by M. C. Planck
A warning from Prudence, and Altair could crush this monster under its heel. But in silence, its poison would destroy a foe ten times its size. The remnant of Altair Fleet would be loyal to Dejae and afraid to move. While it did nothing the clones would build more ships, extending their web across the sector until they could defeat planetary fleets without cheating. In a hundred years Altair would be a sea of Dejaes, and the sky would be blotted out with their ships. Then they would be unstoppable. The entire galaxy would be wiped clean of humanity and replaced with Dejae.
It might be an improvement. Presumably the Dejaes treated each other better than ordinary people did. Under the rule of clones, there might not be any more Strattenburgs.
Remembering the frightened young monk on Monterey, she knew it was a false hope. The clones were not better people than people.
The boat shuddered as clamps seized it. Its gravitics whined and died, and she could feel the lock cycling as the air pressure subtly changed.
“Take them to holding. In one piece.” The Dejae spoke the order to his men, and swept out.
The spider remained, watching them impassively.
Glaring, the men pulled her and Kyle to their feet. They were not gentle or modest.
One leered at her, his hand slapping her buttock. “Don’t worry, pretty little thing. The monks won’t touch you. But they’ll let us show you a good time, before they space you as a waste of mass.”
“Fuck you,” Kyle said, earning a beating. The soldier punched him in the face several times while others held his arms.
“Knock it off,” their leader said. “He has to be able to talk.”
Dragged through the corridors, they came to an elevator. The ship was built on the vertical, instead of the normal horizontal. Like an old rocket ship instead of a surface vessel. Prudence wondered why. Passive grav-plating didn’t care which way you laid it. Maybe the monks had not trusted their opaque sky, and had built their ships in deep holes in the ground, like missile silos, easier to conceal than shallow pits. Or maybe they were just crazy. Not every action had a reason. Not everything made sense.
The brig was small, with only two guards. The clones obviously didn’t intend to take a lot of prisoners. Kyle and Prudence were forced into a bare room, with solid steel walls. Chains hung from the ceiling, and there were bloodstains on the floor. Their bound hands were held high above their heads while a chain was looped between them and locked. Now they stood, naked and helpless, but after enough hours their legs would give out. Then they would dangle. After enough hours of that, their lungs would collapse, and they would die.
The leader of the guards explained the bloodstains with a grisly smile. “The monks believe in corporal punishment. They say it improves discipline, but I think they just like flogging. The chain is so you have to choose to stand and take it. If you do something stupid like turn around, they’ll flog your front side, including the naughty bits.” He leered at Prudence’s nakedness. “Not so much a problem for you, missy. But that’s good news. Maybe there’ll be something left for us to play with when they’re done.”
“Fuck you,” Kyle said, through his bloody mouth.
They didn’t even bother to beat him this time. Laughing, they walked outside, and sealed the door.
“Prudence.” Kyle sounded so lost and alone.
She shook her head. They still had to wait.
But not for long. Five minutes and one of the guards from the brig came in, the huge steel door whining as it opened and closed.
He walked around them, leering. Trying to intimidate her. Futilely, given the circumstances.
“Jobson and I talked about it, and we decided not to wait on the tender mercies of our employers. I won the throw, so I get to go first.”
He took his jacket off and hung it over a camera on the back wall.
“No point in letting that pervert Jobson watch.” Prudence marveled at the sensibilities of rapists. “You think about how you want to play this. It’ll likely be the most fun you’ll have for the rest of your life.” He advanced on her warily, his hands open and in front of him.
She didn’t react. He grinned, and spoke to Kyle. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn too. The monks are like that. Fine for them, eh, a planet full of men. But Earth if an ordinary man don’t get to missing a woman something fierce.”
Kyle didn’t speak. He must know he couldn’t prevent this. He must understand that not provoking the guard had to be the best thing he could do for Prudence.
