Yours to Command

by Shona Husk

  It could be worse. At least she’d die after breathing clean air, and not from chem-lung on Earth. But her feet belonged on Earth—the home she’d never see again, thanks to the US Army. The people who’d volunteered for this trip were crazy fuckers.

  She heard footsteps moments before the clear door unlocked and two men walked in. Only Army personnel could open the door to the medic’s station. She scanned their uniforms. A Warrant Officer and a prisoner. The prisoner, 1789, looked as though he’d seen better days. His cheek was split open and blood was trickling down his olive skin and into the scruffy, not-quite-a-beard that was becoming popular among the prisoners, as it meant less shaving. Her gaze flicked to his hands. His knuckles were red and grazed.

  Joy, another incident report. But she doubted the Warrant Officer had caused 1789 any damage. The officer was younger than she was and probably weighed less, even with his boots on.

  “What happened, Sir?” What excuse would the WO have for 1789’s injury?

  The officer nudged 1789.

  “I tripped and fell down a few stairs.” 1789 looked her in the eye as he spoke. His voice was perfectly modulated, but she knew it was a lie. If everything the prisoners said was true, they would have to be the clumsiest people on board. More likely he’d been fighting in the Rounds, but it was easier to agree to the lie. Safer, too. Tattling meant punishment.

  She nodded. “Fine, I’ll check him out. Is he free to wander?” Or was he going to be confined to his cell? If so, she would have to call someone to escort 1789. She never walked around the male prison without another guard. She was almost a prisoner herself—confined to the medical area. Lieutenant Zane could’ve put her in the female prison section of the ship but this was his way of controlling her, isolating her even further.

  The WO gave a single nod and then left, as if glad to be gone. The door clicked closed, leaving Sienna and 1789 alone. Thanks, asshole. Prick should’ve followed protocol and waited until the prisoner was locked onto the chair.

  “Sit.” She made her voice as hard as she could.

  1789 sat.

  “I’m going to release your cuffs and you’re going to place your arms on the chair. Clear?”

  “Clear.” 1789 gave a single nod.

  This would either go smoothly or be a cluster fuck. She was going to report the WO … not that it would make any difference. Zane would ignore any complaint that she made. Sienna released the cuffs and held her breath, keeping her finger over the activate button on her wrist control.

  As soon as he was free, 1789 placed his arms against the metal arms of the chair. She pressed the button before he had time to get comfortable.

  If he’d tried anything in those few seconds she would have hit emergency, locking down every prisoner in a ten-yard radius, which would have required some explaining. She’d never had to do it yet, but as one of the few women in the male area, she was aware of her precarious situation.

  “So how did you really split your cheek open?”

  “I fell,” he replied in that same flat tone.

  “Bullshit.” She hated being lied to, and if there was something untoward going on, she wanted to know. With Lieutenant Zane in charge of the guards, anything was possible.

  He blinked and looked at her carefully. “I fell, Corporal.”

  “Onto a fist. You aren’t the first to come in from the Rounds and I doubt you’ll be the last. So would you like to try again?” She swung the imager between them to check his face for broken bones.

  “You know about the Rounds?”

  “Everyone knows, even if they don’t watch and bet.”

  His head jerked in a nod, bones white on the dark screen.

  “Hold still for a moment.”

  She scanned the screen, looking for telltale black shadows or spider webs of cracks. Nothing. But she saved the image anyway for his med file.

  “He didn’t hit you hard enough to break anything.” But it was only a matter of time. Something was bound to go wrong in the Rounds.

  “It was an elbow. I ducked under his guard—it was an accident.”

  “That’s what they all say.” If her attacker had done the job right, she wouldn’t be on this tin-can suicide mission to Solitaire. The name said it all. Solitaire. As in solitary. A planet a year’s travel away from Earth was the ultimate solitary confinement—assuming they even got there. She wasn’t sure which would be better, dying in space or dying on the new planet, from starvation, new diseases, or weird insect bites. She suppressed a shudder and moved the machine. “How long have you been fighting?”

