They thumped down on the main asteroid. The prison rose before them, a complex of concrete buildings topped with guard towers. Fort Blackwell Military Disciplinary Barracks, unofficially known as Hell's Hilton, was the most secure prison in the galaxy with a history of zero escapes. Many of its prisoners were famous: Corporal Leighton Redmond, who had gone berserk on Earth, firing a machine gun in his son's kindergarten; Colonel Wilfrid "The Strangler" Temperley, once a commander of an entire space port, revealed to be the serial killer who had raped, strangled, and stolen the underwear of six female soldiers under his command; Sergeant Brooklyn Ann, who had stolen scum eggs during the war, then released them in a crowded shopping mall, letting the hatchlings kill thirteen people.
And one scrawny computer hacker I once commanded, Ben-Ari thought. One little genius I now need more than an army.
She and Kemi donned their helmets. Their stolen Military Police armbands shone for all to see, the letters MP large and red on a white background. With deep breaths, they stepped off the ship onto the surface of the asteroid.
A dozen armed guards awaited them there, and more guards stared from the towers, submachine guns in hand.
"Good morning, men!" Ben-Ari spoke into the communicator in her helmet. "I'm Captain Einav Ben-Ari, Military Police. I've come to speak to your warden. Take me to him at once."
The guards glanced at one another. Ben-Ari's insides shook. She was famous across the military, perhaps across all the Human Commonwealth. She had led the platoon that killed the scum emperor. She had given only one media interview after the war, but it had been viewed by millions. Everyone, from general to guard, knew of Captain Ben-Ari, heroine of Earth.
I just pray they don't know I'm now a wanted woman, she thought.
"Ma'am!" A guard saluted. "We didn't realize you served in the MP, no longer the infan—"
"Officers move between corps, soldier," Ben-Ari said. "Take me to your warden. Now."
They led her through several layers of doors, each built of fortified metal, each guarded by guards with big guns. Finally they walked down a cell block. Cages—they looked too cramped to even be called cells—lined the corridor, row after row of them, stacked together. Prisoners languished inside like human hens. The stench of sweat and human waste hung in the air. As Ben-Ari and Kemi walked by, prisoners catcalled, hooted, pulled down their pants to flaunt their genitals, then screamed as guards hit buttons, sending electricity pulsing through their cages. Some of the prisoners showed signs of repeated electrocution, their bodies charred, their faces sallow.
No wonder they call this place Hell's Hilton, Ben-Ari thought, suppressing a shudder. Yet as horrifying as this prison was, it was a five-star hotel compared to the prison she had seen in the DMZ, the one the marauders had overrun.
Only minutes after they had landed, Ben-Ari and Kemi entered the warden's office.
We have maybe another hour, she thought. Ninety minutes at most before the ships chasing us arrive, before we join Hell's Hilton as permanent guests.
"So. Captain Ben-Ari. Lieutenant Abasi. You're here about one of my inmates."
Colonel Caleb Smith, warden of Fort Blackwell, was a stodgy man in his fifties with a thin white mustache.
The two women stood before his desk. His office held framed photographs of famous prisons from Earth, from the Bastille to Alcatraz.
"Yes, sir," Ben-Ari said. "We're here to interrogate Corporal David Min-jun Greene, currently serving a life term for cybercrimes. He still withholds information about his many crimes. We will extract it from him."
"Private," said Colonel Smith.
Ben-Ari frowned. "Sir?"
"Private David Greene," the warden said. "Not corporal. We demoted the boy, of course."
Ben-Ari nodded, cursing herself for her mistake. "Yes, sir. Of course."
Smith leaned back in his seat. "Captain, I appreciate your service in the war. You served honorably. You are a heroine of humanity." His voice betrayed just a tinge of bitterness—envy perhaps? Wounded pride that a mere girl should become a heroine while he, a respected colonel, languished on an asteroid?
"Thank you, si—" she began.
"But this is highly unusual," Smith continued. "I interrogate all my inmates personally here at Fort Blackwell. Inmate Greene has surrendered all the information he has. Trust me, Captain, when I waterboard a man, he talks. I spill water. They spill secrets. Greene now rots in his cell. I cannot allow anyone to see him, not without approval from high above."
