by Jaye Peaches
“Good. I might keep that clamp in reserve though.”
She flashed a startled stare at him. “Why?” she asked cautiously.
“I’m always on the lookout for new ways to punish prisoners. It’s something of an area of specialty for me.”
She squeezed her aching legs together, conscious of the buzz still emanating from her pussy. “Punish? I’ve not done anything wrong!” She shuffled back on the table.
Marco held up his hand. “No. You haven’t. Don’t worry, at least, not until you’re in trouble. Then you’ll find out. So, be good.” He wagged his finger at her. “Will you promise to play safe out there?”
It was a prison; what did he expect from her? “Sure, as safe as I can.”
He briefly furrowed his eyebrows as if dissatisfied with her answer. “I’ll expect it.”
Was he her friend or foe? She really couldn’t tell.
He turned to the medics. “That’s it. You’ve had your research. Let her go now. Agreed?” He stood over Dr. Han and bore down on him.
Freya waited anxiously.
“Agreed.” Dr. Han nodded slowly. “Although, if my boss comes back with more questions, I might have to call her back for further studies.”
“You run that by me too. I want to know.” Marco glanced over his shoulder at her. “Off you go. It’s time you met some other prisoners and found your way around.”
Chapter Four
The governor left once she was back on her feet. Swaying, she clutched her hot ass and gave it a rub. The clothes left out for her to wear—a short dress with spaghetti straps and a thong—were unbelievably skimpy. “That’s it?” she remarked.
Dr. Curzon shrugged. “It’s hot out there. You won’t need anything else.”
The guard outside had gone, so Dr. Curzon escorted her back to the man who’d processed her arrival. He summoned another soldier to take her to her accommodation. The new soldier pulled on a beret and snatched at her arm. She yanked it away. “You don’t need to hold me. I’m not going to run away.”
“This way.” He gestured to a door.
The heat hit her: dry, acrid, and blown about on a blustery wind. Her dress swirled up and dust waltzed about her feet. She shut her mouth tight, trying to avoid swallowing the dirt-filled air. He guided her along a paved road, leading her away from the air-conditioned building and down into the valley below, where at least it appeared greener. She glanced behind her and there on the plateau above them was Tagra city. An idyllic haven in the midst of a harsh landscape. She spotted palm trees and a waterfall cascading down the sides of a glass building, all tucked away behind the domed shield.
Eventually, they came to a crossroads and the start of the settlement used by the prisoners. Metallic boxes housed most of the workers and nearly all had no windows. Further along the canyon were larger constructions with several stories, but most of the buildings were at ground level. In the blazing heat of the two suns, she struggled to keep up with the long strides of the guard. Sweat trickled down between her breasts and she wiped her forehead. The ground softened as they reached the canyon floor. There was some grass, dry and parched in places, but at least green. A small stream weaved its way through the hard rocks and channels had been dug out to irrigate rudimentary fields.
“How many prisoners are there?” she asked the guard.
“I suppose, seven, maybe eight thousand. Turnover is high.”
“But, I thought this was a lifer facility. How could turnover be high?” She trotted alongside him.
“It’s not the kind of place where people live to a ripe old age and, well, murder is common. Watch your back. They like fresh ones.” He nodded to a distant group of men huddled in the shade of a building.
“Who do?”
“The factions. They fight amongst themselves. We only get involved when things get really nasty.” He tapped the firearm hooked to his belt.
“What do you mean, fresh ones?”
The guard halted and Freya panted, heaving in lungful of dry air. “Fucking is the currency here. You’d best learn to trade in it. Other things, too. Food vouchers. Stock up when you can. Also, learn the rules. The League—”
“League?”
“The most powerful faction. They control the police and the black markets, the brothels, too. I expect the new governor will have his plans for keeping you lot under control.” He pointed to the habitat building nearby. “In there. You’ll be allocated a room. Somebody will show you where to get food and bedding.” He turned and started to walk back. “Good luck,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Freya crept into the dark building. A light flickered on and she crept down the long corridor. “Hello,” she called out. “Anyone here?”
