by M. R. Forbes
She had never had a problem with what she had heard about Hell. Soldiers who broke the rules needed to be punished and the Republic needed the disterium to continue heading out among the stars and protecting all of the planets under its domain.
Then again, she had never planned to be one of the assholes incarcerated here.
Packard led her and the undamaged members of the Fifth out of the transport, down the ramp and into a large, rough hangar. It was nothing more than hollowed out stone with a grated metal floor. She lifted her arm and wiped her forehead, noting that it didn’t do anything to reduce the sheen on her brow and deciding not to bother again. Her clothes were clinging to her skin, and it was more difficult to breathe. Damn the guards for their climate controlled suits.
In fact, everyone in the hangar was wearing a suit, though the mechanics and technicians were wearing something closer to a softsuit. They were cool and comfortable as could be, and she already hated them for it.
They were brought out of the hangar and into a large, metal lift. The guards surrounded them while it descended, keeping up the silence that had followed her altercation with Coli. It took nearly three minutes to reach the bottom, and while Abbey expected the temperature to decrease further from the surface, it actually seemed to get hotter.
She could tell the others were as uncomfortable as she was, and she was grateful for it. She hoped they burned down here. Lost hope. Killed themselves. Frag them.
The lift stopped. They filed out in a single column, the guards walking next to them. Packard stayed in front, beside her, keeping an eye on her until they were brought to a stop at the end of the corridor. Then Packard positioned himself between her and a heavy steel door with a biometric control pad on the side of it.
“Okay, you shitbags. Clothes come off.” He looked at Abbey and smiled. “You too, darlin’.”
She stared back at him as she pulled off her tank, keeping her eyes up when she bent to remove her pants and underwear. She heard a faint whistle from behind as she did.
Packard unlocked his eyes from her body, looking toward the back of the line. “Think you’re funny?” he said, pointing. “I said the punishment for non-compliance was pain. I guess you like pain.”
She didn’t need to look to know it was Illiard who had whistled. She could tell by his grunts as the guards laid into him.
“Get him to medical,” Packard said. Then he turned and put his palm on the control pad. The door slid open. “One at a time. You’ll get cut, branded, and outfitted. You first, Cage.”
She kept her eyes straight as she moved into the new room, taking in her surroundings. A small room. Simple. A chair. Another soldier in a climate-controlled suit.
“Have a seat,” he said.
She moved to the chair, keeping her face straight as she sat. Somehow, the metal was cold despite the heat. The man approached, holding what looked like a cap of some kind. He put it on her head, pressed a button on the side of it, and then took it off. Her hair tumbled away from her onto her shoulders and chest. A few seconds later she felt a burning at the base of her skull. She was tempted to reach back to feel the area, but Packard had said branded, and that had to be the source of the pain.
“Stand up,” the man said.
She did.
“Face me.”
She did.
He was holding a red jumpsuit. No underwear. Just one piece of thin material. He held it out to her. She took it and put it on, feeling it stretch around her as she brought it up and put her arms in. The material merged as she brought it together in the front, creating a second skin around her. At least the genitals were padded. She didn’t need everyone in Hell to get a full outline of her vagina, and she certainly didn’t want a look at every male prisoner’s package.
“Now that you’ve closed it, the material is coded to you,” the tech said. “Only you can open it or take it off. It’s safe to urinate in during the work shift, and a washer is provided in your cell to clean it. I recommend only removing it after lockdown. Head on to the next room. You’ll be given your cell assignment and work orders.”
She didn’t need to ask why he was suggesting she stay in it until she was alone. She expected as much from a place like this. She followed his instructions, moving out of the room as the next victim entered. The second area was composed of a desk with a woman sitting behind it.
“Oh,” she said when she saw Abbey. “We don’t get too many females in here. You must be Cage?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Abbey replied. Was this woman another one of Davis’ cronies?
The woman looked down into one of the drawers and then lifted out a bracelet. “This one’s yours,” she said. “It will guide you to your cell.”
“Instead of a guard?”
“Trust me, Miss Cage, once you have that on we won’t need the guards.”
Abbey took the bracelet and clasped it over her wrist. It beeped three times and then locked.
“If you try to move out of your assigned area, it’ll deliver enough of a shock to knock out a Trover.”
“Assigned area?”
She looked down at her desk. “Looks like you’ve been assigned to-” she paused and then looked at her. “Somebody out there must hate you.”
Abbey felt her heart start to pound again. She swallowed the fear, focusing on keeping her face straight. “What do you mean?” she asked, as level as she could.
“Level Twenty,” the woman said. “The deepest part of the pit. What did you do to deserve that?”
Abbey stared at the woman for a few seconds. The woman pushed her chair back, her eyes falling to Abbey’s bracelet.
“I just give them out,” she said. “G-G-G-Go through that door, it’ll guide you from there.”
A new door opened to her left. She turned on her heel and followed it out.