  “That was round ten.”

  “Win?” She ripped open packets of sterile swabs and picked up the glue. What the hell were they going to do on Solitaire? Make their own needles and glue? And when the imaging machines broke and the medicine ran out? They’d become a prehistoric civilization that told tales of the magic they’d once had. The briefing documents described their aim for a colony of pre-industrial standard. It sounded horrible.

  “Not this time.” His voice had lost its flat edge. He sounded like he was from the east coast. It was nice to hear a familiar accent. She was almost tempted to ask what he spent his tokens on, but she didn’t want to know.

  “What are you here for?” She wiped his cheek, clearing the blood away so she could get a good look at the split in his skin. It wasn’t that bad. Facial injuries always looked worse than they were.

  “I stole water rations.” His dark brown eyes tracked her movements. He wasn’t dismissive of her, or crude and suggestive. It was possibly the most normal conversation she’d had in three months.

  “Well, there’s plenty of water on Siren.” It was only drinkable after it had been treated, but the rationing wasn’t as strict as many cities.

  “As long as you don’t think about how many bodies it’s washed first.” His lips almost curved into a smile before he stopped himself.

  Sienna would have liked to see him smile. “No different to New York or any other city.”

  His gaze flicked to her face for a moment. “True. And I kind of like the metallic taste on the air.”

  “It doesn’t burn the back of the throat.” She grinned, even though homesickness grabbed and twisted her insides. She’d give anything to feel the sting of pollution catching in her lungs.

  “You sound like you miss it.” 1789 frowned as if the thought was odd, and out of place.

  She did, but it was a feeling she tried to hide. All Army personnel were supposed to be volunteers. She’d been given a choice: join the mission or get discharged. The military was one of the best jobs around, getting kicked out would’ve made her unemployable. So she’d joined the mission to trash a second planet.

  “It was my home. My family still lives there.” She caught herself before becoming stuck in an endless loop of self-pity. She was never going back, so there was no point letting it take hold. “What about you?”

  He blinked, surprised. “Me?”

  “Yeah. Got a name?” She held the edges of the wound together and sealed it with a line of glue.

  “Alex, Corporal.” There was a wariness in his voice, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond.

  She nodded, but didn’t use his name. It was too personal. She was Army and he was a con. An attractive con. Her gaze skimmed his singlet, over his shoulders and down his arms to his hands. What a waste of a decent man—a thief, she reminded herself, who had just given her the best conversation of her trip, not to mention something to think about in bed tonight.

  “You stole water—a relatively minor crime. So how did you end up on Siren?”

  “I was a construction foreman. Worked on the towers.”

  “Ah.” He was too old to be dumb labor, over thirty, and he looked as though he’d spent a lot of time in the sun. He had crinkles around his eyes. When he smiled they’d be laugh lines. He probably didn’t smile much these days.

  “Glue’s dry.” She placed a clear adhesive patch over the wound. “Keep it dry for two d
ays. The patch will dissolve in the shower and the glue will break down in five.” She touched his jaw and turned his face to the light, as if assessing the wound for a final time. The short beard tickled her fingers, sending a spark of unexpected lust tumbling through her body. For a moment she held on to the feeling, the rush and tingle, the acute awareness of how close he was.

  Alex watched her intently, his gorgeous dark brown eyes fanned by short, dark lashes. His pupils widened. She wanted to run her fingers along his jaw, across his lips. It had been six months since she’d had a lover, and that had been disastrous.

  She pulled her hand back as if his skin had burned her. She couldn’t let her thoughts slide down that path, even though she knew plenty of guys were using cons for sex—male and female.

  “You got lucky, Alex,” Sienna said, she just needed to test out his name and see how it felt.

  He met her gaze and nodded. “I know.”

