by J A Stone
“Ma’am, yes Ma’am,” Danica replied like a beaten puppy.
“That’s Sir, Inmate, through the red door. Sign those papers Warren and I will see you on the lift, go.”
Danica took a chair and pushed up to the small wooden table, facing Caelum Fey, wearing a strange suit and gazing through her deep blue eyes like a murderer. He slowly pulled out a leather-bound notebook.
“Put this deep in your right ear,” he gave Danica a pea-sized piece of metal. She complied.
“Further—push it in til it hurts Warren.”
“What’s going on?” Danica asked.
“What’s going on is I’ve already given you a fortune to get my Daughter out of here, now shut up and listen, we have less than a minute,” British’s Father extended another item. It was a thin, folding combat knife. “This goes inside.”
“Define inside,” Danica asked, feeling cocky, but she knew, buggers.
“Choose a cavity and get it in there, I don’t give a flying shit. Your extraction is an ambulance from Moor. Look for the insignia, two days Warren, please don’t let me down. Brey is all I have. Get her out and I’ll double your second half. There is something else I need your help with, something even bigger,” he stood and faced the door, waiting for her to…
Fucking disgusting, more thoughts, but she did it, just as the buzzer sounded and the steel door clacked open on its own. Caelum Fey met the cold eyes of the female Guard and passed her a small package. She nodded to Warfell.
“Come on hot stuff, your new friends are waiting, MOVE!”
From the lift, Warfell could see where they were. It was a desolate, barren planetoid with no atmosphere—a moon. She recognized the Gas Giant Ana at a distance in the night sky and sighed. That meant Aleutha was close by in a tighter orbit.
She grabbed the rail, when the glass carriage sank below the rock and fluorescent lights popped on above them.
“Half a mile of this honey, would you like to have some fun?” the Guard smiled, coursing her eyes up and down Danica’s poorly clothed frame like a horny stepmother.
“You have been paid—do your job,” Warfell’s stare of antipathy broke straight through the Guard’s mental defenses.
Just as I thought, Danica whispered in her mind, remembering. She had extensive training in the sciences of the detainment and incarceration of human beings. Prison Guards are actors, and good ones too. But once an inmate recognizes and sees through the subterfuge, it’s over and the fake anger simply has no more effect.
“Yeah, sure, sure thing,” the woman stared a hole through the floor.
After an eternity of awkward descent, the complex opened up wide below the lift, it was massive.
“Welcome to the Silvercrest Reformation Complex. I am required to remind you at this time that this facility exists in a pressurized, contained environment. In the event of a riot, the system is set to purge the overhead bays. You have sixty seconds from the sound of the buzzer to get in your cell and close the airlock, or! They shatter—sucking all of you fuckers and any staff stupid enough to be involved into space, so…don’t start a riot.”
“Good to know,” Danica looked up to the glass ceilings. So they let the inmates see the stars, cool.
“No it aint—every single one of us is expendable if you idiots don’t behave, so know right now I will shoot you first, in the back, if I even think a riot is brewing.”
So she has a gun, more mental calculations.
The lift slowed, clanked on deck, and the doors hissed open.
“Get in there fucker,” she pushed Danica’s back hard, stumbling her out.
A compendium of oddities comes with any detainment facility. First and foremost is the wolven factor:
If you place twelve male Alpha wolves in a cage together, they will leave each other alone, even over a long period of time, spending the majority of their waking hours watching you through the bars. Why? Because they instinctively know you put them there—and only you can get them out. The focus of ultimate power shifts away from the individual, leaving them in a frozen stasis of wait.
The wolves give each other respect, something the human prisoner craves more than anything else; stripped of the faith of family and friends the captured needs to fill that void. Left among themselves; prisoners generally form societies and behave quite well.
Every single wolf in the cage knows the man outside is in control, the ultimate power does indeed shift.