Ben-Ari stiffened. "I told you, sir. Approval is incoming. If you had a wormhole here—"
"I do not allow wormholes near my prison, Captain. Not with some of the galaxy's most notorious cybercriminals in my possession." The warden leaned forward in his seat, and now a flash of anger filled his eyes. "Inmates like Greene could use a fucking toaster to hack into the HDF's most secure computer systems. I will not allow wormholes within a light-year of the bastards I hold here."
Ben-Ari nodded. "Understandable, sir. I appreciate your concern for our security and your passion for your profession. But my lieutenant and I are on a highly classified mission, serving alongside Military Intelligence, and require immediate interrogation of—"
"You served in the infantry, didn't you?" the warden said. "During the war."
She froze. "Yes, sir, but—"
"You fought on Abaddon, did you not?"
Ben-Ari inhaled sharply. "Sir, I fail to see how—"
"I know what the other corps say of us." The colonel rose from his seat. He was an imposing man, tall and broad. "They look down on the Military Police. They call us the traffic cops of the galaxy, handing out parking tickets while better men fight." Smith narrowed his eyes, staring at Ben-Ari. "Tell me, Ben-Ari. Why would a decorated war heroine, a captain in the infantry, a warrior who won many honors, join the Military Police, the most scorned of all corps?"
He knows, Ben-Ari thought. Damn, he knows, he knows.
At her side, Kemi squirmed but remained silent.
Stay calm, Kemi. Let me talk.
Ben-Ari met the colonel's eyes, staring steadily, refusing to evince her fear.
"Yes, I fought the scum in the war, sir," she said. "I defeated them. And yes, I won many honors. But the true enemy of the military, sir, comes not from external forces. It comes from weakness within. The Roman Empire did not fall because some barbarians were gathering outside the gates. She fell because rot spread within her walls. I joined the Military Police to fight the true enemy: criminals within our ranks. Let the others sneer." She raised her chin. "This is where we find honor."
The colonel's stance loosened. He nodded. A thin smile touched his lips. "Well said, Captain. Well said. It's why I myself joined the MP. We're a misunderstood lot, but we understand our own code of honor." He pulled a box of cigars from his desk and held it out. "Cubans. Actual Cubans from Earth. Technically illegal here in Fort Blackwell but . . . even wardens bend the laws sometimes." He winked.
Ben-Ari had never smoked a cigar, but she and Kemi accepted them, and soon smoke filled the office.
"Sir," Ben-Ari said after a few puffs, "we have reason to believe that Private Greene still withholds sensitive information. I commanded him myself at one point. He coded the microchip implanted into Staff Sergeant de la Rosa, the soldier who led me to the scum emperor. Greene still holds many secrets. I can get him to talk, but I need him alone. I need him on my ship. We have devised . . . new ways of making prisoners speak."
For the first time, Kemi spoke. "We have ways." She flexed her metal hand.
The colonel puffed on his cigar, feet on his desk. "I assure you, Captain, Lieutenant, I've interrogated Inmate Greene. Thoroughly. I've used enhanced interrogation techniques, over and over. Whatever information he has of his criminal activities, he revealed."
"You mean the waterboarding, sir," Ben-Ari said.
He nodded. "Repeated waterboarding. I broke him."
Ben-Ari turned toward the framed photo of the Bastille. She studied
it, then turned toward the colonel. "There are . . . older, more intense methods of interrogation. Methods that have worked for thousands of years."
Kemi nodded, opening and closing her metal fist. "That can still work."
"Methods that are illegal in military installations," Ben-Ari continued. "Methods that involve a hell of a lot worse than waterboarding. Aboard my ship, we've built a special chamber. A chamber full of special tools. We'll take the prisoner only ten thousand kilometers away from your prison. Legally, we'll be outside military jurisdiction. And we can . . . test our new tools."
"We'll test them well," Kemi said. "And it'll be nice and legal."
Colonel Smith licked his lips. "So you mean . . . torture? Real torture?" He inhaled, a tremble to his breath, and his pupils dilated.
"I mean," Ben-Ari said, narrowing her eyes, "that on our ship, he will speak."
"And scream," Kemi said. "They say there's no sound in space. But I bet they'll hear his screams for light-years away."
