by Elin Wyn
Table of Contents
Zayda
Mack
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Caged with the Wolf
The Wolves of the Daedalus: Book 3
Elin Wyn
Contents
1. Zayda
2. Mack
3. Zayda
4. Mack
5. Zayda
6. Mack
7. Zayda
8. Mack
9. Zayda
10. Mack
11. Zayda
12. Mack
13. Zayda
14. Mack
15. Zayda
16. Mack
17. Zayda
18. Mack
19. Zayda
20. Mack
21. Zayda
22. Mack
23. Zayda
24. Mack
25. Zayda
26. Mack
27. Zayda
28. Mack
29. Preview of Freed by the Wolf
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About the Author
Also by Elin Wyn
Zayda
Red, green, blue. Red, green, blue. The tags for the meds in the inventory flowed by in a sea of color, the only bright spots in the gray, dingy clinic.
Red, green, blue.
I’d done this yesterday, and would do it again tomorrow, since it counted as a useful task for the satellite. The mindless repetition let my thoughts fly free, as for the eighth time that morning I tried to figure out how to get a message to my handler.
“Take a break, Zayda,” Denon called from the other corner of the prison clinic. “You're always working too hard.”
Nominally assigned as the clinic medic, Denon didn't seem to worry at all about staying busy and useful. I glanced at my cuff. Still bright steady green. Good.
Maybe the time we spent patching up idiots who got into fights, or growers who ended up on the wrong end of equipment, earned him enough points to coast through.
I'd only been here for two weeks. Not long enough to have it figured out. I was waiting for a sign, some indication of which way to jump.
But nothing yet.
Red, green, blue.
“Come on, Zayda.” Denon had sidled up next to me. I hadn't noticed his approach. Being trapped here was getting to me, wearing down my sharp edges.
His arm rested around my waist, making my skin crawl, but I kept a careful smile on my face. Until I knew who to trust and how I was getting out of here, I couldn't lose the clinic as a safe place.
Training made it easier to put up with a lot. But even I have limits.
I started to make another excuse but was saved by the opening of the clinic doors. Jado and Malik, hauling a third man between them.
As co-captains of the Skulls, the satellite’s largest gang, they had sent plenty of people to the clinic, sometimes their own members.
But then I got a better look at the man they’d brought in with them.
Jado and Malik were big. This guy was bigger, even slumped unconscious, his arms stretched over their shoulders, legs and feet pulling behind as they dragged him through the door.
“Cuffs told us to bring this dude in,” Jado said. “Too messed up to even get off the shuttle on his own power.”
I raised an eyebrow. The shuttle that brought prisoners up to the satellite was programmed to stop recycling air as soon as the airlock doors opened.
Prisoners had two minutes to disembark. Occasionally someone would insist on trying to stay aboard for the return trip back to the station.
It never ended well.
By the end of those two minutes, they were usually convinced to try their chances on the satellite.
Denon sighed in exasperation. “Put him on one of the cots until he comes out of it. Doesn't look like he's bleeding. Not much for me to do.”
I slid out from under his arm. “I'll do a quick scan on him, just in case.”
Denon turned away as I tapped my cuff. “May as well keep the meter filled.”
From across the room the guy was big. Standing next to his cot, he was massive. Muscles bulged from his arms and chest, his shoulders too wide to be fully supported by the narrow cot.
There was no way he would fit into our antiquated full-body scanner, and I didn't even know if it was running today. I grabbed one of the handhelds and started at his feet.
The readings for - Oh. That was interesting.
I kept my eyes on the scanner and my mouth shut. But my mind spun frantically.
Jado and Malik were bullshitting with Denon. No one paid attention, no one cared.
In a career working for the Imperial spymaster, you hear a lot of rumors. The vast majority are lies, speculation, or, on a good day, somebody's drug-filled hallucinations laid on top of something they just watched on the triD.
I kept moving the scanner up his body, around his torso.
This guy was in good shape, in too good shape. The basic equipment we had here wasn’t going to give me any details, but I could fill in the blanks myself. Someone had been doing more than just a little genetic editing. This was full-out manipulation, possibly even hybridization.
I hesitated for just a minute before starting the scan on his neck and head.
It would've taken a lot to knock out a man this healthy. I really didn't want to see the permanent damage that might have been done.
But I also really didn't want to hand the scanner over to Denon. He might only be a half-trained medic, but even he would notice something odd in these readings.
The patient’s hair was buzzed on the sides, a little long on top, with a few days’ worth of scruff. His ears came to a slight point, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking. With what I knew, I definitely was.
To my relief, all of his neural patterns read within normal ranges.
