Condemned (Death Planet Book 1)

by Grant, Edward M.

  Then Daniel pulled his foot back before a wheel rolled over it. He looked both ways before he stepped out past the stalls again. Guy watched from the far side as Daniel crossed.

  “Try not to get yourself killed.”

  “I’m doing my best. I’m not used to those things. Autocars stop when you step in the street.”

  The Guard stared at them with piggy eyes. Guy nodded to him, and shook his pouch of shinies. The Guard motioned them inside.

  Daniel’s eyes adjusted to the dim light as Guy led him through the doors, and into the crowd beyond. Men laughed, burning torches flickered on the walls, and metal clinked. It stank of smoke, sweat, and worse. Topless girls dodged groping hands as they carried trays of mugs from the bar. One squealed as a scarred old man grabbed her breast, then she slapped his hand and pulled away. He laughed, and slapped her ass.

  Guy stared across the room. “We’re in luck. Pit fight’s on.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Brunhilde stomped into the dark, smoky bar. Princess tried to hide behind her back, not wanting to be the centre of attention for the first time in her life. That made a real change.

  She was born Peter, with a pair of balls and a pecker, but she had to become a girl to really understand what they were there for. Spaceships and ray guns had never interested her as much as dresses and makeup. She didn’t dream of travelling the galaxy like her male comrades, she dreamed of sauntering through town in a slinky dress that showed her curves, and turned the head of every man who caught sight of her. She wanted a handsome black commissar—maybe even the Great Leader himself—a wedding that would make a real princess proud, and to ride into the sunset with him to fill a castle with their babies.

  Not that anyone got married any more, but weddings looked like great fun in the underground romance novels the girls had passed around at EdCamp. Well, until Sasha was caught reading one, and send to Reeducation, to eliminate any trace of reactionary patriarchal rapethink. The others deleted their copies of the books straight away, before the commissars could find them, but they were hardly likely to search a boy's files for romance stories. Princess had scoured the dark depths of the Net, devouring every romance book she could find, and dreaming she was the heroine of every story.

  It was only when she brought Frankie, her first real boyfriend, back to the barracks, that her comrades finally agreed that she should lose her balls and became the girl she should have been. She fell sleep in the Gender Re-Identification Centre as a boy, and woke a few days later as a girl, fully functional, and eager to try out her new body. The fancy dresses Frankie had bought her from the commissars’ stores finally fit. The makeup made her look hot, not stupid. Men who'd previously ignored the short, chubby boy from EdCamp couldn't keep their eyes off the short girl with long hair and big hooters.

  Or their hands.

  The men of Kingston had stared at her bare chest ever since she entered the gates. She’d lived for that kind of attention back home, but they weren’t the kind of looks that said they wanted to give her some eCreds as a tip. She’d barely avoided a gang-bang with those assholes the previous night, and there were a lot more assholes watching her now.

  The old man with scarred arms was still following her, showing the rotten teeth behind his weird, twisted smile. He’d stared at her as they entered the gates, and followed her to the bar. Now he was staring at her ass.

  “Where’d you get these pants, then?”

  She put her hand on the butt of the revolver where she’d stuck it into her waistband. “One thing I can tell you right now. There’s no way you’re getting into them.”

  His gaze moved to the gun, and the smile disappeared. He crept backwards out the door, into the street.

  Kingston wasn’t a safe place to be. Shit, the whole planet wasn’t a safe place to be. Back home, she was used to being a weak and girly girl in the criminal underworld, surviving on her wits, and the danger gave her a thrill. But she knew the rules there. She knew the men she could trust, the men who would keep a girl happy and safe so long as she was useful to them, and the men would think nothing of dumping her in the desert after using her body and cutting her throat. Here, she had no idea. New rules, new people, and most of them worse than any she’d known before.

  Her eyes slowly adapted to the dim light in the bar. Many of these men lounged on the floor, with dopey eyes, like they were stoned out of their skulls. Of the remainder, those who weren’t staring at Brunhilde were staring at her. She twisted her hips to show the gun, and tapped her fingers on the butt. How many bullets did she have left, anyway?

