The Iron Maiden

by Piers Anthony

  They waited tensely all day. The children kept looking out the portholes, but it was useless. Neither party returned. All they could see was swirling sulfur storms.

  But then a tiny travel-bubble floated toward them. “It must be from the station!” Spirit cried. “They got through to it!”

  Sure enough, it was Hope and Helse. Spirit flew across to hug him. “You made it!” she cried.

  But the news was much worse. Only Hope and Helse had made it. All the women of their party were dead, taken by the hell that was Io’s surface.

  And the second party had to be dead too, for they had neither reached the station nor returned to the bubble. The remaining women lifted the bubble and searched the region, looking for telltale tracks of any moving party, but there were none.

  Spirit got the story in agonized pieces. They had not known how bad it was. None of them should have left the bubble. Only blind luck had gotten Hope and Helse through; the women had sacrificed themselves to save them, and then they had missed an avalanche only because Helse had spooked and ran, and Hope had followed her. The folk at the station had been kind hearted, but too late.

  Hope and Spirit tried to comfort each other, and Helse, true to her word, left them mostly alone, merely bringing them food at intervals. The loss of their father had been awful, but the loss of their mother was worse, because she was all they had had left. Except each other.

  “If only we had known,” Hope moaned. “All we had to do was float our bubble directly to the station and ask for help. They would have given it. The scientist—his niece looks like Helse. Or did. She’s actually four or five years older.”

  Spirit grasped at this illusory straw, as if it was better to have been saved in maybe than lost in reality. “What’s her name?”

  “Megan, he said. Her picture did look like Helse. It was taken when she was that age.”

  “That makes two girls you could love.”

  He laughed, and that was a relief, because it was the first break in their terrible gloom. “Maybe so. But Helse’s all I need. And you.”

  Spirit would have been thrilled, if she had not been so steeped in sorrow for their mother. “In different ways,” she said.

  “In different ways,” he agreed, and hugged her again. They cried together some more.

  But even the depths of their grief could not suppress them forever. In about three days they came out of it enough to survey the situation. The bubble was on the way to Leda, a much closer destination, as it was the next moon out from Callisto. The scientist had recommended it, and it made sense, because it was a military base with Hispanics in charge; there would surely be refuge there. But the bubble itself was a disaster area. The other children had been mourning similarly for their lost mothers, and a number of them had no siblings. They faced the dread abyss alone—and some of them had found ways to kill themselves. So now the complete bubble complement was ten grown women and seventy-two children. The children were moving into the various tasks of operating the bubble; not only was it necessary, it gave them something to do.

  But they were passing back through pirate territory. All of them well understood the danger. When a ship overhauled them, Helse and Spirit and several of the older girls became boys, just in case. The ten women garbed themselves to be as attractive as possible, and loosened their hair, knowing that often all pirates wanted was sex, and it was easiest to give it to them and let them go away.

  Spirit hid in one chamber, and Hope and Helse hid in another. They listened as the men came aboard. The men were brutes from the start; Spirit heard them hitting the women and swearing. There were screams. The men wanted the women to hurt as they were raped.

  It got worse. Soon the screams took on a truly ugly quality, and Spirit realized that the men were killing the women, stabbing them to death. Rape and kill, literally.

  Then they started opening the chambers. There were new screams as the children were dragged out. These were the worst pirates yet; they intended to leave no one alive.

  Her cell opened. Spirit tried to play dead, but the pirate reached in and grabbed her arm. She screamed.

  It didn’t stop him. He hauled on her arm, and she was jerked violently forward, for his arm was muscular and gravity was light. Then she got smart and remembered her finger whip. It was on her left hand, which remained free for the moment. She oriented as well as she could, and let fly at his face. She caught him on the cheek, rather than the eye she had aimed for.

  He cursed and slapped at his face. Then a form dropped on him. It was Hope, coming to her rescue! The pirate dropped into the cell, and Hope dropped after him. Hope caught the man about the head, trying to draw it back, trying to choke him, but his strength and weight were too slight. The pirate roared and brought a hairy hand back, catching Hope by the hair, yanking him forward.

  “Spirit!” he gasped.

  That galvanized her. Why was she standing there watching? She pounced on the knife in the pirate’s sash and snatched it out. The man wasn’t even aware; he was still focused on Hope.

  Hope brought up his knees and clamped the pirate about the head. He was doing his part; now she would do hers. She considered, then went for the most likely target. She gripped the knife in both hands and stabbed the pirate in the belly.

  Unfortunately, it was only a glancing strike. It drew blood, but was not lethal. The pirate roared and went for her, but Hope grabbed him again. Spirit went for the man’s face, but he jerked back and avoided it.

  Hope grabbed him once more, giving Spirit a third chance. This time she made sure; she drove the knife into his throat, as fast and hard as she could. And this time she scored. Hot blood spurted, drenching her as the pirate dropped.

