by M. R. Forbes
“I told you I did,” Gant replied. Then his expression changed, and an almost threatening half-smile formed on his face, revealing a few sharp teeth. “Oh. I get it.” His voice became a loud bark, which Olus’ translator announced was ‘strong laughter.’ “You’re in deep, aren’t you Captain?”
“Very,” Olus replied.
Gant was quiet for a minute as he paced along the partition. “This isn’t a good idea,” he said at last.
“Do you have something better for me?”
Gant paced for another minute.
“No. But that doesn’t make this a good idea.” He stopped and looked at Olus. “I can understand why you wanted to talk to me. What do I get if I agree?”
“A chance at freedom.”
“Only a chance? I’d be better off waiting for the Outworlders.”
“They’ll never find Hell. It isn’t where the rumors claim it is.”
“The OSI started those rumors?”
Olus nodded.
Gant laughed again. “I should have known.” He started pacing again.
“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Olus said.
“You should know Gant don’t make quick decisions. We’re a contemplative bunch.”
“This isn’t a difficult decision to make.”
“Maybe for you. You’re already on the outside. Being in here isn’t much of life, but it’s a life that I’m accustomed to. A life I know. Going back out there? I didn’t do too well out there, or I wouldn’t have wound up here.”
Olus closed the projection of Gant’s file. He knew there was a risk to his participation, but the whole thing was a risk, and he needed someone who was good at fixing things. Someone who would stand out in all of the right ways.
“I need an answer,” he said.
Gant growled softly, his eyes locked on Olus, studying him.
“One condition,” Gant said.
“We aren’t bargaining,” Olus replied.
“Yes, we are.”
“No, we aren’t.”
“Yes. We are,” Gant insisted. “I’m good at reading faces. Especially human faces. Tell me something, Captain. Do you have Lieutenant Abigail Cage on your list?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss who is and isn’t on my list.”
“You’re the head of the OSI,” Gant replied, taking him off guard for the third time. “You can discuss whatever you decide you want to discuss. You didn’t think I knew that, did you? I know a lot of things, Captain. That’s why you want me on your side. The question is: how badly?”
“I had Lieutenant Cage on my original list,” Olus said, giving in. “I took her off. I was told she murdered Warden Packard.”
“Murder?” Gant said. “Who the hell told you that? Warden Lurin?” His eyes shifted toward the corner of the room before sweeping back.
Olus flinched, starting to turn to look before realizing what Gant was suggesting. He moved forward, crouching down next to the division, positioned to block the feed.
“I’ll do what you want, Captain,” Gant said softly. “But Cage comes with me. We’re a package deal.”
“Why?” Olus replied. “You can’t have known her more than a few weeks. Why is she so important to you?”
“I like looking at her. She’s the only thing here that’s hotter than the air.” He laughed.
“What’s the real reason?”
“Six years, Captain, and only one person in this place has ever accepted me without question. Another thing about Gant: we’re loyal to a fault.”
Olus already knew that. If this one had decided to take an alpha, it was going to increase the risk even more. At the same time, there was no way Gant was going to accept without her. Not now.
“What’s going on in this place?” Olus asked. “What really happened with Packard and Cage?”
“Why are you asking me?” Gant replied. “You’re OSI. You’re supposed to know.”
“I have an entire galaxy to cover.”
“Yeah, like that’s an excuse. I don’t know everything, Captain, despite how it might seem to you. I can tell you that the others are whispering that there was a second body in the room. A woman’s body. There aren’t any other women on Level Twenty, and I’ve never seen a female guard down here.”
“Who was she?”
“No idea. Maybe Packard was into some sort of kink? I don’t think so. We have an expression on my world, Captain. Where there are drugrum, there is food. And there’s a lot of drugrum scurrying around down here, if you get my meaning.”
“I think I do.” He stood up. “Wait to hear back from me. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yes, sir,” Gant said, giving him a sloppy salute.
Olus turned on his heel and headed out of the room, pausing between the two guards. “I’m done with him. Bring him back to his cell.”
“Yes, sir,” one of them said.
“Warden Lurin,” Olus said, tapping his communicator.
“Captain?” the Warden replied a moment later. “How can I be of assistance?”
“Lieutenant Cage. She was on my list. I want to speak with her.”
“Sir, Lieutenant Cage is being held in connection with the murder of Warden Packard.”
“So I’ve heard, but not from you. She’s also not in the personnel files you gave me. Why is that?”
“Sir, I didn’t think you would still want to speak to her in light of recent developments.”
“I didn’t ask you to think for me, Sergeant,” Olus said.
“Yes, Captain. My apologies, Captain. Lieutenant Cage isn’t well, sir. I can’t in good conscience allow you to put yourself at risk. Whatever you think she might know, sir, she won’t be able to tell you anything.”
“I’ll decide that for myself, Sergeant.”
“Sir-” Lurin started.
“I’m getting the distinct impression that you’re trying to interfere with my investigation, Sergeant,” Olus snapped. “Would you like to explain to me why that would be?”