  “Afternoon, girls.” a deep voice said. A tall, dark-skinned man stood beside a table full of bottles, wooden kegs, and mugs. His arm muscles bulged, and his jawbone showed through the side of his face, where his left cheek was just a gaping hole. “This is my bar, not a playground for gawking tourists. So you two had better be here to drink, or smoke.” His gaze roamed over Princess’ body. “Or something.”

  Brunhilde stomped toward him. The floorboards creaked as she slammed her feet down, and the tables and benches shook with each step. Princess slapped her hand on the rough wooden table behind her for support. Then found herself looking into the eyes of a fat, bearded man who sat beside it on the bench, nursing a mug of purple liquid. She pulled her hand back.

  The bartender pushed himself up to his full height, and pulled his shoulders back. Brunhilde bent her back, hunching forward so her head didn’t press against the ceiling.

  She stared down at him. He stared up at her. The men at the benches tensed, ready for a fight. Princess glanced toward the door. She could be there in five seconds, if she had to run.

  Brunhilde leaned further forward, until her face almost touched the bartender's.

  “Who do I have to kill to get a job around here?”

  Good idea. They needed money to survive. And Princess didn’t want to go back to porn. Not here, anyway. Nor with the kind of worn-out, battered, rotting men who filled the bar.

  Though the bartender was kind of sexy, in a weird kind of way. Her cheeks warmed as she stared at his muscles. Her heart had fluttered when he looked at her. There was a man who could protect her. And the moustache on what was left of his face reminded her of Frankie. His strong, wide chest heaved for a few seconds as he stared into Brunhilde’s face.

  Then dark, purple phlegm splattered the floor as he spat. “Whorehouse always needs new girls. Might even find a place for one like you.”

  The men around the tables laughed. The fat one stared at Princess. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

  “Princess.”

  He laughed, and slapped her ass. “Princess, eh? I bet the King would like some of that.”

  She grabbed his wrist, and twisted until he moaned with pain. Brunhilde spun around, opened her mouth wide, and roared. Spit splattered across his face as the warm, meaty air blew it toward him. He backed away.

  The barman nodded. “Or, I can think of some others who might have a use for some muscle.”

  “Like who?” Brunhilde said.

  He grabbed a mug, opened a bottle, and tipped a fizzy, green liquid into it. He handed the mug to Brunhilde, who held it in her fingers like a doll’s tea-cup. She lifted it to her nose, and sniffed.

  “I’ll ask around,” he said. “Meanwhile, have a drink on me. No hard feelings, I hope?”

  She sipped from the mug. “Not yet.”

  “What about me?” Princess said. Her throat was dry as a desert, and beer should be safer to drink than the river water.

  He looked her over again. She smiled bashfully as his eyes explored her legs and chest. For all the men she'd entertained as an Undertakers’ girl, she hadn’t had a real boyfriend in years.

  “I guess they might find a use for you, too. Maybe we should talk it over somewhere more private?”

  He poured another bottle, and handed her the mug. She took it carefully, letting his fingers run over her hand. She smiled at the touch of his rough skin on hers. Perhaps t
he planet wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  She stepped closer to him as she drank. The drink smelled rotten, but looked clear and brown. She took a sip. Cool, wet, and hadn’t killed Brunhilde so far. She took another. Tasted fruity. Aside from the smell, it wasn’t bad.

  Feet thumped outside, and men yelled. The old man was back at the door. His long, thin, wobbly arm was silhouetted against the daylight as he raised it. He pointed toward her.

  “That’s them. That’s the ones in the Guards’ uniforms.”

  Men swarmed in past him. Men wearing leather uniforms like the ones they’d taken from the dead men at the cart. Men with roughly-made, but sharp, swords in their hands, and scowls on their faces.

  Oh, shit.

  CHAPTER 20

  Guy grabbed Daniel’s arm, and pulled him through the crowd, toward a wide circle of men on the far side of the casino. They were leaning over a wooden barrier, around a pit in the floor deep enough that Daniel couldn't see the bottom from there. A man with a white beard scowled as Guy pushed him aside, then stared into Guy’s face for a second before he backed away. Guy stepped into the gap he’d made at the side of the barrier, and pulled Daniel in beside him.

