by Jake Elwood
“Remember,” Amar told them, “attempts to escape will lead to executions.” He strutted back into the smaller compound, and the gate swung shut.
For a moment the prisoners continued to stand in a tidy queue. Then they all moved at once, self-consciously stepping away from one another, trying to pretend they had never stood meekly in a line. Tom moved to the fringe of the group and took his first unobstructed look at the prison's main compound.
Dozens of rectangular huts stood in long, straight lines, making a grid of perfectly matched buildings. The huts were unimpressive structures, perhaps ten meters by twenty, with low, gently sloping roofs and no windows. The walls were raw wooden planks. The roofs were made of planks, with almost half a meter of green junk piled on top. Tom peered at the roof of the nearest hut. The boards were covered in layer upon layer of wide green leaves, each leaf big enough to completely cover a grown man. On top of the stacked leaves was a layer of wooden poles to hold the leaves in place.
Men moved among the huts, listless figures in baggy uniforms of a darker shade of khaki than what Tom wore.
Half a dozen men rounded the corner of the nearest hut. They wore the same pale khaki as Tom and his companions, and they smiled as they drew near. “Welcome to Paradise,” said the man in the lead. He was in his sixties, with the rigid posture of a career soldier. “I hope you'll forgive me for being glad to see you. We're a bit starved for news, and with all due respect to my companions here, we're all ready for a bit more variety in the company we keep.”
“I'm so glad we could improve things for you,” someone said drily.
The man grinned. “Quite. I'm Major Shannon. This is Major Hwang, Captain Hunter, Captain Notley, Lieutenant Creighton, and Lieutenant Diaz.”
“You're Strads,” said a man to Tom's left. The rank of Major didn't exist in the United Worlds military. The Star Republic of Stradivar had established a colony in the Green Zone fifty years earlier, then fought to keep it when the United Worlds moved in, six months before. The UW had remained neutral, watching as the Strads were driven out.
“That we are,” Shannon said. “Fifth Division Silver Guard. We held the perimeter at Lysistrata Field while the last transports lifted off.” He said it with some pride, and rightly so. The Fifth Division had given up all hope of escape to get their comrades safely off New Sheffield.
Shannon held up a hand. “Let's stop with the introductions for the moment. You have some injured men.” His finger traced a ridge of scar around his left eye. “I know what the good camp commander's disciplinary methods are like. Let's get the casualties to a bunk. We'll have plenty of time to get acquainted after that.”
He led them toward a hut. “This one will be yours. This, and the one beside it. The Strad officers are in there.” He gestured to the next hut over. “There's ten of us total. I keep hoping more will show up, because it will mean our boys are taking another crack at New Sheffield.”
As prisoners began to cluster around the hut's entrance Tom grew impatient and moved to the second hut Shannon had indicated. He stuck his head in, couldn't see much, and walked inside.
Bunks in tiers of three jutted in from the walls at ninety-degree angles. The bunks were closely spaced and filled most of the available space, fading into deep shadow away from the doorway. The bunks were wood, crudely made but solid-looking. Each bunk had a thin mattress and a folded blanket. “Home sweet home,” he murmured, and stepped outside.
He found a line of officers trickling between the huts, heading deeper into the camp. He followed, counting buildings as he went. He tried to do multiplication as he walked, then gave up. The camp wasn't all that large, but the close-spaced buildings were numerous. If they all contained as many bunks as he'd just seen, this camp could accommodate thousands of prisoners.
An open area separated the first two rows of huts from the rest of the camp. Much of the open ground was littered with scraps of lumber and chunks of rough timber, piles of leaves and branches and fat square bricks. Half a dozen trestle tables stood in a haphazard row, and a dozen long benches. Several smaller tables stood near the double row of huts, in what Tom realized was the officers' end of the compound. Four men sat around the table on rough chairs, reluctantly standing as the new prisoners and their guides approached.