Next, is the focus of that ultimate power. Men and women alike change when placed in control of other men and women—total control over life and death. These feelings of power are justified and strengthened by the facts that criminals are reprehensible abominations of humana and those very prisoners detest you as well. Yes, the wolf behaves, but he will indeed take a throat, if given a wide-open chance. The hatred on both sides becomes that intense.
To overcome this, the Guard begins torturing the weakest and even the strongest to assert the truth of his real power and shove it down the throats at every opportunity. Inexorably, the torture becomes enjoyable—satisfying for most of them.
It is the Guards they are afraid of—not each other, and for damned good reason.
Further, we have the strange cross-section of society found among the inmates. Bakers, politicians, shoemakers—it is as though a perfect sample of every lifestyle is represented, just sliced from the bad side of the free-world human pie.
Freeworld becomes a dream after time, a fictional place the inmate once lived in happily, before something went horribly wrong.
Finally, of course one should know never to throw food in the middle of the wolves. They give each other the respect they need, but there will always be those who no longer give a shit. Pecking orders evolve. Champions, leaders and followers are quickly established when the Guards are not looking.
And last, even the Guards respect and fear the true monsters—like cute little Brey.
“I’m looking for a girl—name’s Brey, she’s really short?” Warfell asked for the dozenth time. People just pointed deeper into the wide-open complex. Great. She moved on through the crowded common area, shooting occasional glances up to the glass bays and the Stars, maybe a thousand feet above them. It was so cold on deck, she shivered and clasped her arms tight together as she dodged between the thousands.
“Hey!” a booming bass voice came from behind. Danica turned and smiled wide. “Do I know you from somewhere Lady? Are you okay?”
Bigfoot Bob grabbed a nearby inmate and took the tattered blanket he was using as a cloak. He pushed the startled man away as Warfell closed the distance and fell into the massive arms, allowing her tears to come. Robert did not know what to do.
“Yes Bobby, you do know me—and I need you bad right now.”
She backed away and the giant covered her with the blanket like a Good Knight.
“Didn’t we do a job together last year with a little four foot nothing crazy-girl? What was her name?”
“Brey,” Danica smiled. “Her name is Brey.”
“Brey Fovea, I remember, and you are Denali Warren!”
Denali huh, good enough for me, she thought, motioning the big man to follow her. Hallways shot away from the massive common area where the individual cells were located. She was about to enter the nearest, when a tiny woman shot forward through the crowd—it was Brey.
“Right here people—why’s my name in your mouths all over this place?” the pixie with a blanket cape placed hands to hips, assuming a ridiculous power pose.
“Damn it’s good to see you walking and talking British, um Brey,” Warfell stammered on the edge of tears.
“Follow me,” Brey turned and they followed.
Brey’s cellblock was almost empty. As the giant, wraith, and pixie approached a bench, near the center, several inmates approached. Danica-Denali immediately recognized her Salvos Knights as they gathered around in a defensive mode.
“She’s cool, everyone, this is Denali Warren, yes that Denali Warren,�
�� Brey sat on the concrete table and faced the tall woman with long platinum hair whose name was now Denali.
“I believe my Father gave you something for me?” she asked.
“It’s too far in my ear, I can’t get it out,” Danica answered.
“Nope, I’m talkin’ ‘bout sumpin long and hard, should be in the honey hole.”
“It is not, I will need a bathroom.”
“You put a three hundred thousand credit weapon in the poo hole?”
“Ease up on me and listen, before we go a step further, you need to know that I have been fully briefed, but!” Danica paused. “For me to do this right I need to hear it again from you, to collate the two for a full picture of the escape—this must be done right…no mistakes.” It was her only shot at understanding a way out of there. Denali smiled. “Get me to a toilet so’s I can shit this hunk of metal out.”
“Dammit-man, three hundred thousand, one of the most sophisticated, weapons made…” Brey was bitching and moaning as she washed the weapon clean in a small steel sink.
“Sorry.”
“Could’ve put it in the honey hole.”