Lurin hesitated before responding. “My apologies, sir. I’ve been put into a difficult situation these past few days. I’ll have the guards escort you back to Level Two. Lieutenant Cage is in isolation in the medical ward. I will meet you there.”
“That’s quite all right, Sergeant,” Olus said. “I can find my way. I’d like to speak with her alone.”
“Sir, if I may?”
“You may not,” Olus said. “My safety and well-being is my own problem, and I take full responsibility for it.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Olus disconnected the comm. Then he glanced at the two guards, half-expecting them to try to stop him. He wasn’t sure exactly what the Gant’s proverb had meant, but he had the distinct feeling it was spot on. If they wanted to keep Cage, whatever the reason, he was going to make it his new life’s mission to get her out.
24
When Abbey opened her eyes, a spindly-armed medical bot was standing over her, the end of one of its appendages touched to her abdomen. The device it was using to scan the injury was cold, and she jerked away in surprise and discomfort.
“Please, do not make any sudden movements,” the bot said, its synthesized voice so close to human it was within a hair’s breadth of being real.
“I already did,” Abbey replied, turning her head to look around. Where was she? What had happened to her? “I’m cold.”
“It is expected,” the bot replied. “I will provide fresh linens after I complete the examination.”
She let her eyes travel the room. It didn’t take long. It was simple and sparse. A raised mattress, a small table with a glass of water on it. That was all.
“How am I doing?” she asked, still not sure what had happened.
“You are healing well,” the bot replied. “You are young and resilient.”
“I’m not that young. Where am I?”
“The penal colony on the planet Hell. Level Two medical ward. Isolation.”
Penal colony? Hell? It
all came rushing back to her. Packard. Clyo. The fight. Fear.
“If you will excuse me,” the bot said, walking from the room on mechanical legs. The door closed behind it, the familiar sound of it locking causing her to flinch.
She forced herself to sit up. Cold. She was cold. It should have been a welcome change, but not under these circumstances. She put her hand to her neck, expecting to feel bumps where the strange device Clyo was carrying had been jabbed into her skin. It was smooth and flat, leaving her wondering if she had imagined the whole thing.
That couldn’t be possible. Something had caused her to wind up here.
The door opened and the medical bot walked back in, a light silvery material folded beneath an arm. It took it with a second appendage and held it out to her.
“This will keep you warm.”
Abbey took it, looking down at herself. “Clothes would help, too,” she said, draping it over her chest.
“You have not been authorized for clothing,” the bot replied.
“What?”
“You are at risk for self-homicide. You are not to be provided with objects which enable self-harm.”
“I could choke myself with this blanket.”
“It will tear very easily. Your uniform would not, and has been restricted.”
“Uniform? You mean the hellsuit?”
“That is what I said.”
“Warden Packard. Do you know where he is?”
“Master Sergeant Packard is deceased,” the bot answered. “If you will excuse me, I will take my leave of you.”
It turned and walked back out, the door locking behind it once more.
“Damn bots,” Abbey said, standing and wrapping the flimsy material around herself. Then she picked up the glass of water, dumping out the contents and slamming it against the table. She wasn’t surprised when it didn’t shatter.
She sat back down, leaning over to put her head in her hands. What was all of this about? What had they been trying to do to her? What had they done to her?
She remembered how Clyo had held out her hand, causing her to choke with nothing but a gesture. She also remembered cracking the stone floor of her cell with her hand during one of her convulsions. Both actions were impossible, weren’t they?
She looked down at the glass. Then she tightened her grip on it, squeezing as hard as she could. She gave up when her hand began to cramp.
She put it back on the table and stood up, approaching the wall. She closed her right hand into a fist, drawing it back and then hesitating. She was pretty sure her mind was embellishing the truth of things, but how far should she go to prove it?
She decided on one more test, throwing her fist forward in a well-practiced punch. Her knuckles hit the wall hard, scraping open along them, a shockwave of pain running up her wrist at the impact.
“Ahh,” she cried, clutching her right hand in her left. Damn, that hurt.
At least it confirmed her suspicion. Even if Packard and Clyo had been real, the stranger aspects of the encounter weren’t.
She sat again, shifting her thoughts from actions to words, trying to remember Packard’s exchange with her. He had said that someone needed her for something. Who? For what? Did it have anything to do with Private Illiard’s disappearance? Did it have anything to do with Sylvan Kett?
She looked at the sealed door. She was being kept separate from the other prisoners in the ward. Because she had killed Packard? Were they going to punish her for that? How? She was already in Hell.
“Just because Packard failed doesn’t mean nobody else is trying,” she said to herself, chilled by the thought.
Packard said he was following orders, the same as everyone else. He was a link in the chain, not the head of it. This was a Republic facility. Illiard had warned her that the Republic was more corrupt than she had ever considered. Did that mean her own people were responsible? She had declined the enlistment renewal. They knew she wanted out, and she had already suspected that was the reason for all of this. Were Packard’s actions confirmation?