Introductions were in full swing by the time Tom joined the fringe of the group. He was in time to introduce himself – name and rank, nothing more – and to hear and quickly forget the names of a handful of his companions.
“I'm Colonel Fletcher,” said the oldest prisoner at the table. “I'm ranking prisoner. Prisoner Commander, they've been calling me.” He swept a sour eye across the newcomers. “I assume one of you gentlemen will be relieving me of the title.”
“There's a three-and-a-half-striper lying down in their hut,” Shannon said.
“That'll do it,” Fletcher said. “Well, he's welcome to the job, and then some. But get this straight.” He stared around him at the gathered UW officers. “You're all big boys. You're responsible for your own decisions. But you're not the only ones who'll get hurt when you do something stupid.” He swept an arm out, indicating the far side of the open ground, and Tom was startled by the way his sleeve flapped around a twig-like arm. “All of you, and your men, who will be joining us shortly. All of us are in this together. One man's blunder is everyone's hardship.”
Fletcher lowered himself into his chair, using his arms to take his weight. Which was much less than Tom had thought at first; he was lean to the point of gauntness. “I have family back home, and I intend to see them again. Is that clear? But the biggest risk to me isn't the guards, or the slow starvation, and it isn't the Red Fever that's infected the camp.” He pointed a bony finger at the new arrivals. “It's you lot. You and your men. You're newly captured, and you think it's your duty to escape. To resist. To sabotage the construction you'll be working on.” He leaned forward, the fleshless hollows around his eyes making his gaze stark and terrible. “One of you is going to do something brave and stupid, and they'll take my head off my shoulders as a reprisal.” He sagged back. “Or they'll kill so many of my friends I won't care anymore if I survive.”
A grim silence fell. After several uncomfortable seconds Shannon said, “Anyhow, now you know what you're in for.” He gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. “There isn't a whole lot more to tell you. We've been on hut-building duty for the past few weeks. There's a bit more to do. Eating facilities will likely be here.” He gestured at the open ground. “After that, it's back into the jungle to work ourselves half to death getting the planet ready for whatever it is our gracious hosts have in mind. Let's take a tour of the fence line. There won't be much to see, but we’ll see it all. Don't step over that ankle-high wire just inside the fence. They're quite serious about shooting anyone who goes close to the barbed wire.”
He headed toward the perimeter of the compound, a handful of fellow Strad prisoners with him. Tom looked at their wrists and elbows where they jutted out from the fabric of the khaki uniforms. He looked at the flesh – or lack of flesh – on their faces and necks.
They were scrawny. Malnourished.
Starving.
“Terrific,” he muttered, and hurried to catch up.
He glanced back just once. Colonel Fletcher was staring after the departing men, his face set in bleak lines, his eyes grim and dark in his skeletal face.
Chapter 5
The freighter was called the Winter Morning, and she was a disgrace.
Alice sat in a passenger lounge deep in the bowels of the ship. There were no windows, but several screens showed the view outside the ship. If you ignored the occasional flicker, it was practically the same as having a window.
There'd been one stop, she didn't know where. The screens had gone blank while the ship was still in hyperspace, and stayed blank until the ship was in hyperspace once again.
Now they were back in normal space, and she was looking forward to finding out where she was. She could see the local s
tar in the distance. It had a bit of a smeared look to it. She suspected it was a binary star, which would narrow the list of candidate systems. She was hoping for Novograd, her home system, but she didn't think this tub had the speed to reach Novograd this quickly. New Panama was another possibility, but the system held very little to attract a Dawn Alliance freighter. It was probably Haultain.
The stars swung as the Winter Morning turned. The ship didn't have much in the way of internal force fields, and Alice grimaced as she swayed in her seat. She'd been spoiled by her time on the Kestrel, with its top-notch internal force fields. Back on the Free Bird she'd felt every subtle maneuver.