  Chapter Two

  It hadn’t been hard to find out who was fighting in the Rounds. The upcoming fights were listed by deck in the Army mess. The three by eight-hour shifts were staggered among the six decks of prisoners, so at any given time, two were sleeping, two were in classes and the other two were either enjoying free time or working. The Rounds were scheduled accordingly, and took place in the prison rec area.

  Sienna found the bracket of fighters she was looking for and noted the time, just in case she decided to go. The wins and losses of each prisoner were also listed, both to help set the betting odds and also to ensure a good fight—if there was such a thing.

  She’d generally avoided anything to do with the Rounds, knowing who was behind them. Of course Lieutenant Zane would be the culprit. He loved nothing more than making people scurry around to do his bidding, and dance—or fight—to his tune. People obeyed him and the Army loved him.

  They didn’t really know him.

  It had been a slow day in the med station, leaving her plenty of time to debate whether she was going to the fight. Sienna checked the time again. If she was going, she had to leave now. She hesitated for a moment longer. Over the past couple of days—if they could be called days, given that there was no sunlight or darkness, just the artificial dimming of lights—she’d talked herself into it and back out of it a dozen times. This morning when she’d looked at the fight schedule and seen his number, she’d been keen to go. It wasn’t about the fight. She just wanted another glimpse of 1789.

  What if this was his last fight and she never got another chance? She pressed her lips together. She’d go for one fight, just his fight. That was all. She wasn’t even sure why she wanted to see Alex Tariel again. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was hot. And he was stuck in her head, there every time she closed her eyes. Maybe this would cure her of the obsession.

  If someone needed assistance they could press the button—she was on call for an extra four hours anyway. Most of the time she spent it in the med station, and used the time to study—there was nothing worse than enjoying a run in the gym and being interrupted because a prisoner had supposedly fallen down the stairs. While her roommate worked a different eight-hour shift, they’d come to an agreement that they each got the room to themselves for two hours after their shift … mostly because her roommate had a better social life than she did.

  Sienna locked up and made her way to D1, where the fight was being held. She’d already have missed the first few, but there was only one she was interested in. And this way she’d be able to slide in at the back, unnoticed.

  She’d taken a quick look at Alex’s file while she’d been updating it. He was twelve years older than she was, and had seemingly thrown away a good life on Earth. There was more to it than that, but she didn’t have access to that information.

  Based on her conversation with him, and his prison record from Earth, he didn’t seem to be railing against the system the way some were. He hadn’t lashed out, just accepted his sentence and been a model prisoner. It was calming the way he seemed to accept what was going on, when she wanted to scream at how unfair it was that she was even here.

  The noise swelled, and echoed off the metal before she even hit deck 1. Then a hush took hold of the crowd. From the stairs Sienna could see half of the ring marked out on the floor. During the fight there was near-silence, as the crowd watched, enthralled.

  Prisoners were kneeling on the floor, while Army and Air Force ship crew stood around the outside. There were maybe sixty spectators in all, including over a dozen women in blue or sandy brown. Did the female prisoners have such fights? Probably not. But it was interesting that so many women were here watching, unconcerned about being surrounded by men. Sienna pressed down on the bubble of panic. She would not let it take hold. Zane didn’t have that power over her. Once again she wished that he was a million miles away from her and still on Earth.

  She scanned the crowd once more, looking for the horribly familiar face, but didn’t see him. She relaxed a fraction, and turned her attention to the fight.

  After about thirty seconds she understood why women came to watch. Muscles were on display, and in this otherwise stark and cold environment there was emotion and heat and tension. She tried not to think about what each landed punch meant for the body that wore it, and instead tried to admire the way each guy absorbed it, and hit back.

  Sienna drew in a breath at the physicality and glanced around at the rapt expressions of the crowd. It was so much better that this came out in the Rounds and wasn’t left to boil over. There’d only been a few brawls so far—but there was still plenty of time for things to go wrong. Tensions were always running high.