We have maybe half an hour, Ben-Ari thought. Half an hour until the MPs chasing us arrive. And then we'll be the ones screaming.
Colonel Smith tamped out his cigar and walked around his desk. "I'll go with you. I'll witness this. I'll do my part to help. Me. Two guards. The inmate. We'll board your vessel together. Two of my ships will escort us the appropriate distance away. And we'll test your methods, Captain."
A colonel. Two guards. Two ships. They were the best odds Ben-Ari could hope for.
She nodded. "Very well. But we must move at once. Now. This information cannot wait."
"Agreed," said the colonel. He stepped out of his office. "Guards!"
They flew toward the asteroid's moon—the Saint Brendan and two prison ships. Here was no moon like Luna, round and fair, but a second asteroid orbiting the larger rock. The supermax prison clung to the moon, and the ships landed beside it. Guards stepped into the windowless building, then emerged wheeling a chained, masked prisoner strapped to a vertical gurney.
"God damn," Kemi muttered, watching from the Saint Brendan's bridge. "They got him trussed up like Hannibal Lecter."
Ben-Ari stood at her side, staring through the viewport as they wheeled Noodles across the rocky surface. "Hannibal? Like with the elephants?"
"Never mind, Captain. Twentieth century buff here. Even Marco never understood half my references, and I spent years regaling him with them."
The airlock opened. Warden Smith entered the Saint Brendan first, followed by his two guards who wheeled the chained Noodles.
"Take him to the interrogation room," Ben-Ari told the guards. "I'll lead the way."
She walked through the ship, heart pounding, breathing between her teeth.
Calm yourself. You can do this.
She led them down the corridor, opened the door to the bridge, and stepped inside.
"In here," she said.
The guards wheeled the gurney, Noodles strapped onto it, into the room. The warden followed. The stocky colonel narrowed his eyes.
"This is your interrogation room, Captain?" he said. "This is your bridge. What—"
Kemi raised her metal hand. A bolt of energy blasted out, rippling the air, and hit one guard. A second bolt flew. A second guard fell.
The colonel spun toward Kemi, cursing, and reached for his gun.
Ben-Ari swung her own weapon, pistol-whipping the colonel. He hit the floor with a thud.
"Lieutenant, take us out," Ben-Ari said. "Now. Fly!"
Kemi nodded, her knees shaking. She leaped into the pilot's seat and hit buttons. The Saint Brendan began to rise from the asteroid. The two guard ships, unaware that their colonel was lying unconscious on the bridge floor, rose with them.
They traveled slowly. Still too close. They had to be distant from any heavy world, even a large asteroid, to engage their azoth engine, bend spacetime, and blast forward faster than light. For an object as small as an asteroid, ten thousand kilometers should do it. Ben-Ari watched the distance on the HUD. A thousand kilometers. Two thousand. Three thousand . . .
She glanced back at the three unconscious men.
The colonel was stirring and reaching for the communicator on his wrist. Ben-Ari slammed her pistol down again, hitting his head. He collapsed again against the floor.
She looked back at the controls. Six thousand kilometers from the asteroid. Seven thousand . . .
Alarms blared across the bridge.
"Damn it!" Kemi blurted out. "Our friends are here."
Ben-Ari didn't need to check the beeping dots of light on the monitors. She could see them herself through the viewport, emerging from warp drive.
A dozen MP ships. The dozen who had followed the Saint Brendan here all the way from Nightwall.
"Go to warp drive!" Ben-Ari shouted. "Now!"
"But we're too close—"
"Do it!"
"The azoth engine needs time to prime, Captain!"
"How long?"
"It's still warm, but we'll need another few minutes, and—" Kemi bit down on her words, grabbed the controls, and yanked hard to the left. "They're firing, Captain! They—"
The Saint Brendan shook. Blasts slammed into them. Walls creaked. Sparks flew from the controls.
Ben-Ari hailed the enemy ships. "Hold your fire! We have Colonel Smith aboard, and—"
"They're firing again!" Kemi pulled up hard. Photon bolts streamed beneath them.
Ben-Ari leaped toward a control board. Half the circuits were fried. She hit buttons, managed to activate a starboard cannon, and a missile flew toward the enemy ships. An instant later, a vessel exploded.
"More ships rising from the asteroid!" Kemi said. "Too many!"