A slender woman, tall and with willowy hair stepped out from the shadows. “Just arrived? Thought so.” She chewed on something and cocked her head up the corridor. “Last door on the left. It’s clean.”
“Thanks,” Freya said. “What’s your name?” She desperately wanted a friend, somebody to talk to and help her to adapt.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Fizz.”
“Fizz?”
“Yeah, like a soda. I’m fun, according to the men. You’re safe in here. It’s a women’s block. The moment a man walks in it sets off an alarm. Brings the League guys down on them. They like to keep some say in how things are run. Some are good, you know. They’ll look out for you. Make sure you’re not touched. Others… well, just be careful.”
“I know. I’m fresh, yeah?” Freya’s shoulders slumped. Somehow she didn’t think Fizz would be her friend.
The room was tiny. She slid the bolt across the door and locked herself in. She’d become the prisoner who chose to lock herself up. The bed was slender, rather like the stasis cot and there was one chair, a table, a single stove, and a tap. No sink, just a bucket. The wet-room housed a cold shower, not that she fancied a hot one, but the idea of no hot water for the rest of her life was deflating. What she needed were the vouchers for food and bedding. More clothes, too. She unbolted the door and tiptoed down the corridor. Did she knock on a door and ask for help?
“Hello!” Her voice echoed along the walls.
“Hey, you?” Another woman stuck her head out of the door. “What you looking for?” She wiped her bleary eyes. “I’ve just got off shift.”
“I’m new and I don’t know where to get food or anything.”
“That useless Fizz, she’s supposed to help you. She’s the building monitor. Come on,” she yawned. “I’ll take you. I’m Tally. Where have you been put to work?” Tally blinked in the bright daylight and pointed along the path to one of the larger buildings.
“Laundry.”
Tally wrinkled her nose. “Could be worse. I always think the sewage plant is shit. Well, it is, of course, but working there is horrid. Laundry’s better than many. Hard work still. Long hours.”
They passed a few other people, each had some distinct feature—bald-headed men, tattooed faces, long noses or tiny ears, but everyone had the features of a humanoid and spoke the same language. “Everyone speaks Vendian,” Freya commented.
“Makes sense. We’re from all over the galaxy, different planets and colonies. We come here and the only language we have in common is Vendian. Of course, not everyone speaks it and has to learn. My mother taught me. She worked as a nanny for a Vendu family. You speak it good.”
“Thanks.” Freya plucked at the straps of her dress. “Do I have to wear this every day?”
Tally laughed. “No. You’ll have an overall to work in and a couple of dresses to cool off in. The laundry is damn hot.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, Freya had a sense of normality. Tally took her to receive her first set of vouchers—free ones. The next batch she’d have to earn. In the stores, she was given bedding, a cutlery set, and a pot for cooking on the stove. They also issued her with a bar of soap, but no shampoo. The food was basic—one voucher brought a day’s worth of food—some dried meat, fr
uit, and a powder, which Tally claimed made soup when mixed with hot water. Then there was the stash of crackers.
“These again,” Freya scowled. “They’re like cardboard.”
“You’ll get used to them. They’re high-energy crackers. Whatever you ate before you were here, forget all about it. This is it.”
Freya groaned. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of strong coffee.
Steam and the smell of carbolic acid filled the laundry. Vast vats churned countless sheets, while smaller ones were used for clothes. Tally hunted around for the foreman, a huge man with a limp.
“This is Otto,” she introduced.
Otto rubbed his chin. “Waif, aren’t you? Not much muscle on you.” He shook his head.
If Freya wasn’t carrying a load, she’d have slapped his face to prove she could pack a punch if needed. “Before I was sent here, I worked out. Daily.”