Yet she could guess how much it cost him to remain silent. To look away in shame and helplessness. She could guess to the billionth of a credit what the cost was, because she had looked away helplessly while they beat Jorgun.
“You can scream or cry if you want.” He seemed disturbed by their silence. “I turned the audio off. I didn’t want to gag you. You wouldn’t be able to tell me how much you enjoyed it.”
He stepped in, close, the stench of his sweat overwhelming. She heard cloth rustle and metal clink as he undid his trousers.
Turning her face back to his, to stare him in the eyes, she put one leg up over his hip.
“Eager to get started.” His leer was vile, up close. “I like that. It won’t make me hurt you any less, but it’s a good try. Don’t forget to tell me how much you like it.”
She pulled him in close and put her other leg over his hip. Now she rested her weight on him, so she could reach up and grasp the chain, instead of hanging from it.
The guard grinned and tugged at his trousers, trying to pull them down without dislodging her legs.
Twisting, she pulled him around, turning in a circle. Focused on the heat of the moment, he did not realize which direction she was leading him.
When his pants fell to his ankles, the belt buckle clanking dully on the steel floor, he grinned at her and leaned in close.
“A kiss, first, then.”
She squeezed him tight and stared into his eyes. She let herself hate this man, with all the years of righteous wrath she had carried since a sixteen-year-old girl had traded her family for jars of ashes. Using him as a platform, she swung one leg out and over his shoulder.
Annoyed, he reached up to grab her leg. She flipped the other one up to join it. Locking her left foot behind her right knee, she squeezed.
Stupidly, he spent the first fifteen seconds fighting her, pitting the strength of his arms against the strength of her legs. Only when the lack of air began to weaken him did he think to start hitting her. She struggled with him, twisting and cranking at his neck, trying to avoid his blows while keeping the pressure up. He started pulling away, and now she was fighting just to keep her hold.
They staggered around in a circle, bound by the chain, and she realized she was losing. He kept getting loose enough to catch a breath. Soon his attacks would hurt her enough that she couldn’t hold on.
There was a sharp crack. She felt the force of the blow even through the guard’s heavy body. He stiffened momentarily, his eyes suddenly focused on some distant point, and then sagged limply in her grip.
They swung together, for an instant, until she let him fall. Lying on the ground at an unnatural angle, he feebly twitched his arms, trying to reach his broken back, while drool spilled from his mouth.
Kyle grinned savagely. “I might have broken a toe.” He had kicked the guard in the spine. The guard’s attempts to retreat had only brought him within range of Kyle.
Kyle stretched out and put a foot on the guard’s throat. She shook her head.
“I know,” he said. “They almost certainly have him on a sensor. If we kill him, they’ll come. I’ll wait until the door opens. I’ll give you as much time as I can. But please, Prudence. Say something.”
She couldn’t speak yet. Instead she released the chain and stood on the ground again, staring up. She would only have one chance. Carefully, her hands opened wide, fingers spread in a net, she spat the medallion out of her mouth.
Wet and slick, it slipped through her
fingers, fell to the floor, and began to roll away.
Kyle stepped on it, quick as a snake.
“What the…”
Shame at her failure, at muffing the one chance they had to live, washed over her, released by the gift of Kyle’s second chance. She sobbed uncontrollably, tears spilling from a breached dam.
“What is this?” Kyle asked wonderingly. Gently prodding it with his toes, he tried to pick it up.
Prudence’s heart thudded. If he activated the device unknowingly, the blade would spring out at some random direction and cut off half his foot. She had thought it was impossible, but she remembered Jandi’s easy release of the blade.
She tried to warn him, and failed. Now that her mouth was free of the secret it had borne, the medallion that it had hidden while she stood by and let Jorgun’s heroics save her life, she found her voice was silenced by grief.
“I don’t think I’m flexible enough,” Kyle said. Gently he pushed the medallion over to her, avoiding the flopping guard.
She reached out with her foot, her toe brushing his. The contact was electrifying, the promise of hope burning like a branding iron.