A planet came into view, mostly dark. She leaned forward, examining the thin crescent that caught sunlight, looking for identifying details. She saw the lights of a city just below the dawn line, and three more points of light showing smaller settlements on the outskirts.
And one more point of light, this one drifting up toward the horizon.
The freighter drew closer and the point of light grew until she could identify it as a large space station. She grimaced. This was Haultain, all right.
The station had always been a point of contention for Free Planets patriots. Built by the United Worlds, it had loomed above the largest colony in the Green Zone as an ugly symbol of the might of the colony's distant imperial masters.
Still, her heart sank as she saw what had become of the station.
The once-proud station was a shambles. Chunks were missing, as if some monstrous interstellar child had taken bites out of the metal structure. As the freighter drew closer she saw subtler signs of damage, laser scorches that marred the paint and divots where missiles had struck. A gun turret was a charred mess, the barrels of the guns melted and misshapen.
The station was still painted the blue of the United Worlds Navy, but a slow transformation was in progress. New silver hull plates showed here and there as the station's new owners made repairs. Someone had put splashes of burgundy paint somewhat clumsily over the proud UW starburst on the top of the station’s hull.
Half a dozen ships were either docked to the station or hovering in space nearby. Alice was ashamed to see Free Planets ships side by side with Dawn Alliance vessels.
Still, her people were here with ships, which meant she was about to have options.
The end of her time with the Dawn Alliance came without fanfare or ceremony. A distant metallic clatter told her the freighter was docking with the station. Soon after, the electronic voice of the ship's computer announced that all passengers would be expected to disembark.
A few minutes later, Alice and her companions walked through an open airlock and onto the space station.
At first they wandered, all of them together in a big, straggling group. Alice had never been to the station before. Several of the others had, but they told her everything had changed. So they walked along the corridors and down flights of stairs, got turned back by hard-faced guards when they came to military-only areas, and found themselves at last in what amounted to a vast shopping center.
They were at the skin of the station, with windows filling one curving wall. The opposite wall was completely jammed with shops, and the space in between crowded with chairs and tables and planters. The sight of a small restaurant made Alice realize how hungry she was. However, she was broke. They all were.
“Look,” said Charlie, and pointed. “It's a Burton's.”
She followed the direction of his pointing finger and spotted the familiar logo of the largest bank in the Green Zone. They would be able to scan her thumb, ask her a few questions, and give her access to her accounts.
“There's a data café,” said Naomi. “I'm going there. I want to find out what's been going on. And if there's any kind of system in place for dealing with refugees like us, the AI's will be able to tell me.”
She set off for the café. Charlie started toward the bank at the same moment, and Alice stood frozen, filled with an unexpected alarm. To break up the group seemed like a huge step, an irrevocable choice that should be discussed, considered.
However, it was already happening.
A few people hesitated like she did, but after a moment most of them streamed away in one direction or the other. Alice stared after them, startled by how stricken she felt. Her ship was gone, and she'd lost so many of her shipmates. The unshakable certainties that had been the bedrock of her life had all turned topsy-turvy in the last month. The United Worlds, her hated enemy, had become her ally. Her homeworld had signed a treaty linking it to the Dawn Alliance. And now the last of her crewmates were dividing up. The last anchor in her life was coming apart.
“What do you think, Alice? Data café, or bank?”
She turned her head. Bridger, her shipmate and the only other survivor of the missile attack during the Kestrel's final battle, stood beside her with an eyebrow raised. Garth Ham stood next to him.
Bridger said, “Me, I vote bank. I couldn't stand to be in a café were I can't afford a cup of coffee. And, man, what I wouldn't give for a cup of coffee.” He grinned. “Of course, I don't have an account at Burton's. But I bet you do.”
He was sticking with her. That was the unmistakable subtext to his comments, and she felt a warm rush of gratitude. She looked past him at Ham. “What about you?”
He grinned. “I don't bank at Burton's either.”