He snorted. “Then you’ll have no problems in the press room.” He showed where the clothes were flattened under large steamrollers before being folded into batches. “In here tomorrow. A break for lunch and the rest of the day, you work nonstop. Get it?”
A day of hell. She already hated the place.
Without Tally, Freya would have struggled to find the bland building where she now lived. The paths weaved about and the architecture throughout the colony was uniform. What she couldn’t fail to notice was the men eyeing her up. A few whistled and nudged each other.
“Two vouchers for a kiss?” A gruff voice shouted out from behind her, followed by a chorus of laughter.
“Ignore them. It’s just banter.” Tally picked up her pace. In her arms she carried the bundle of bedding while Freya scurried alongside her with the food stashed in the cooking pot.
They made the bed up together and Freya collapsed on it. “How do I know what time to wake up? I’m shattered and I don’t have a clock.”
“The bell rings in the morning at the beginning of the shift, and again at the end. Nobody has a clock. It’s down to the Vendu to determine the length of the day. You see, the suns never set at the same time. It’s never dark. That’s why there aren’t any windows. You’d never sleep with all that light.”
Freya slumped on the bed. “No night-time ever? It doesn’t get dark?”
“I’m sorry. My planet only had short days. It’s been hard.”
“How long have you been here?”
Tally shrugged. “Many, many bells. I’ve lost count. Best not to count.” She waved goodbye and closed the door behind her, shouting, “Lock it, just in case.”
Freya slid the bolt across before stumbling back onto the bed. She was too tired to worry about anything. The only daydream that revisited her sleep was the striking image of the governor—Marco. Would he remember her? Or was she an easy-to-forget thrill on his first day?
* * *
The bell was more like a siren. It lasted for ages, forcing the sleepy Freya awake and into the shower. The tepid water sprayed her body in a feeble fashion and the hard soap stung. She’d no towel, but the warm air quickly dried her skin. The overall was too long in the legs and she rolled up the hems. She slipped on the flat sandals—they at least had some style.
She managed a few crackers and something that resembled an orange, but not as sweet. The juice squirted down her chin.
Somebody was knocking at her door. She drew back the bolt and peeked through a crack—Tally.
“Hello. I thought I’d walk you to work.”
Freya smiled, relieved to have company. “Thanks. Where do you work?”
“In the bakery, where those crackers are made from corn.” She pointed to a distant building. “It’s roasting in there too.”
Freya blinked in the sunlight. One sun. The other was behind the horizon. It wasn’t as hot as when both suns were in the sky. All around her the others were heading off to work, whether in the fields to produce food, or the factories that turned basic resources into products. Tally had explained many raw materials were shipped in from other colonies and the finished products sent back out again. All produced for nothing. A free workforce that only needed feeding.
She parted company from Tally and having been allocated a press by Otto, she entered the designated room. The noise was intense and unending. The rollers, huge cylinders, were tracking back and forth, flattening the clothing, which had been laid out. It was a rudimentary setup, lacking in automation. Two women stood on either side, whipping the ironed clothes off and laying out crumpled ones. Steam billowed up.
One of the women hit a button and roller stopped. She jerked her head at her coworker.
“Hello. I’m Freya. I’m supposed to work in here.”
“Good. We lost somebody last week.”
“Lost?”
“To the washroom. They’ve a new vat in there. We’re down a person. You need to fold the clothes into batches. These are overalls for males. Three sizes. Keep them separate.”
Freya received a quick lesson in how to fold the clothes and which baskets to place them in. She also learned her new coworkers’ names and she approximated their strange names to English varieties: Jean and Abby. Jean’s eyes were bright and her hair trimmed short, whereas Abby had hers bundled into a bun. Both of them were shorter than Freya, which meant they had to move quickly over the press to position the cloth. The speed was relentless. Other than brief breaks for drinks or bathroom visits, they didn’t stop until lunch.