16
Abbey trailed the projection provided by the bracelet, walking behind a phantom figure of a guard through the corridors of the facility. It brought her directly to a second lift, equally large as the first, which left her in darkness when it closed and carried her down to Level Twenty. The deepest part of the pit. She would be mining disterium there.
For the rest of her life.
She tried not think about that. She had to live one second at a time or she wouldn’t be able to live at all. She had to keep hope when everything told her she shouldn’t, if only to get back at Mr. Davis and whoever had put him up to his bullshit.
The lift opened and dumped her out into a darker corridor than the last. It was at least another three or four degrees hotter down here, the air so thick she felt like she could hardly breathe. Of course, the Republic could use bots to mine this part of the pit, and all of the mines on Hell, but this was supposed to be a punishment as well as an operational enterprise. There was nothing punishing about letting machines do all of the work.
She kept following the projection. It brought her past other inmates who were also walking the halls. They kept their eyes down most of the time, but when they saw the newcomer, they glanced up. When they saw a woman, their eyes stayed that way, their expressions changing. How many women were down here anyway?
She was brought to a large, open area. The cell block. Nearly a hundred doors on each of a dozen floors, all arranged in a square around a central station, which rose up from the ground like a spike. Looking down, she could see a number of inmates sitting at tables at eating a thick wedge of something dark. Not all of them were human. She noticed a few other Curlatins, a couple of Plixians, a handful of Trovers, and even a Gant. That surprised her. She had never seen a Gant in person before. They rarely left their homeworld, and their enlistment numbers were already pretty low. To find one incarcerated down here?
Her bracelet buzzed slightly, sending a light shock into her arm. It stung a bit, reminding her to get moving. She did, following the projection up three flights of steps to a door at the corner of the block. It slid open at her approach, revealing a six-meter-square cell. There was a
mattress, a toilet, a slim shower, and a small, square device which she assumed was the washer for her suit. She trailed the projection inside, at which point the door behind her closed, and it disappeared.
“Now what?” she said aloud.
A projection rose near the center of the room. Packard.
“Today is going to be the last easy day of your old life,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’ll begin your new one as a disterium miner. It’s a difficult, thankless job, but then again, you’re a murderous or traitorous shitbag, and you’re lucky the Republic doesn’t believe in wasting any of its resources. Don’t worry that you have no idea what to do. Follow your bracelet, watch the others, and you’ll figure it out soon enough.”
The pre-recorded projection vanished. That was it?
The door to her cell opened again. Abbey looked at the bracelet. It wasn’t giving her any directions. She moved to the door and looked out. She could see a number of the other cells were open, too. She looked over the edge, down to the tables below. Most of the inmates had finished eating and were just sitting. A few were talking, but most looked hollow and tired. Was that going to be her fate?
She headed back to the steps, taking them all the way down to the ground. Eighty heads turned toward her as she entered the area, every convict interested in the newcomer.
“Where do I get some food?” she asked, making eye contact with them. She knew better than to show any weakness.
“There,” a Trover said, pointing to a small machine against the wall. “Touch your bracelet to it.”
Abbey went to the machine. She could feel the eyes on her back as she did. How many of them were staring at her ass? She suddenly felt naked despite the suit. It was something she would have to learn to deal with.
She tapped her bracelet against the machine, and a single bar of dark brown material extended from the front. She took it and lifted it to her nose. She had expected something awful, but it didn’t smell all that bad. She took a bite of it. It tasted pretty good. She turned around again, looking for a seat. She found one near the guard tower, next to the Gant.
The Gant was the only one in the room who hadn’t stared at her. In fact, it hadn’t looked at her at all. It’s back was turned to her, facing the table. It was sitting alone, and hunched over it in a secretive way. She briefly considered finding another seat, but she had to make a statement that she wasn’t afraid of anything about this place, even if she was afraid of all of it.
“Is anyone sitting here?” she asked, circling the table and sitting opposite the Gant.
It looked up at her. Most of it was covered by the red jail suit, but she almost smiled at the sight of its face. Gant bore a strong resemblance to an Earth mammal, the sloth, sharing a similar bone structure and fur pattern, although at a size that was about half of her own. It was holding a slim piece of bent metal between two fingers and two opposable thumbs, which it quickly tucked out of sight.
“Why did you just ask me if anyone was sitting here?” it said. “What was the point?”
She could make out the soft barking of its true voice behind her translator. It was almost cute. “I was being polite.”
“Polite?” The bark turned into a chitter that her translator called laughter. “Look around, Greenie. Polite will last you about ten seconds down here. Besides, if you were being polite, you would have taken note of my body language, which was clearly suggestive to all comers that they should frag the hell off.”
He stared at her, making an expression that she took as an attempt to look angry. Instead, it only made him look more cuddly.
“I’ve never met a Gant before,” she said. “Are you male or female?”
“That’s pretty forward of you, don’t you think? We only just met and you’re asking me questions like that? Polite? Do you even know what the word means? You want to know if I’m a boy or a girl? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
He stuck his tongue out. It looked ridiculous, and she had to force herself not to laugh.
