"Shit." With her hands tied she couldn't stop the flow and was forced to watch the gash drip blood across the floor. The skinny man with murder in his eyes licked his lips.
A roaring noise filled the cabin as the ship broke atmosphere. The walls became so hot that Nova had to lean forward to avoid being burnt. Safety had no place on the prison transporters, especially as they were never retrieved; no sense letting good money go to waste.
The decelerators were minimal; just enough to get past the human ethics committee but not really enough to slow the descent. The transporter hurtled through the atmosphere, straight for the desert planet.
The ship careened into hard soil with so much speed that the entire front end caved in, crumpling in on itself and destroying what little navigation equipment it had. The prisoners flew into the air; their arms ripped back by the force of the cuffs.
A sharp pain jerked through Nova's shoulder but she bit her tongue and kept her face stern as she dropped back into her seat.
The thin man with the knife cried out as his left arm snapped. It twisted back and a white chunk of bone thrust through the flesh at his elbow. He howled as blood spurted from the wound, splattering the prisoners sitting next to him. They drew back and bared their teeth. He growled back at them and curled over around his broken arm.
When the ship came to a complete stop, the cuffs popped open.
Nova sprung to her feet, fists up, ready to defend. She ignored the nagging pain in her shoulder.
The woman who had been sitting opposite her ran for the exit. She climbed out of the dented door and sprinted out of sight. The big man with chunky fists raced right behind her. He pushed past Nova, knocking her to the side.
Nova didn't say anything. The rest of the prisoners glared at one another. They all knew it was a dog-eat-dog world on Ankar; any sign of weakness now would mean death. She walked backwards towards the door, eyes darting to keep track of the remaining prisoners.
Warm sunlight streamed through the broken door and warmed her back as she drew closer.
A meter from the door, the man with the knife leaped forward. His left arm hung useless at his side but his right wielded his vicious blade. It reflected the dim emergency lights of the transporter, flashing in and out of sight. Blood already stained the serrated edge.
Nova crouched and when he came within range she danced out of the way, slamming the side of her hand into his injured arm. The force of the blow snapped what was left of his elbow and his forearm swung loose.
He screamed and whirled on Nova, his broken arm swinging with him. He spat like a rabid beast as he came at her. The knife weaved left and right at her face. She ducked out of the way and it swept over her head.
She shot up and the top of her head slammed into his nose. The sound of crunching bone echoed through the transporter. The man stumbled backwards holding his good hand to his face. Blood poured out from between his fingers and soaked the front of his shirt.
"Leave now and you live," Nova said between gasping breaths.
"You bitch! Don't you get it? Nobody lives here!" He took his hand from his face and sprang towards her, blood spraying out around him.
Even with blood pouring down his face he managed to swing his knife at Nova's neck. The tip caught her cheek and a line of crimson swelled to the surface.
A sharp sting spread over her face and made her eyes water. She blinked away the tears; she couldn't afford them.
The knife came again, this time at her stomach. She stepped back, slamming into the body of another prisoner who shoved her forward. She tripped, off balance, and stumbled towards the knife.
The man grinned and strode forward to meet her. His knuckles whitened on his knife, ready to slam into her stomach.
Her arms flailed but she had no way to stop her fall. In that brief second she cast around for anything to help her, but dented metal and blank faces met her gaze. She turned back to face him and in the last moment used her momentum to slam her right hand down onto his wrist.
His hand dropped a few inches, giving her precious seconds to regain her balance. She gripped his wrist and twisted the knife away as she swung her foot around. Her leg caught his and he fell backwards, crashing hard against the metal floor.
His hissed and scrambled backwards, but before he could get back to his feet Nova slammed her boot down on his neck. A sickening crunch broke the air.
His eyes went blank and the knife dropped out of his hand.
Nova snatched it from the floor and turned to the other prisoners, panting. "Are we going to have a problem?"
They ducked their heads and stared at the floor, hands at their sides.
Nova nodded once and tucked the knife into her belt. She took the time to look around the ship. There wasn't much that could help her; the transporters were intentionally stripped bare to save costs. She yanked a handful of wires from a control panel and strode to the exit.
Glaring sunlight flared over her shoulders as she jumped out of the side door and landed in a sandy desert. A deep crater surrounded the crumpled transporter, and prisoners gathered around the lip. Whether they'd come to pick over the ship or the prisoners, Nova didn't know.
She gripped the handle of her knife and strode up the side of the crater towards the first line of civilization; the Outers.
CHAPTER THREE
Three months until guard change.
On the outskirts, closest to where the transporter landed, tattered pieces of cloth whipped in the wind. People with sunken eyes stared out at her from under rusted pieces of metal and torn canvas. Sand piled up against the sides of meagre shelters and coated the people's skin. Torn rags barely hid their skeletal frames while skin stretched tight over their bones, like thin paper ready to tear.
Nova's gaze slid over them, taking note, but feeling nothing.
Human bones lay scattered across the ground around the shelters. A long femur leant against the nearest tent, white gleaming in the harsh sun. One benefit of over-crowded prisons; plenty to eat.