“Break it down for me please, every detail, starting with what put you here,” Warfell reclined on a bunk and stared at the metal ceiling.
Fovea was convicted of murder, twelve counts, when she acted outside of the law, personally executing twelve officers of the Tiborean Army. Since she was off base, civilian authorities held jurisdiction despite the efforts of her commanding officer on Aleutha. He tried to get her back, he did.
As far as the plan Danica needed to learn so desperately, Brey was aloof and coy, teasing the tall warrior. Finally, Danica asked outright what was up.
“Really?” Brey’s response followed by a sigh. “I guess now is as good a time as ever. Denali, will you repeat after me in a loud, clear voice? Marmot steals the eggs? Tommy, will you get us the stuff and leave us alone for a minute?”
“On it,” Tom Snow in another time and world replied, jogging away as Warfell repeated the words, realizing it was the code for their EVAC.
“Everyone else, you know what to do. It’s go time folks, move.”
They scattered, all but Robert.
“He stays with me,” Denali warned and Bigfoot smiled, booming with pride.
“She likes me, remember when we all worked for…”
“Shush! Ya big palooka,” Brey held a hand up. “Okay, he can go, in fact he just may be perfect for the launch,” Brey smiled. “How much do you weigh ol’ chap?”
“Eight hundred, I’m still pumped up from my last job,” Robert answered.
“Which was?” Brey.
“Murder—I got caught,” Rob.
“No freakin’ way, alright, come here both of you and get naked for me.”
Brey wrapped both tight about the groin first in plastic from garbage bags, followed even tighter by flexible athletic injury tape taken from the infirmary. They were instructed to get dressed.
“Okay, now the important part. Take these and hide them under your shirts.”
“What are these?”
“Hoods, you’ll see, come,” the way too confidant pixie strolled down the hall towards the massive common area.
“Silvercrest has over five thousand inmates,” Brey said to Denali and the Giant over her shoulder just before the cacophony of people overcame them. Pushing her way at first until recognized, Brey came to the very center and lay down on the concrete beneath the thousand-foot skylights. She motioned Rob and Warfell to do the same.
“But not a one of them can do this,” she whispered as a fight broke out in the distance. More commotion followed.
“How’s your vertical jump big man?” Brey asked, gazing at the Stars.
“Solid, I am very strong.”
“Good, when the glass breaks and I say so, you grab us both and leap for it, you’ll understand why. We need to be first,” Brey laughed.
“First for, damn the gods, you crazy mother...” Danica started.
“I KNOW—RIGHT? Okay, the beacon in your ear is what our EVAC will pinpoint, so we must cling together tight. Important! Listen! Before we get to the half-way point, you need to take a breath—not a deep breath because it will expand. Pull the plastic over your head and squeeze it tight with all of your might—got it?”
Horns sounded throughout the complex as a rattling voice boomed through the stale air, warning the inmates to return to their cells. Another voice, a computerized female voice began a countdown from twenty, but the fighting continued in earnest. Cell door air locks were clanging shut everywhere. Nearby, Danica saw Tom Snow blow her a kiss with a smile from safe inside a cell.
They stood, wrapping arms about Robert, finding a good grip as he crouched low and took several deep breaths.
“Now sweetie,” Brey spoke with her face to the skylights as they ruptured outwards without a sound, the sonic wave being too slow to evade the vacuum.
He leaped and they rose. With one arm wrapped around Bigfoot’ neck, Danica pulled the thick, clear plastic over her face, snatching the catch tight and praying to whatever god would listen to let her live through this as they ascended like lightning upwards among silent-screaming inmates, guards, chairs and scattered trash. She felt a cold, so cold on her skin it burned.
The ambulance was there waiting above, bay doors open. Danica saw the Moorian insignia on the belly of the spacecraft. She looked down at the thousands dead, floating away amongst the rubble of the purged prison.
What a price, she thought as the white light engulfed her and the bay doors caught the three like a mother bird.