  The King faced a row of cages on the far side of the barrier. His Guards stared at the spectators, with their hands on their weapons, and eyes void of emotion beneath their helmets. Each cage held a girl, some naked, others wearing the remains of their orange newbie jumpsuits.

  The King’s steam engine hissed as he pointed to a girl whose jumpsuit was torn in a jagged line across her stomach. A long, black ponytail hung behind her back. The crowd yelled.

  Two men slid back a bar on the cage door, and grabbed the girl. Her smooth face and skin looked no older than Daniel's. She struggled as they dragged her toward the far side of the barrier, then screamed as they tossed her over, into the pit. She grunted as she fell in a heap three metres below, then pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. Three naked men moved in the shadows, smiling like hungry snakes thrown a mouse.

  A tattooed girl wearing only a short skirt and high heels stood beside the pit, with dark makeup around her eyes and a leather bag on a cord around her neck.

  “Two minutes,” a man yelled, and tossed a shiny toward the PLACE BETS HERE tattoo above her breasts. She grabbed it, and dropped it into the bag, then chalked his name and bet on a wooden blackboard beside her.

  Down in the pit, half a dozen drones circled the girl. The crowd yelled louder as the men crept toward her. A muscular man swung a long arm at her, but she dodged aside. A short man with dead eyes kept his distance, as though waiting for her to tire. A lizard-skinned hybrid flicked out his long tongue as he ran toward her, arms outstretched, and dick swinging.

  “What are they doing?” Daniel said.

  “We’re betting on how long she can fight off the men.”

  “That’s sick.”

  Guy leaned on the barrier. “We don’t have VR here. Every man’s got to make his own entertainment.” He nodded toward a glass on the rim of the pit. Bright yellow sand ran into the bottom, and the top was barely half-full. “Besides, if she lasts until the sand runs out, she gets all the shinies they bet, after the King takes his cut. That could set a newbie up for a long time.”

  The dark-eyed man lunged toward the girl. She screeched, and her elbow smashed into his nose. It crunched, and spouted blood. He slid past her, his hands now reaching for his face, rather than her body. The muscular man grabbed for her neck. She twisted aside, and his fingers caught her ponytail instead. He pulled on that, and she squealed, then slammed her elbow back into his guts.

  “Sometimes,” Guy added, “they throw a newbie in against a pack of hounds, just to spice it up a bit.”

  The crowd yelled as the man and girl fought. She twisted in his grip as he pulled harder on the ponytail, then smacked him in the face with the palm of her hand. He let go.

  “How often does a girl outlast the sand?”

  “Never, that I heard of. It’s just to give them something to fight for. What’s the point betting, if they just give in?”

  The hybrid grabbed the arm of her jumpsuit. She kicked for his balls, but he dodged aside. The crowd cheered as the men pulled on the cloth until he tore away the front of the suit, and exposed her bare chest. She tried to pull away, and screamed as the dark-eyed man grabbed her arms.

  “We have to stop it,” Daniel said.

  Guy chuckled, then nodded toward the King and his Guards. “Good luck.”

  The Guards were still scanning the crowd, with their weapons ready. What could Daniel do against them? He turned, and strode away. He didn’t need to see that, or join in. And he had no way to stop them. What if they were doing that to Erica, in another city? What if they’d already done it to her, right there, before he came in?

  They did this for fun. And the King made money from it. What kind of world had the commissars sent him to?

  Oh, yes. A world full of criminals, with no compassion, no morals, and no-one to protect the weak and innocent. Fuck.

  The door was barely ten metres away, but might as well be ten kilometres with all the men crowded between him and the street. The girl screamed behind him, and the crowd cheered. Then she screamed again, louder and longer. The crowd cheered louder still. The King sat on a bench the size of a tree trunk, and laughed.

  “One minute, fifty seconds,” the topless girl beside the pit shouted. A lanky man moved toward her from the crowd.

  “The winner,” the King yelled, so loudly that his voice filled the whole room. He grabbed the man's arm and held it high. His own arm whirred as he took the shinies from the girl, and piled them in the man's hands.

  Someone grabbed Daniel's wrist.

  “Hey,” Guy said, and pulled Daniel's arm. “Give this a try.” He nodded to the left, where a wheel taller than Daniel clicked as it spun.