Ships swooped from above. More plasma rained, and the Brendan jolted. Other ships flew from their starboard side, and bullets rang out, slamming into the hull, denting it.
"Lieutenant, I need you to activate the azoth engine—now."
"Yes, ma'am." Kemi was still tugging madly at the joystick, trying to dodge the assaulting ships. Missiles and plasma flew everywhere. The Brendan spun, careened, dipped down toward the asteroid and its moon.
"Lieutenant?"
"Azoth engine priming. In five . . . four . . . three . . ."
"Get us farther from that asteroid!" Ben-Ari said.
"Too late!" Kemi cried. "Hold on!"
The stars stretched into streaks around them.
Spacetime bent.
Below them, Ben-Ari saw the prison towers bend, curve inward, then shatter.
The hull creaked and dented.
Their engine roared, and they blasted out.
They shot forward, a bubble of warped spacetime around them, moving at many times the speed of light. Each second of travel they crossed millions of kilometers. Before Ben-Ari could exhale, the prison was as distant as Earth from the sun.
But they were not in the clear yet.
"Captain, the vessels have entered warped space behind us," Kemi said. "Our stealth engine is down. Damaged when we warped spacetime; the asteroid exerted too much gravity. The enemy ships know exactly where we are."
Ben-Ari looked at the three unconscious MPs on her floor, at the chained and gagged Noodles, and at the dots on the monitor, showing the enemy ships following.
She took a deep, shaky breath.
Damn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The buildings of Haven soared at their sides, their tops vanishing in the murk. Asphalt blanketed the colony, hiding the original surface of New Earth. The wind shrieked. Ashy rain fell. A gangly bird flew overhead, screeching like fingernails on a chalkboard.
"Is that one of your whistling birds?" Addy shouted.
"I changed my mind!" Marco cried back. Both had to shout to be heard over the storm. "I don't want one near my house."
He hoped that sometimes, at least, Haven enjoyed better weather. But it was hard to be optimistic. From space, the storm had seemed to cover the planet. If this was the best planet the colonists had found, he hated to see
their rejected options.
Cars rumbled down the streets, spraying Addy and Marco with mud. Not that it mattered; the rain drenched them with filth anyway. A few beggars lay on the sidewalks, asleep or maybe dead, mud staining their cardboard signs. A mouse-like alien scurried by and a stray cat hissed, fast in pursuit. Nobody else seemed crazy enough to be outside. Marco and Addy stopped at a few buildings, hoping to step into the lobby, to breathe the air, to rest, to warm up, but the doors were all locked. At a few doors, guards gave them stern looks. They carried big guns.
"Poet, can we go home now?" Addy said, the wind yanking her atmosuit.
"We're broke, so we're stuck here," Marco said. "Come on. It can't be all bad. We'll find the nice neighborhoods soon. You know, the ones with the houses from the magazine."
"Oh, those houses under the dome, right?" Addy said, her sarcasm as thick as the mud. "Great idea, Poet. Real genius thinking! 'Come to Haven, Addy! We'll eat hot dogs all day long. We'll be rich and famous and play bridge with the ghost of Queen Victoria.'" She groaned. "I'd rather be watching Robot Wrestling with Steve and Stooge."
Marco shuddered. As bad as Haven was, he still wasn't convinced it was worse than Steve, Stooge, and two robots smashing each other.
It's not that bad here, he told himself. Really! Five million people wouldn't live here if it were bad.
A bearded man lurched toward them, not even wearing an atmosuit. His face was coated with mud. "Spare a few bucks?" he rasped, revealing a mouth full of rotten gums and no teeth. "Kicked out of Earth for panhandling! Spare a coin, sir, ma—" He collapsed into a fit of coughing.
They had no coins to give the man, but Addy had plenty of glares for Marco.
"You brought us to a damn leper colony!" she said. "It's where they banish you for panhandling!"
Marco wanted to be optimistic, to cheer up Addy, to speak of finding those homes and trees and peaceful life. But the fear ate at him. This was not the military. There was no starship waiting to bring him home at the end of his mission, and the flight here had cost his father's life savings. It could take years to save enough money to fly home. This was where they made their stand, like it or not.
Earth Fire (Earthrise Book 4) Page 14