It wasn't what she'd meant, but that was fine. Ham, for some reason, was sticking with her as well. “Three cups of coffee, coming up shortly,” she said, and headed toward the bank.
Half the group reconvened one last time, crowding around a couple of tables in the back of the data café. Those who had cash shared freely with those who didn't, while Naomi related what she had learned.
“Neorome and Tazenda are effectively blockaded,” she said grimly. “No ships in or out.” She looked at Ham. “They're arresting citizens of both colonies. Your presence here is illegal.”
Ham shrugged.
“The Big Sisters are trying to help displaced citizens. They're pretty overwhelmed, though.” Naomi looked around the table. “They have an office here on the station, but it's small.” She tapped the table, pointing in the direction of the planet below. “They have a big chapter house groundside. They're taking in displaced people. They'll try to get you home, if that's what you want, or they'll try to get you a job and a place to live.” She grimaced. “Getting home won't be easy. I'm going down to the surface. There's nothing for me back on New Panama. I might as well stay here. Wait for the craziness to end.”
Several of the others were doing the same thing. Mohamed had learned that his daughter's ship was due to arrive in another week. He planned to check himself into a spacers' hostel and beg a ride when she arrived. Karen Chupik was going to stay on the station. There was a lot of staff turnover in the hardware and maintenance shops, and she expected to have a job soon.
Alice spoke only vaguely about her own plans. It wasn't that she distrusted her companions, not really. A day earlier, she would have trusted them implicitly and absolutely. Now … they were no longer her shipmates. And the café was not the most discreet place for a conversation, not when one of your companions was an illegal, and your plans centered around an action the Dawn Alliance considered treasonable.
The gathering broke up, people exchanging hugs and promising to stay in touch somehow before dispersing. Alice moved to a corner table with a privacy screen, Bridger and Ham following. She turned on the screen and the background chatter in the café vanished. She looked at Ham, then at Bridger. “You two need to think about whether you want to stick with me. I'm planning to do things the Dawn Alliance won't like.”
“That's good enough for me,” Bridger said.
“They tortured me,” said Ham. “They're occupying my colony. So don't insult me.”
Bridger leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “The crew of the Kestrel,” he said. “They looked out for us.” He grinned. “Okay, they took our ship and shov
ed us in the brig until they needed us. But they looked out for the bigger 'us'.” He moved his hand in a circle, a gesture that encompassed the entire Green Zone. “The Free Planets. The ones who aren't dead are on Gamor, because they put their lives on the line at Black Betty.
“I know you, Alice. You're not going to rest until you've done everything you can for them. And that's why I'm sticking with you.”
She looked at Ham, who shrugged, jerked a thumb at Bridger, and said, “What he said.”
“All right then.” Alice leaned back and folded her arms. “It's a cinch we won't run into any United Worlds spacers here. How do we get somewhere where we can tell their Navy what we know?”
“We go back to the docking rings,” Bridger said, “and we keep pestering captains until we find someone who'll take us on his crew.”
It wasn't easy.
At first it looked promising. The station was crowded with ships, mostly from colony worlds. The turnover was rapid and unceasing, with some ships docked for less than an hour before hurrying away. She and Bridger were both seasoned spacers. Finding berths should have been straightforward.
But every ship was fully crewed. The station was thronged with refugees like Alice, looking to work their way to the next port. And apparently every port in the Green Zone was the same.
They spent hours pestering every spacer they could find, until they gave up in weary frustration. They returned to the same shopping area, where they found a little restaurant with outside tables. They slumped into chairs, and Alice sipped coffee and thought morosely about her bank account. She was touched by the loyalty of her companions, but if she had to pay for three sleep capsules every day, they were going to bankrupt her.
“Is it just me,” Ham said, “or is everyone looking at me?”
Alice took a look at the other patrons of the restaurant and the shoppers walking past, doing her best to be surreptitious. A few people glanced in the direction of her table, but no one seemed to pay particular attention. “I think it's just you.”