Nova shivered and strode faster, leaving the hungry eyes behind her.
The closer she got to the heart of the prison the more civilised the surroundings became. Pieces of tattered cloth became actual tents which became shacks in the Mids, which eventually became solid buildings in the Inners. The people went from huddled skeletons scrounging for a scrap of food, to armed thugs lounging around playing cards.
The buildings were all that was left of the original prison, back when there were still human guards. Initially they had been big enough to house all the prisoners. Now it wasn't even close. The cell blocks surrounded an open-air cemented area with tables and chairs that could almost pass for a courtyard. Food generators lined one wall.
Overlooking it all, loomed a square tower set on top of a low hill and surrounded by a thick wall; the guards' complex. The guards never entered the prison but to meet ethics requirements they had to be on site. It cast a long shadow and seemed to sit above the cell-blocks like a constant threat.
The only plants she saw clung to the ground as thin weeds. Their yellowed leaves looked half-dead as they shrivelled under the harsh sun.
The maps Nova had studied didn't compare to the bleak reality. Everything seemed shrouded in shades of grey, with the guardhouse standing over it all like a cancerous god.
Inside the courtyard, prisoners sat at the tables, playing cards or eating from plain metal bowls. Their eyes flickered around them, as if ready for an attack at any moment. Men with bulging arms stood at each entrance. They sneered at her as she approached.
"I want in," she said.
"Well gee sugar-doll, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement," said the first man. He smiled to reveal a gold tooth.
She rolled her eyes. "I don't think so."
"I don't think I was asking."
He lunged for her, hands held out, ready to throttle her. The other man watched with a smug grin. A few people glanced up but most kept their heads down.
Nova
stepped back out of the man's reach and ripped the knife from her belt. As he lunged for her she whipped the knife out and up. It plunged into the man's stomach. She twisted.
Blood poured out of the wound and soaked her hand. The warm, sticky fluids clung to her skin accompanied by a foul smell.
His mouth formed a surprised 'o' and his face froze. He gaped at her and collapsed to his knees. She ripped the knife out. The serrated edge tore organs along with it. They plopped to the ground with a wet squelch.
Nova's stomach churned but she kept her face expressionless.
He grabbed at his stomach, trying to hold it all in. Blood cascaded into the ground and he fell forward; face first into the dirt.
The second guard brandished a knife. His mouth twisted and he snarled as he stepped towards Nova, something like recognition flashing in his eyes.
"Kirt!" barked a commanding voice.
The man froze and glanced over his shoulder.
"Let me see her."
"I don't know if that's a good idea, sir. She's dangerous," Kirt said.
"Let me see her."
Kirt stepped to the side but kept his knife in hand and watched Nova with open hatred as she sauntered past. Ragged people scurried out of the shadows behind her and dragged the dead body away, leaving a trail of blood in the sand.
Nova held her head high and kept every one of her senses keenly tuned to Kirt. There was nothing stopping him from stabbing her in the back. She kept the knife in her hand as she stepped into the open area.
It was obvious who had summoned her. The big man sat at a cement table in the centre of the eating area, surrounded by even bigger men. He tilted his head to the side as she approached and his thick fingers thrummed against the table. His bodyguards kept straight faces although their tensed muscles stood out like rocks under their skin.
The big man waved her over. She recognised him, but unfortunately he wasn't the man she was looking for.
"Name?" he said.
"Nova," she replied. It was vital for her plan that she get in with this group, even if she had to start with lowly middle men like Amon Lockhold.
"Amon," he said.
She nodded once. Her eyes flicked across his bodyguards and she kept her knife in hand.
"Don't worry," he said. "If and when I want you dead, you'll know it."
She nodded again but didn't put the knife away.
"So. One kill before you even get off the transporter," Amon said. "And now another."
Nova nodded, hiding her surprise. News travelled fast in the prison.
"The silent type," he said with a chuckle. "I can respect that. And you're obviously handy with a weapon. Where'd you come from?"
"Hunter," Nova said. It didn't really hurt to give her history away. What did it matter in here?
"Ah, that would explain it then. Although the Confederacy is really grasping at straws if they're throwing Hunters in here now."
"A misunderstanding," she said.
"Yes," he said with a chuckle. "I'm also innocent. So, what do you want, Hunter?"
She shrugged. "Food." It was true enough; she did want food. On the other hand, the man she really needed to meet was bound to be here somewhere.
"I'll tell you what," Amon said. "As a thank you for that excellent display, you can eat. I'm afraid there are no free rooms here though."
Nova nodded.
"If you want to keep eating, you work for me."
Nova let herself relax and used the knife to pick imaginary dirt from under her fingernails. "What would I be doing?"
"Depends what you're good at," he said. "Probably security by the looks of you."
"I don't do shake-downs."
Amon chuckled. "I have to admire your spirit but I should warn you; in a place like this you don't get much of a choice. If I tell you to do something, you do it or you die. That's the rules of Ankar."
"We'll see," said Nova, refusing to show any weakness.
"Go on then," Amon said, shaking his head. "Before I change my mind."