His head fell to the side and I fought back a gasp. A round mark with three prongs extending from the circumference, no bigger than my thumb, reddened the skin on the side of his neck. Carefully, I moved his head the other way, knowing already what I’d find.
No question about it, he’d been wiped.
His eyes flickered behind closed lids and his breathing sped up, just a fraction. Before I could move, a strong hand encircled my arm, just over the cuff.
Steady golden eyes met mine. “Who are you and what am I doing here?” The low growl of his voice wound around me as surely as his fingers.
“You’re on Minor.” It probably wouldn’t mean anything to him. “I don’t know who you pissed off, but it doesn’t matter now.”
No sign of recognition of the name, no sign of understanding of any kind. On impulse, I smoothed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes drifted closed.
If he was lucky, he’d dream of freedom, of being anywhere but here. I turned away, back into the nightmare.
Mack
Nothing existed but fire and pain.
And then she appeared. Tiny, with golden skin and long black hair. Shadows in her eyes, her hands cool and soothing.
The fire reclaimed me, burning her away, leaving me nothing again.
I woke to the sound of her voice, and pushed myself up on one elbow to look around. A long box of a room, locked cabinets on the far side, where she stood, singing quietly to herself as she sorted through containers. A single deskcomm with a cracked screen in the middle of the long wall. Three other beds that looked as hard and narrow as the one I’d been lying on.
One door. No one
else in the room.
I must've made a noise moving, because she whirled around, braid flying, expression wary.
I didn't move again, just nodded slowly in greeting.
With careful movements, eyes fixed on me, she tapped the panel in the wall and the sink slid out.
Gratefully, I drank the glass of murky water she handed me.
“Transport can be a little rough,” she mentioned but her eyes wouldn't meet mine.
Transport? I didn’t remember going on a trip. Darkness, I couldn't remember anything about where I'd been. “Where is this?” I croaked.
She smiled, “I told you before. You're on Minor.”
I didn't recall asking before, and Minor sure didn't mean anything to me. She took the glass away and nestled it into a sterilizer for reuse.
“You’re going to have to give me a little more than that, I'm afraid, darlin.'” I quickly stretched muscles in sequence. Other than some residual tightness and an itch on my left arm, everything seemed more or less in place.
She turned back, eyebrow cocked. “I am most certainly not your darlin'.” She stressed the word. “But I’ll clue you in as to the rest of the set-up, since someone seems to have bumped you on the back of the head.”
Her eyes flicked away, just for a moment. And just that fast I knew she was lying. Maybe not about everything, but something.
“Minor is the correctional facility satellite in orbit around Orem-5 Station. Since Orem-5 is one of the stations furthest into the Fringe, they’ve quit relying on Imperial security.”
I shook my head. “This means nothing to me. Sorry.” I scratched my arm again and then stared down at it. “And what the hell is this?
A broad silver cuff wrapped around my wrist, almost as wide as my hand, a stripe of glowing green on the outer edge.
I glanced over. The woman wore a matching one, but on her it almost covered her entire forearm. She sighed and rolled over a chair.
“That's your cuff, to make sure you behave. You've been sent here for some infraction of the rules back on the station.” She shrugged, warding off my confused protests. “I know you don't remember. The station that we’re in orbit around is Orem Station. And people that do bad things on Orem Station get sent out here to be useful to society,” she swept a hand in front of her, like brushing dust away, “until they're not.”
“But what does this have to do with that?” I pried at the edge of the metal cuff, twisting and pulling until I received a sharp shock. I glared at her. “You could've warned me.”
“You would've done it anyway. Everybody does.” She tapped the metal with a fingernail. “Magnetic Access Control devices. We just call them cuffs. Behave, do enough useful activities for the satellite, get points. Do nothing, cause trouble, your points drop fast. You'll know about where you are by this.” She raised her arm to display the bar of solid green that ran around the edge metal. “Try to stay in the green.”
“What happens if I don't?”
“Lower your points enough, the mealpak dispensers don’t work. You’ll be shut out of the sleeping quarters. And become fair game for anyone else. There're a lot of people up here for a good reason. If they keep their own points high enough, they don't mind enforcing a little discipline on anybody who slips. Don't let it slide into the yellow.”
“What's below yellow?” I asked.
She closed her eyes. “I don't know, but it can’t be good.”
“Well, then,” I swung my legs to the side of the cot and started to push myself up but she held me back with one hand.
“Be damn sure you're ready to stand before you do. There's no way I can get you off the floor if you go down.”
An unsettling thought crossed my mind. “This is a prison satellite and we’re both prisoners, and there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of guards roaming around.”
“Self-enforcing rules, remote operation. Theoretically better than a panopticon.”
I ignored the extraneous word, focused on my rising anger. “Do you know what I'm here for, what I've done?”