  Hope took the knife from her hand, and she realized that she had gone into a kind of trance of horror. She had killed!

  Her brother did what had to be done. He got them out of the chamber, leaving the dead pirate there, and closed its door, and hauled the dead woman over it so that the other pirates would not find their companion. Then he got her into the next cell, with Helse. “Play dead!”

  The three of them played dead. It wasn’t hard, for they were covered with gore. Spirit was sobbing, but she struggled to keep it quiet, so that she would not be heard above the tumult elsewhere in the bubble. Hope held one of her hands and Helse held the other, providing silent comfort. It helped.

  No one looked in on them. Finally it was silent in the bubble. They heard the lack closing as the pirates departed.

  Now they came out to see what remained. It was awful.

  All ten women and 27 children were dead. Now their total complement was 45 children.

  The following days were nightmare, as they cleaned up the disaster. Hope and Helse, being the oldest, hauled the bodies out to join the men. Hope became the den father figure, and Helse the den mother. They organized it to provide comfort to any child who needed it. Spirit helped, and found that comforting others helped her too. The whole group became like a single family.

  The children rebounded surprisingly swiftly. It wasn’t that they had lost their grief and horror, but that they were, perforce, in survival mode. They spread out to do what had to be done, to clean and operate the bubble, finding solace in the hard work. They cried often, but were starting to smile again too. The family concept lent them all strength. Everyone understood everyone.

  And they oriented on defense. They had a big meeting in the bubble commons, and thrashed it out. Every child participated; no child was denied a fair hearing. They knew they were all in this together, and that the price of failure was brutal death.

  They settled on a three stage program. Stage One was professional innocence; they would be cute and sweet and beg the intruders not to hurt them, giving the pirates a chance to be decent. Stage Two was to fight; Spirit had a whistle, and when she blew it, every child would bring out a weapon of some sort, be it a sharp knife or only a hard nail, and attack the nearest pirate, going for the eyes and the crotch first. They rehe
arsed with pirate-sized dummy figures, so that even the smallest child could do some mean damage in that first instant of surprise. With luck they would overwhelm the pirates. They would not stop until all enemies were dead; that was another lesson learned the hard way.

  If that did not work, they would go for Stage Three. This was the dreadful one. One of the toilet tank’s release bolts had been weakened, set up so that it could be bashed off, letting the fecal matter fly. But its automatic safety lock was jammed open, so that the entire bubble would be blown out in moments, and all unsuited occupants would die. Helse would say “Do it!” and Hope would go out the rear airlock, climb around to the bolt, and do it. All the others would have that little time to get suited and hidden in their cells. With luck the pirates would not catch on in time. They would be vulnerable because they couldn’t rape any girls while being in space suits.

  They practiced diving into their own suits and sealing them instantly. They held frequent surprise suit-up drills. They knew how much time they would have from the “Do it!” moment, and made sure they could get prepared within it.

  Then, ready for anything, they got bored. There needed to be a distraction, because bored children were mischief, and there was still a distance to go before they found sanctuary. So Hope and Helse decided to get married.

  That appealed to the children. It would make it even more like a family. Spirit was put in charge of operations, and she was delighted; she had gotten over her jealousy of Helse, knowing how much Hope needed her. Hope was functioning well as the leader of the bubble in large part because of his love for Helse.

  The kids got into it with gusto. They made Helse a wedding gown from swatches of cloth taken from all over. They planned for a wedding cake. They formed a choir and practiced the wedding march. They planned out every detail of the ceremony, lacking only a priest. They even made Hope and Helse rehearse the wedding kiss, which they enthusiastically applauded.

  In due course they were ready for a full dress rehearsal. Hope lacked a formal suit, so had to wear his pace suit, complete with the helmet, which would be opened for the nuptial kiss. “Take off the suit that night!” one child yelled, and they all burst into wild laughter at the thought of attempting sex in a space suit. All of them understood the mechanics of sex very well, thanks to the pirates. Helse donned her fancy patchwork wedding gown. It even had a name tag: HELSE HUBRIS, just in case she couldn’t remember it after the fact.

  The lookout sounded the alarm. The children scattered, fetching their weapons. Then they returned to the ceremony, playing the innocents.

  Hope went to the rear lock, ready to use it if given the signal. “Get suited!” he called back to Helse. But she was busy organizing the children, and didn’t get to it before the pirates entered. Maybe it would be all right, and if not, maybe she could still get suited in time.

  Stage One was played out. “Take all the girls for brothel slaves and dump the boys,” the pirate leaned said. He looked at Helse, still lovely in her gown. “But this one we’ll take for ourselves.”

  Spirit blew the whistle.