Nova nodded once and went to the food generators. Unlike her machine on Crusader this one didn't have Many Other Functions; only one: gruel. She pressed the generate button and pulled out a heaping bowl of room-temperature sludge.
She sat at an empty table with her back to the wall. There were no spoons or cutlery so she had to satisfy herself with using her fingers. It was a gruesome affair given that they were still covered with blood. She did her best to wipe them clean on her pants but the thought of blood mixed with gruel made her stomach clench.
It tasted and felt like glue, sticking to the roof of her mouth and her throat, its rotten weak taste filling her nostrils. It wouldn't go away either. Even after she'd swallowed, a thin layer of the stuff stayed in her mouth for her to taste over and over again.
She ate it all. Even the foul tasting gruel was better than a lot of the prisoners on Ankar got. Plus, she had to be ready. There was no guarantee that Amon would let her back here.
The food made her a target. Some of the people here had spent years living off of human flesh, gradually working their way up the ranks until they made it to the inner sanctum. She'd managed it in less than an hour. There would be a lot of resentment following her around, and that was ignoring the fact that she'd killed one of their soldiers.
She scanned the prisoners. Some watched her, eyes calculating, but most ignored her. Three tall buildings surrounded the courtyard. Prisoners wondered freely in and out of the outer buildings but two burly men stood at the entrance to the central building, muscles bulging. Most of the prisoners stayed well clear, walking in a circle away from the entrance. Nova didn't need anyone to tell her that Carter's headquarters were inside.
She sighed, it would have been too much to hope for that he'd come out and sit at the table beside her.
As she finished her gruel, angry voices rose at the edge of Amon's group. Another group had come out and taken up the other half of the tables. In the middle sat a man with outrageous mods. Delicate butterfly wings sprouted from the centre of his back and his eyes glowed neon blue. Coloured lines ran over his skin, reflecting the sunlight like liquid mirrors. The people around him sported similar decorations; some had horns or wings while others had enlarged eyes. They created a colourful splash amongst the dreary grey of the rest of the prison.
"Aww honey, good thing you got those mods or you'd be one ugly ass dude," one of Amon's soldiers shouted to the other group.
"A pity you didn't, Gray, with a face like that..." a man with purple swirls on his cheeks said.
Gray stood and clenched his fists. "At least I don't look like a frickin' fairy." He nodded at the man with butterfly wings.
"No, you went with more of a cave-man vibe."
Gray stretched to his full height and stepped forward, his chest bumping against the smaller man and sending him stumbling back. The modded people drew together, creating a colourful wall in front of the bodyguard.
Gray cracked his knuckles and glared at them. "Better watch yourselves, freaks."
The two groups pulled back to their respective sides of the eating area and glared at each other. Tension hung thick in the air.
Nova's stomach tightened. She should have expected trouble. The fights between modded and un-modded were bad enough out in the real world. It would be ten times worse in a rough prison like Ankar.
"Boss says get a move on."
Nova looked up from the commotion and stared at Kirt. She'd seen him coming over but had deliberately ignored him. She needed to establish a reputation, and fast.
"Just finishing," she said, dropping her bowl to the table. She picked up her knife, slowly, deliberately.
"You know, some men get awful cold out there," Kirt said, nodding past the buildings to the city of tents. "Don't be surprised if someone comes knocking in the middle of the night."
Nova looked up at him, her eyes fierce, unafraid. "And don't you be surprised when I come knocking to let you know your boss doesn't
want you anymore."
Kirt grinned. "I'll be glad to see your corpse on someone's dinner plate."
"Keep dreaming," she said, slamming her elbow into his groin before standing and brushing past.
He grunted and swung at her. She ducked under the blow and kept walking.
"Kirt!" Amon yelled. "I told you to back off."
Kirt swore under his breath.
Nova strode onward, grinning.
She left the inner sanctum with long strides, entering the Mids. She hadn't earned the right to sleep in the Inners, not yet, so the next big thing was finding a safe shelter. Kirt was right about one thing; the prison became even more dangerous at night. She was already a target, so wherever she holed up, it had to be secure. There wasn't much chance of that in a tent.
She'd have to make friends fast. Then she'd have someone to keep watch. That wasn't going to happen before nightfall. A tent wouldn't do, the metal shacks were almost certainly all taken; they were the best shelters after the actual buildings. So it had to be something else.
Broken pieces of metal, a few broken chairs, and some metal crates dotted the ground around her. Eyes watched her from the shadows; she could feel them on the back of her neck. Whatever she did, it had to be done quickly, carefully. Any one of these people would rat her out for a bowl of gruel.
The crates gave her an idea.
She found a solid one with thick sides that no one seemed to have claimed. She gripped a heavy handle and pulled. It dragged through the sand, straining Nova's muscles, and leaving a trail. Her legs and back ached as she heaved and sweated all the way back to the slums of the Outers, where tattered cloth passed for shelter.
She didn't doubt that Kirt would come looking for her, but hopefully he'd expect her to stay in the Mids. Hopefully.
She found an empty shelter that didn't smell too badly of death and pulled the crate inside. With hurried steps she retraced her path and kicked sand over the trail the crate had left.
Prisoner Page 2