  Guy dragged him that way, through the crowds. A tall, thin, naked girl hung upside down from the wheel as it stopped, her wrists and ankles chained to it, a wooden gag between her teeth, and her long, brown hair dangling to the floor. Her eyes met Daniel’s as he stared at her, then flicked away.

  “What’s she doing there?”

  The man standing on the far side of the wheel smiled at Daniel. “Spin the wheel, win the girl. Just one shiny a spin.”

  Guy tossed a silver shiny to the man, and slapped Daniel’s shoulder. “Have a spin. You might win her.”

  “I don’t want a slave.”

  “You could let her go.” Guy said, then leaned closer to Daniel, and whispered. “Besides, it’s rigged. The wheel’s weighted, and you’d have to spin it a thousand times to win the big prize. The King likes making shinies, not losing them.”

  Guy grabbed Daniel’s hand, and placed it on the wheel. Daniel pulled it away.

  “No.”

  He grabbed one of the chains that held her ankles. It was bolted to the wheel, and the manacle around her leg. He wouldn’t get that off without a crowbar.

  The man standing beside the wheel stared at him, then glanced toward Guy. “What’s he doing?”

  Guy shrugged. “Newbie.”

  The man laughed. “Go on, kid. You look like you could use some action. Give it a whirl.”

  Daniel’s face was glowing, not just from the heat inside the packed casino. His hands balled into fists. He swung, and punched the guy. The crowd looked on as he grabbed the chains, and his muscles strained until he tore them from the wood of the wheel. He pulled the girl to her feet, and pulled the gag from her mouth. She pulled him toward her, and planted her lips on his as her naked body pressed against his chest.

  Or maybe it wouldn’t go that way if he tried for real. The casino man had muscles the size of lamp-posts, and probably just as tough. He grinned at Daniel, exposing a mouth half-full of teeth, the rest rotting yellow.

  “You gonna spin the wheel? Or am I gonna kick your ass?”

  Guy nudged Daniel. “Come on. At least she might not have to hang upside dow
n for the rest of the day.”

  Daniel clenched his fists tighter. This place was evil. If only he’d spent more time working out at EdCamp, like they told him to, or taking underground muscle enhancers. But who would have guessed he’d end his life on a planet where might made right, and the inhabitants only cared about themselves?

  Screams and laughter came from the pit, and cheers from the men and women gathered around it. That was enough. He yelled as he swung his fist toward the man’s face.

  But the man’s hand swung faster, and grabbed Daniel’s fist. Long, sun-tanned fingers wrapped around it. “Or maybe he’d like to play pussy in the pit next time? I hear they’re running out of newbies to chase.”

  He squeezed Daniel's hand harder. Daniel stifled a yell as the bones crunched together. Guy grabbed the man’s arm, and twisted it until he grimaced and released Daniel, leaving a dull pain in Daniel's wrist, and a red welt around it.

  “My boy’s no pussy,” Guy said. Then he leaned closer to Daniel and whispered. “I saw this girl in the pit last week. Spin the fucking wheel if you don’t want to end up there yourself.”

  Can’t this all be a dream? Couldn’t he wake up back in the barracks, with his comrades, all together and happy? What did he ever do to deserve this? He glanced down at the girl’s face. Her cheeks were red, and she closed her eyes as he looked at her. What did she ever do to deserve that?

  Fuck it.

  He grabbed the edge of the wheel, and pulled down hard, using his weight to heave against the girl’s. The wheel clattered as it began to move, and pins tapped against the wooden peg at the top. The girl struggled as her head rose to the top of the wheel, then dropped to the bottom, then rose back to the top, and dropped again. Prizes scrawled on the wheel flashed past in front of his eyes. Try Again. One hundred shinies. A night at the Cat House, whatever that was. Then a narrow, gold-painted segment above the girl’s head marked Bitch.

  He glanced toward the spinning slave girl, who twisted on the wheel as it turned. More screams and yells came from the pit. Just don’t think about what’s happening down there. The slave opened her eyes at the sound, and her gaze met his again. This time, she just glared at him. He turned back to the wheel, which clicked slowly as it wound down.