“Prisoner files are sealed from other prisoners. If no one knows details about anyone’s past transgressions, maybe people won’t make the same mistakes.” She grimaced. “I haven't really seen it work out that way.”
“I could have been violent, could’ve been anything, and they left you alone with me?” I didn't even know who ‘they’ were, but they were on my shit list.
She looked amused. “Get too far out of line against another green, and the cuffs take you down. The jolt you got before was just a little love tap. The cuffs connect directly into the nerves of your arm.” She stood up, pushed the chair away. “I told Denon I'd stay until you woke, but I’m about ready to call it a night. If you really are ready to go, let's see if we can find you quarters.”
As I rose from the cot, my stomach rumbled. “I’d rather you showed me where to get one of those mealpaks you mentioned.” I followed her out the door. “Not sure when I ate last.”
She nodded and turned down the corridor. “Easy enough. I’m ready to head to the mess myself.”
We walked in silence for a minute, and I tried to get my bearings. Why the hell was I on a prison satellite, in orbit around a station I’d never heard of? Actually -
“Hey, Zayda!” A blonde woman passing the other way called out, giving a small wave to my companion. “Running late?”
The woman, Zayda, tilted her head towards me, and the blonde’s eyes grew big. “Just showing a new guy around.”
The blonde bit her lips, gaze flicking between us until Zayda gave her a smile. “It’s all good. I’ll catch you later.”
Her friend didn’t look convinced, but continued on her way.
“Well, that was different,” I muttered.
“What do you expect?” Zayda sounded more weary than angry. “She doesn’t know you. I don’t know you. The unknown is seldom a good thing around here.”
“That’s easy enough to fix”. I stopped and held my hand out. “Hi, Zayda, it’s nice to meet you. Thanks for being my tour guide. I’m -”
Only emptiness met me. A flash of pity crossed Zayda’s face, but she took my hand anyway. “Must have been some bump on the head.”
I pulled back, took the panic that threatened to overtake me, and pushed it down, shoved it into a box, and locked it.
“How can I not know my name?” I whispered.
“Does it matter?”
My head snapped back up. “Of course it does!”
“Would it change anything?”
I stopped the words that flew to my tongue. She was right. At this moment, whatever had happened to me didn’t matter. Figuring out how this place worked, and then getting the hell out took priority. And then… I smoldered.
“Still need something to call you.” Her voice summoned me from my thoughts.
I scratched at the edge of the cuff. “What the hell. Let’s go with ‘Mack’.”
“Really?” Her eyes sparkled with humor, and her lips almost turned into a smile. “You’re going to name yourself after the cuff?”
“Got anything better?”
“Nope.”
“Tell me when you do, and we’ll vote on it.”
Zayda
For a guy who woke up in prison with no memory, Mack was decidedly smarter than I expected.
He watched the swirl of movement in the mess as we choked down our meal packs, the parade from pack dispenser to table to the racks of trays, absorbing it all.
He didn't ask a lot of stupid questions while we were eating, which was nice. In the two weeks I'd been here, I hadn’t really felt the need for eloquent table conversation. Plenty to think about to fill the silence.
“No recycler?” He asked as we stood up to join the line towards the racks.
I shook my head. “Takes too much energy. Cheaper to have inmates use the sterilizer system than waste power to break it down and rebuild it as needed.”
He frowned. “That seems inefficient. Don't
tell me your star’s gone dark.”
“Nope, plenty of juice floating around out there. But anything we catch gets used on the farm, or sent down to the station.”
“Farm.” He repeated the word so flatly, I nodded to assure him I wasn’t joking.
We inched our way towards the front of the line. The evening mess was winding down, and people would be heading out for the hour or so of recreation before curfew struck.
I was looking forward to just getting back to my bunk, but apparently that wasn't on today's list.
“Unless you’ve got special skills you suddenly remember, the farm is probably where you’ll end up finding a job. They-”
“Hey, sweet cheeks.” The slimy voice told me who’d sauntered up behind me.
I didn't bother to turn around, and there wasn’t a way to keep him from moving. Larko, dark hair slicked back over his weasel face, leered before me. “Who’s your new friend?” he asked, but his tone was anything but polite.
I didn't bother answering. There wasn't an answer that would make him go away. The only thing to do with scum like Larko and his little clique was ignore and avoid.
He took a step towards me and suddenly a solid wall of chest stood between us, Mack’s bulk completely blocking Larko from my line of sight.
“Tell me more about this farm and its power needs. It sounds fascinating.”
I couldn’t help but grin, matching his own. “We've got the light of three suns, faint, but strong enough to power a good percentage of the station.”
I tried to keep my voice neutral, even though the sight of Mack shifting to continue blocking Larko had turned into a surreal, amusing dance.
