! It’s her fault we’re here! I hate her!”
Adora looked at Angeline and raised an eyebrow. Angeline turned away, embarrassed. Why was Jasmine acting like this? Jasmine was difficult at school sometimes, giving the teachers a hard time and ditching classes, but she didn’t act like she was better than everyone else. Not usually, at least.
Adora slapped the mesh again. “I hope that old man comes back and beats you to a pulp,” she said grimly.
Angeline climbed into her cot. The mattress was thin and lumpy, her blanket was tattered and worn, but it was more comfort than she had felt since she had left home. Sadness and loneliness welled up in her and she felt tears fill her eyes. With her back to the others, she let the tears come until gradually sleep claimed her.