Carefully, methodically, she maneuvered the medallion under her foot, until her toes could grip it. Experimentally, she sagged on the chain, letting her taped wrists take all of her weight.
It wouldn’t work. The pressure rendered her hands nerveless. She could not hang upside down and transfer the medallion from foot to hand. She couldn’t leave one foot on the ground and still reach her hands.
Standing on her other foot, she raised her leg and pointed it at Kyle. Straining at the limit of her strength, she flexed at the waist and brought her foot to his face.
He smiled at her, absurd in these terrible circumstances, but it made her heart light and feathery. Bending his head to her foot, he took the medallion in his mouth, his breath hot on her sole, his lips soft and wet.
She put her foot down, and they leaned toward each other, straining against their bonds to share their first kiss.
Their lips could not reach. But he pushed his tongue the last few centimeters, and she took the medallion from him, savoring the taste of his mouth on it.
Standing straight again, she flexed her wrists, bringing the blood back into her fingers. Paradoxically calmed by the galvanizing physical contact with Kyle, she took aim and tried again.
Her fingers wrapped around the medallion, snatching it from the air.
No tears this time. She was done with tears.
Flicking the knife alive, she sheared through the chain without effort. Her arms fell, weak from exhaustion and weighted by the loop of metal. She caught herself before the metal clanked on the floor. Or before the knife, still extended, wounded her.
She didn’t have room for any more mistakes.
Kneeling to the ground, holding her hands at floor level and twisting them around, she still could not reach the tape. At least she could cut the chain lower down, opening the loop so the metal links could slide quietly into a pile.
Standing, she stepped over to Kyle. Before she cut him free there was one thing that was more important, one thing that was more necessary than saving their lives or the entire galaxy. One thing that had already waited too long.
She kissed him, their lips finally meeting, the heat of their bodies shared, their tongues touching without restraint.
Afterward he stared at her, amazed.
Carefully she reached above his head, extending the blade again. She would have to operate by sight alone, since the knife gave no feedback. Touch would not tell her the difference between tape and flesh.
He stood perfectly still, trusting her. Even after she moved the knife away, his hands did not move. They stayed, locked in place, until she stepped back and nodded.
Released, they flew into action. Kyle knelt over the guard, rifling under his clothes, until he found the sensor patch. It was held on by staples instead of tape. As painful as it must have been going in, taking it out would be twice as bad. Not that Prudence cared about that. Now that Kyle knew where the sensor was, he could safely begin stripping the guard. He got no further than tugging on the trousers before the guard moaned in pain and voided his bowels.
Kyle stood up in defeat. “If we move him, he’ll die.” Prudence didn’t care about that, either, in the long run. But for the next few minutes it was important.
Lying in his own filth, gurgling, the guard wasn’t intimidating anymore, merely pathetic. Prudence looked down and allowed herself to pity him. This would be her last memory of the man, and she chose pity over hate.
Kyle was already planning the next move. “Sooner or later, the other guy is going to get worried. He should call for backup, but that means admitting he broke protocol in the first place. So instead, he’ll open the door to see what’s taking so long. Try not to kill him, Pru. You can cripple him, but try not to kill him.” While he spoke, he cut the tape from her hands with a knife from the crippled guard’s boot.
He hugged her and kissed her ear. She wanted to melt into his arms and stay there, forever. Instead, she stood against the wall, on one side of the door. Kyle took his post on the other, the knife reversed in his hand so he could club with the hilt. And they waited.
Long, long minutes, but so much easier to bear. The memory of Kyle’s embrace clothed her, resting on her bare skin like armor.
The door whined.
“Fucking fuck, Holbing, what the fuck are you…” Jobson’s voice trailed off into silence as the empty room came into view. Like the idiot he was, he leaned forward to get a better view, his head coming through the doorway.
“Hey,” Kyle said.