More dried crackers and chewy meat sticks. The addition of a cabbage-like soup nearly retrieved the meal from being totally tasteless. She managed to winkle out of her two companions that they came from distant planets that had been conquered by the Vendu, one a long time ago, the other more recently. Both women had arrested for robbery, although they claimed it was necessary for survival. Unlike Earth, where the Vendu lived independently, on other planets, they mixed with indigenous population and treated them like second-class citizens.
“We were hungry. So I robbed a store. I thought the gun was fake, but it turned out to be real and I let off a shot, nearly hit the shopkeeper. That’s a life sentence—using a firearm,” Abby explained. Jean had a similar tale, although she admitted it had involved a gang and she wasn’t proud of the desperate measures she’d taken to feed her sister’s family.
“A few here are killers, the worst kind. But most of the prisoners are classified as rebels. Ordinary people, non-combatants, but they’re all the same to the Vendu—insurgents.” Jean stirred her soup and ducked her head down, hiding her eyes. The sadness in her voice was obvious.
Back at the presses, the noise of the machine and the heat of the room made speech impossible. The day passed achingly slowly. By evening, she wanted to do nothing but sleep. With the light switched off, she was grateful for the pitch blackness, but not the oppressive heat. She slept in the nude.
* * *
The next day and the day after were similar and uneventful. Four days after Freya had arrived, she no longer needed Tally to escort her to the laundry. She knew her way with her eyes half-open. The drudgery was mind-numbing. What about books, films, and music? How would she survive without them?
On the fifth day, she noticed Abby was hobbling about and seemed loath to put her weight on one leg.
“What’s up with your leg?” she asked during one quiet spell when they switched off the machine and drank some brackish water.
“I caught it on something sharp. The cut has gone bad.” She rolled up the leg of her pants. A nasty cut streaked across her calf.
Freya crouched down and winced sympathetically. “That’s infected. You need medicine.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Sure. I’ll just go get some.”
“Isn’t there a hospital?”
“Yeah. I won’t go to that infirmary. The League has a supply of medicines, but only if you pay.”
“Pay with what?”
“Vouchers. Free time—”
“Free time?”
Abby explained, “Hard work is rewarded wi
th days off. They can be swapped or traded in.”
“I thought the Vendu provided a health service. I met the doctors. Why not go to them?”
Jean sneered. “They’re too busy assessing new arrivals for their special studies. The black market is the only way to get medicines without questions being asked.”
“I’ll get you the medicine, Abby. I’ve plenty of vouchers.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “You don’t understand, Freya. You have to go to the League. They’ll want more than vouchers.” She lowered her voice. “They might want sex.”
“They can have my vouchers. That’s the deal.”
“It’s too dangerous, Freya. You can’t just walk in there and dictate terms. Why do you think I’ve put up with the injury?”
Freya pursed her lips. She needed to make an impression and gain some credibility with her fellow prisoners. “If they demand more than vouchers, I’ll back out. Let me try for you. They’ve given me twenty vouchers to help settle me in. I don’t need them. I’ll be earning new ones tomorrow when Otto pays me.”
Abby and Jean exchanged glances. “She’s new,” said Abby. “It might work. They don’t trust me anymore.”
“Trust you?” asked Freya.
Abby swallowed. “I used to be one of the League’s girls. Then I tipped off the Vendu about the bullying and the violence—they’d beaten up members of another gang and somebody died. I witnessed it and the League doesn’t like snitches. I’m keeping low. Otto looks after us in return for, you know, sex if that’s what he wants. Jean tried to get me the medicines, but they knew we’re friends. They got frisky with her and she ran off.”
Frisky? Freya could guess at the meaning of that. “I’m sorry. Let me try. I’m new. They won’t know the drugs are for you. Where do I go?”
Abby gave her directions and after the siren blared, signaling the end of the shift, she joined the throng heading home. Close to her building, she ducked down a shady lane. Following the twisting paths, she hunted for the two-story building that had been built under the shadows of a rock formation.