  The bubble exploded. The children, well primed for this, drew their weapons and launched themselves at the pirates. The smallest tackled the feet, wrapping their little bodies around the men’s legs, anchoring them so that they could not move effectively. The middle sized ones stabbed viciously for the men’s crotches, shredding cloth and quickly drawing blood. The largest went for the pirate’s heads, slashing at their eyes and noses, jamming stiletto needles forcefully into their ears, and slicing blades across their throats. None flinched or held back; they knew better. Half the pirates were down and screaming within seconds, but their attackers did not quit. They intended to keep cutting until there was nothing left but red meat. Once these children had been innocent; once they had cried at scratches. That had been a long time ago, subjectively. Today they were vicious little killers.

  Some men were alert, and defended themselves effectively, surviving the first rush. But there were several children for each man, and they did not hesitate. They stalked their prey like rabid squirrels, closing in from all sides, eyes gleaming, teeth bared. Each child had his or her specialty, and fully intended to score. Even the tough grown men were daunted by this rabid attack. With every second that passed, more children rose from their kills and came to join the ones in pursuit of standing prey. They were taking losses, but none were backing off. The kill fever was on them, and it could have only one end.

  Spirit, supervising, kept her eye on the larger scene. She knew that their greatest risk was from the unexpected. She glanced at the front lock, and saw a new man appear, carrying a solid, squat device. It didn’t look like a pacifier, but she wanted none of it. “Take him out!” she screamed, and launched herself toward the man.

  Five other children turned at her words, saw the man, and charged him, knives ready. He held his ground, pulling a trigger. The box burped, and something heaved out. It looked like brown taffy as it splattered against the body of the nearest child, with fat strings spreading out. They became tentacles, wrapping the child, pinning his arms and legs, so that he fell helplessly.

  Spirit stopped, realizing that they were up against something new and deadly. How could they nullify this taffy gun? The man was squirting shots at all the closest children, tying them up without touching them himself. They weren’t hurt, just helpless.

  Spirit backed away, and so did others. They knew they were going to have to invoke Stage Three. For a moment there was silence, as the fighting faded.

  Then more men appeared at the entrance. “Take your pick,” the man with the taffy gun said tersely. “No sense wasting taffy on brats we’re going to kill anyway.”

  Spirit caught Helse’s eye. Helse backed away from the pirate she had just stabbed, turned, and spoke to Hope, who was standing in his suit by the rear lock. “Do it, Hope!” she cried, and bolted for her cell to get her own suit.

  The pirate fired the gun. A wad of taffy caught her on the back and wrapped around her, bringing her down. She was of course the first one the pirates would rape; even in this scene of mayhem she was stunningly lovely in her gown.

  Spirit saw Hope start back from the lock, wanting to help Helse. But she screamed from the floor: “Do it! Don’t wait for me! Do it, or we’ll all die!”

  Reluctantly, he turned back to the lock. Meanwhile Spirit was running to take her place beside their old small drive unit. She had to protect his exit. She closed her helmet, sealing her suit.

  He went through the lock, closing it behind him. Spirit stood with her knife held in her suit mitt. But the pirates weren’t coming this way. They were already clustering around Helse, pulling the strands of taffy off so as to get at her body. Spirit wished she could help her, but she knew that Helse was done for, one way or the other; there was no longer time for her to get into her suit.

  She heard the clank as Hope opened the outer portal of the lock. She hit the switch for the bubble’s large drive unit, cutting it off so that Hope could get past without getting fried. It didn’t make much difference in the motion of the bubble, because it was now anchored to the pirate ship whose far greater mass stabilized it. In fact the pirates were so preoccupied with Helse’s revealed breasts and thighs that they didn’t notice.

  Spirit counted patiently from one to sixty, giving Hope time; then she hit the switch again, turning the drive back on. Now he was on the hull, and no one could follow him.

  Most of the children not caught in taffy or killed by the pirates had disappeared, going for their own suits. Some had been caught by the pirates, who were tearing off their clothes. Spirit had thought that grown girls were what the men really wanted, but realized with an ugly shock that some actually preferred little girls. They were grinning as the girls struggled and screamed, relishing it.

  The cluster around Helse clarified. They had gotten most of the taffy off, and one man was holding her arms stretched over her head, while another was clasping her bared mid section, get
ting her into position for the first rape. His erect member looked huge as it shoved toward her. “Hurry, Hope!” Spirit whispered.

  Time dragged on. The pirate thrust into Helse, and she screamed, not so much from pain as from despair. Spirit know that she had wanted no other man but Hope to touch her, and that was gone. Helse knew she was about to die, but had wanted to die pristine, in her fashion, for Hope. Spirit shared her horror and anger.

  Then, abruptly, it changed. The air sucked out of the bubble, drawing everything toward the hole. Things and bodies swirled madly for a moment, and Spirit herself was drawn toward it. Then it stopped; the air was gone.

  The pirates were dead, of course. The ones who had been raping Helse were now so much meat. But so was Helse.

  The job wasn’t yet done. Spirit went to close off the interior valve, so that the pumps could restore the lost air in the bubble. She dragged Helse’s body away from the pirates, so that it would look as if she had died alone. Then she returned to cut off the drive so that Hope could come back inside.