Jobson turned to look at Kyle. Realizing it wasn’t Holbing, he pointed his splattergun at him. Finally realizing the naked man was not a danger, he whipped his head around, just in time for Prudence to reach up and touch his face.
She slid the knife in between his eyes. Just a few centimeters and out again, straight and neat, like she had seen the operation done on old medical vids.
Jobson stood there, staring at her.
“Give me that,” Kyle said gently, taking the gun from him. “And that,” unbuckling the man’s utility belt with its little pockets of ammunition and key cards. “That’s a good boy,” he said, unclipping Jobson’s microphone from his shirt pocket. Methodically he stripped the man down to his underclothes, claiming his trousers and boots for himself. “Now just sit down here and be quiet for a while, okay?” Kyle guided the passive guard into the room, and pushed him to the floor. Jobson, his brain no longer fully functional, stared in amazement at the dull metal floor.
Touchingly, Kyle draped the guard’s shirt around her, where it hung like a badly fitting mini-dress. Prudence shrugged her arms into it and fastened three buttons. It was romantic, or would have been, if it had been his shirt. And less sweat-stained.
Kyle had already stepped out of the cell and swept the control room with his gaze and the barrel of the splattergun. Prudence followed him, unconcerned. The room was obviously empty. If it weren’t, they would have already died in a hail of gunfire.
Kyle found a leather jacket hanging off a chair. He put it on, but had to zipper it closed to hide his bare chest. Wearing a jacket inside a spaceship looked ridiculous. She almost gave him the shirt back, but she didn’t. Not that she cared; but she did not want to expose what he had chosen to keep private.
He fumbled at his new belt, made a selection, and touched a key to the cell door. It whined shut.
“Their shift has to end soon.” She let his voice wash over her, grateful that it spared her the effort of trying to speak. “Otherwise they would have spent longer talking themselves into trouble. I can kill the next shift as they come in, but after that, I don’t have any more plans.”
She walked to the main door.
“No,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “The guards suck, but the ship designers don’t. That door won’t open from the inside. Only from the outside. Those idiots were as much
imprisoned in here as we were.”
How could he be so sure? She looked at him in wonder.
Grinning, he guessed her question. “I recognized the brand name on the cell key. The brig locks were made on Altair. I’ll give them that much: Dejae knows quality when he sees it.”
So it was up to her expertise now. Pacing around the room, she tried to guess how the ship would be laid out. She picked a corner of the room, out of direct sight from the main door. Opening the knife again, she cut a hole in the floor itself.
The plating dropped a dozen centimeters, clanking on the grav-plating underneath. Carefully she cut through that, trying to avoid any wires or data feeds.
When she pulled the knife away, Kyle hauled the junk out of the hole. Reaching in, he grabbed the bottom layer of mesh by the steel spine that ran along it.
Carefully she cut around his hands, releasing the ceiling mesh from the deck below them. He pulled it out of the way, glanced down briefly, readied his splattergun, and stepped through the hole.
Watching him fall out of sight was wrenching. The soft thud from below was reassuring only because it was not accompanied by gunfire. She had to force herself to wait three seconds before following him.
She couldn’t hang from the edges and let herself down gracefully, because they would be too sharp. She had to step into freefall.
He caught her at the bottom, his hands strong and hard. They were in a storeroom, crowded with half-open boxes of machine parts.
“We’re going to the engine room, aren’t we,” he whispered, his eyes alive with delight. “To cause a right piece of trouble, no doubt.” Striding to the door, he opened it, and walked through it like he owned the place.
She followed him as they wandered through the corridors, tapping his shoulder to steer him. They went down three more levels before they encountered resistance. Two soldiers stepped out of a doorway. The older one looked over Kyle and frowned. Kyle’s disguise had failed, no doubt compromised by his concern for Prudence’s modesty.
“Who the hell are you?” the older one demanded. The younger one raked Prudence’s body with a feral gaze, his eyes trapped by her exposed legs.