  One of the fighters, a tall skinny guy, landed a punch that dropped the other man to his knees. He looked solidly winded. Everyone started counting down, and then it was over. Skinny guy collected his token and kissed it with bloodied lips, then grabbed his crotch with his other hand. His words were drowned out by the buzz of the crowd, but there was no prize for guessing how he was going to spend the token.

  Sienna suppressed a shudder, even though she knew someone would happily take the token and give him what he wanted. The Rounds enabled male prisoners to buy some time with a hopefully willing female prisoner. She was sure that was where all the fighters spent their tokens. Her stomach turned. Was Alex any different? For a heartbeat she stood still and almost turned to run back to the safety of the med station. But she was only here to watch, nothing more. She could push aside reality for a few minutes and admire … couldn’t she?

  In the short break between fights she moved down the last three stairs and edged along the wall to get a better view. A sergeant moved aside for her without batting an eyelid. Bets were being taken. 1789 versus 0363.

  She shook her head when they came past her. There was no way she was getting that caught up. She was just here to see Alex fight. He was a magnet she apparently couldn’t resist. He was a man who gave her hope that on Solitaire she wouldn’t end up bitter and alone, and showed her that she was still capable of wanting a guy.

  As a woman, she knew that she could pick and choose who she wanted—on this first fleet of ships, women were outnumbered 4:1. But until the other day, she hadn’t seen anyone who’d made her look twice. She rarely got to mix with civvies, unless it was for medical training, and other soldiers were off limits, officially. Besides, after last time, she was never dating another Army guy. Ever. Especially not an officer with a rich family and connections. She pushed Zane out of her mind.

  Alex stepped into the ring and took off his shirt. His cheek held the shadow of a bruise, but the skin was healing well. He might end up with a small scar. His fingers flexed, and the silver of his cuffs gleamed in the artificial light. He didn’t bounce on his toes, or swing his arms as if practicing his punches. Instead, he stayed calm and still as he waited for the fight to begin.

  There was no way he could be that relaxed. Sienna’s stomach was knotted, and she was only watching. Other parts of her were getting tense, too—and damp. 1789 ha
d somehow managed to awaken her sex drive, which had been AWOL since the attack. Her hand moved toward her neck, but she forced herself to keep it by her side. The bruises had faded long ago, even if the memory hadn’t.

  Alex and 0363 faced off, guard up. She watched his hands, the way his shoulders and biceps moved with every punch and block. Unlike 0363, and the previous two fighters, Alex did block, protecting himself and using his cuffs almost as weapons to damage his opponent’s hands. His chest heaved as the fight went on, both men slick with sweat.

  Sienna’s lips parted. She pressed them firmly together. She didn’t get turned on by watching two men punch each other. No, she got turned on watching Alex—1789—fight. She had to think of him by his number.

  The other guy stumbled and Alex used the split second to force him out of the ring. She glanced at the clock. Four and a half minutes. She could think of better ways to spend four minutes with Alex. 1789, she corrected herself again. But now that she knew his name, it was hard to see him just as a number.

  She couldn’t use him for sex, that would be wrong … unless he wanted sex too. All Army and prison personnel had been given a five-year birth-control implant under the guise of getting the colony established—the civvies could apparently breed like rabbits. And everyone had been medically screened. From Alex’s file, she knew the only condition he’d had was the beginnings of chem-lung. He’d been treated and put on the ship. On Earth they didn’t treat prisoners, they let them die.

  She watched as he pocketed his privilege token with no public display. He gave a nod to the spectators and picked up his shirt. Job done. In that second she knew he wasn’t here for the glory, just the payment. She wanted to know how he’d spend his token. Then he glanced in her direction, and for a moment his cool mask of indifference was gone.

  He knew she’d come to watch him.

  Her heart gave a couple of erratic beats. It was only lust. Lust that had suddenly been given a jumpstart by a construction foreman turned thief. A man she might have walked past in her own neighborhood without ever realizing it. He’d lived in the same suburb as her parents, according to his file.