Brey peeled the plastic away and breathed the wonderful, recycled air. Warfell and her giant did the same, breathing deep and smiling involuntarily.
“Not yet,” Brey placed a finger to mouth, leaping to the side of the pressure-chamber door. It hissed open and Brey extended the knife with a flick of the wrist, it clacked open three folds, producing a shiny straight-bladed Wakizashi.
“Hey! You’re not…” that was all the crewman got out.
They sneaked forward to the flight cockpit, hugging the walls until Rob leaped for the left and Warren snatched the right, both snapping the necks clean. They dragged the pilots to the pressure hold, tossed them in with the crewman, closed the hatch and hit the release button. Danica didn’t feel a damn thing.
When Bigfoot and Warfell returned to the cockpit, Brey had them well underway, despite the overwhelming com-chatter. No ships followed, they simply weren’t prepared for what just happened.
“I’ve set course for Aleutha, six hours.”
“Why so long?” Even Rob knew it did not take six hours to traverse the gas giant’s system.
“Gotta shake any tracking attempts, we will need to enter Ana’s atmosphere to knock out this craft’s beacons—and electrical systems too,”
“Missus Brey, my big Brother taught me a lot about this stuff these ambulance shuttles don’t insulate good—we’ll freeze to death.”
“You have a big Brother?” Brey’s smile was infectious. “Don’t sweat it, we’ll scoop in fast and take her out manually by sight. Once clear, I’ll reboot.”
“Reboot,” Rob repeated the word, head sideways. “That simple huh?”
Brey winked, moving her eyes to an overwhelmed Danica. “You okay partner?”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Meh,” the all too familiar reply.
“Take me home,” an exhausted Denali Warren whispered, leaning back in the padded chair and closing her eyes, soon falling fast asleep…
“Denali, Denali, hey, wake up, we’re here sweetie,” Danica opened her tired eyes to see her British holding out a hand. Something was wrong, she was weak, gaunt, felt like going back to sleep.
“Rob, carry her in, Dad will know what to do.”
Two muscular arms raised the tall warrior from the cockpit, carefully cradling her and walking swiftly to a steel door, hewn into the bottom of a mountain.
Danica Warfell, AKA Denali Warren, found herself on a comfortable bed. To either side sat Caelum Fey and little Brey. Across from her, Bigfoot leaped up from a chair.
“She wakes!”
“Thought we’d lost you Warren,” Brey leaped to hug her neck as her Father spoke.
“Your body was shutting down, you have not eaten for days. Thank you, payment has already been made—you are a very wealthy woman now. Just one thing, I need a new name for your forearm citizen-chip. who would you like to be?” Caelum Fovea smiled wide.
“Danica Warfell would be mighty welcome,” she said. At least she could just be herself now.
“Danica Warfell it is. Once you’ve eaten, I need to see you in my study, alone.”
“Daddy?” Brey warned and Danica smiled.
“Give her more credit Sir, she can handle it,” Warfell gazed proudly at the personae of British Fey, and then sternly at her Father. Just like the prison guards, the game was over with Mister Fovea/Fey. She knew he knew—the tension in the air was stifling.
“Dad, do you two have a history I’m unaware of?” Brey asked as the staring contest thickened. Finally, Caelum broke the contact, moving his wise orbs to his Daughter’s deep, inquisitive browns.
Several hours later, Warfell felt more herself, considering. Talking with her partner, both girls stopped abruptly when Caelum Fovea appeared at the door.
“Come with me, both of you.”
They walked, Caelum quickly turning to face Bigfoot in the common area. “Master Robert, the house is yours, Tawnee is my Manager and Number One. She’s in the kitchen and will bring anything you wish.”
Shadoweye appeared in robes, smiling and bowing respectfully to the big man. She winked at Warfell and waived as if she knew something, because she did.
“Come girls—I have answers,” Brey’s Father motioned them to follow.
Bout fuckin’ time, Danica thought and Caelum shot her a quick glance, as though he somehow heard.