“You’re amused?” it said. “Maybe you think because I’m small I can’t keep up? You definitely don’t know enough about Gants. Terrans don’t call us space rabbits for nothing.”
“Do you have a name?” Abbey asked, shifting the topic.
“It doesn’t translate,” he replied. “The rest of the losers down here just call me Gant. Now go away.”
Abbey took another bite of the food bar. “I’m sitting here now,” she said after she swallowed it. “You don’t like it? You go away.”
Gant hummed his amusement. “Fine. I don’t need this kind of bullshit today.” He stood up on the bench. “Watch your six, Greenie.” Then he hopped down and wandered away.
Abbey watched him for a second before swiveling around on the bench. A group of inmates had gathered behind her, a Trover and three Terrans. She glanced up at the guard tower, noting that the guards had vanished from her sight.
“Hey, Greenie,” the Trover said. “You’re in my seat. You going to move, or do I have to move you?”
“Your seat? I don’t see your name on it,” Abbey replied. “Let me guess. It’s Dik, isn’t it?”
The Trover smiled. “A female on Level Twenty. Why am I not surprised you’re a smart ass? You’re new around here, so I’m going to give you a quick lesson in Level Twenty etiquette. Number one, on Level Twenty you get punished three ways: by the work, by the bracelet, and by my orders. Number two, I’m in charge down here, and I’ve got Packard’s blessing to run this place how I see fit. That means if I want something, you give it to me, and nobody gets too hurt. You see, I could kill you, and the Warden wouldn’t bat an eye. I wouldn’t though. That would be the easy way out for you. Number three, if you earn my favor, I can get you things. Drugs. Vids. Extra food bars. Are you copacetic?”
“How did you get Packard’s ear?” she asked. “Did you do him some favors?” She raised her eyebrow, her suggestive tone not lost in the translation.
He grunted. “Packard told me you were coming. He told me to rough you up a bit, one way or another. I do what he asks, and he looks the other way. That’s how things are down here. Now, we can do this easy, or we can do this hard. I don’t give a shit which.”
Packard told this asshole to rough her up? She was willing to bet Davis had given that order to the Warden first. Was this really how it was going to be? She would rather get beaten than let him have the satisfaction.
She stood up on the bench. The rest of the cons had moved to the fringe of the room, sensing the oncoming altercation. “Come on then,” she said. “Are you big enough to do it on your own?”
He smiled and moved forward without his lackeys, extending a long arm to grab her. She sidestepped it, reaching down and taking the huge forearm and bringing her knee up into it.
It bounced off like it was hitting steel, and the Trover laughed as he grabbed her arm with his free hand and pulled her from the bench, sending her sliding across the floor. The other inmates laughed at the move.
Abbey bounced up as the Trover charged, shoulder out to slam her back and into the wall. She rolled to the side, surprised at his agility as he stopped himself, bringing a leg up and spinning, catching her with his calf. The blow knocked her down again.
“I heard you were a Breaker up top,” the Trover said. “Have you ever even been in a fight before?”
She heard murmurs from the other cons. They were probably wondering how a desk monkey wound up on Level Twenty.
She pushed herself up as the Trover approached. She couldn’t hurt him one on one; she just wasn’t strong enough. She shifted her eyes over to the food dispenser in the wall. What if a con tried to use their bracelet to get more than their allotment of food?
She ducked away from one punch, then another, rolling to the side, coming up and punching him in the bicep. It wouldn’t hurt him, but it would keep him distracted while she backed toward the machine.
He followed, joining the dance as they traded blows. She was able to stay away fr
om him as long as she didn’t get too close, dodging his flailing appendages and leading him back. He was smiling at the workout, enjoying the challenge.
“You’re a slippery little demon,” he said, laughing.
She glanced back. She was getting close to the dispenser. Now she had to get him to touch his bracelet to it.
She ducked low, lining him up and waiting for him to punch.
Someone grabbed her from the side, pulling her away.
“I don’t think so,” the inmate said before throwing her back towards the center of the room.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
She glared at the con in question, a younger, muscular Terran with an angled face, for a second before getting hit by the Trover again, his ham fist catching her in the ribs. She felt at least one of them crack as she was thrown backward, landing on the floor.
“Sneaky,” he said, moving toward her.
She forced herself up despite the pain. It was so damn hot and hard to breathe, and she hated being here already. A new round of curses ran through her mind as she braced herself against the Trover’s next attack, trying to move around him and finding her reactions slowed by the injury. It only took a few seconds for him to grab her again, and he pushed her to the floor, putting his weight on top of her.
“I can break your jaw, or you can open your suit,” he said.
“Frag you,” Abbey replied.
He punched her in the ribs, just hard enough to make them flare with fiery pain.
“Second chance,” he said.
“Go to hell.”
He punched her again.
“I’m already there. One more chance, Cage. I should tell you, medical will patch you up, but they don’t care if they do it right. You want to live down here with chronic pain on top of this bullshit heat? Or do you want to just let me do what I was told?”