That would explain a lot, but it wouldn’t explain what had been in the vial Clyo was holding. The vial that had been emptied into her neck.
She reached up and touched the area again. If there had been a vial to begin with. It was all too damn confusing.
She leaned back against the wall. What was she supposed to do now? She was as much a prisoner as she had been before she woke up here. The only difference was the temperature. At least she could enjoy that for as long as it lasted.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the ease of her breath and the lightness of her being after the oppressive weight of Hell’s fetid air.
The lock on the door clanked again. She opened her eyes as it slid open. The medical bot was back. Someone new was with it. An Atmo in a Republic Intergalactic Army dress uniform.
“Lieutenant Cage,” he said. “I was informed that you had woken. I’m Warden Lurin.”
Abbey eyed him cautiously. “Warden?” she said, forcing herself to stay calm. Nothing about this was going to be good.
“You’ve caused a bit of trouble here, Lieutenant,” Lurin said. “Master Sergeant Packard was a friend of mine.”
“He was an asshole,” Abbey replied. “He tried to kill me.”
“Nobody tried to kill you. We were doing you a favor. Giving you a gift. You murdered two people in thanks for that honor.”
The medical bot stepped toward her. One of its appendages was holding a needle.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A sedative. I was hoping you would stay unconscious for another hour or two, but of course, you had to ruin that plan as well.”
“That’s one of my best qualities,” Abbey said, pushing herself toward the edge of the table. The medical bot put out two of its arms, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her back.
“Please,” it said. “Do not make any sudden movements.” A third hand took hold of her wrist, turning her arm over with inhuman strength.
“Fortunately for you, murder isn’t a way out. Your services are still required.”
The bot sank the needle into her vein. She could feel warm liquid slipping into her bloodstream as she started growing lightheaded almost immediately.
“That should keep you in proper shape for your visitor,” Lurin said. He flashed her a cold smile and exited the room again.
Abbey looked at the bot, her head becoming heavier with each breath. It eased her gently down, into a lying position with the blanket draped over her.
“If you will excuse me,” it said. Then it too abandoned her, the door locking behind it and leaving her alone once more.
25
Olus stood at the entrance to the lift that would bring him back to Level Two and tapped his communicator.
“Warden Lurin,” he said angrily.
“Captain,” the Warden said a moment later.
“What’s wrong with the lift?” Olus asked.
“I apologize, Captain. There was a minor malfunction. We had to restart the operational services. It should be back online any moment.”
Choice comments streamed through Olus’ head. “A common occurrence down here?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so. The moisture in the air wreaks havoc on our electronics, which as you can probably guess are massively outdated. The Republic doesn’t tend to pass much funding to penal worlds.”
“It must be a hardship.”
“There are worse positions in the RIA, I assure you.”
A loud thump sounded, followed by a buzz as the lift began to lower.
“Here it comes now, Captain,” Lurin said. “Is there anything else you require?”
“Not at the moment,” he replied, closing the connection.
He jumped into the lift the moment it arrived, directing it back to Level Two. It dropped him off there soon after, and he crossed the corridors of the facility as briskly as he could, pausing twice to request directions. He reached the medical ward a few min
utes later, making his way past a row of mostly empty mattresses to the first bot in the line.
“Captain Mann,” the bot said, scanning his face and matching it up with its internal personnel identification records. “How may I be of assistance.”
“I want to speak with Lieutenant Abigail Cage. Warden Lurin told me I could find her here.”
“Yes, Captain. Abigail Cage is in Isolation Room Three. She is currently asleep.”
Why was he not surprised?
“I’d like to see her, anyway,” Olus said.
“Of course, Captain. This way.”
The bot walked ahead of him, leading him to the isolation room. It was one of five, located near the center.
“Is there anyone in any of the other rooms?” Olus asked.
“No, Captain.”
“Open the door.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The bot extended a pin-sized spike from one of its hands, sticking it into a matching receptacle on the wall and turning it. The door slid open.
Olus paused at the threshold, staring in at the woman asleep on a raised mattress at the back end of the small room. He couldn’t see much of her under a light blanket, but he could judge from her features that she had a well-proportioned face.
“Lieutenant Cage,” he said.
She didn’t stir.
He watched the blanket for a moment. Her breaths were smooth and even, and very, very light.
“Lieutenant Cage,” he repeated, a little louder.
She still didn’t respond.
“I informed you that she was sleeping, Captain,” the bot said.
“I know,” Olus replied. He walked over to her.
“Captain, I am sorry, but she should not be disturbed.”
“Will her health be compromised if she’s disturbed?”
“No, Captain.”
“Then shut up.”
He leaned over her, studying her face from a different angle. She might have been pretty to some, not pretty to others. It was all a matter of taste, and he didn’t care one way or another. He was old enough to be her great-great-great-grandfather, if not more.
“Lieutenant Cage,” he said again.
Nothing.
He lowered himself, coming closer to her, putting his face near hers. He breathed in as she breathed out, furrowing his brow as the smell of her breath reached him. He shifted his eyes, glancing over at the bot.
