Soldiers of Misfortune: Parasite Lost

by Kyle Aho

  Chapter II

  Askaro was a terrible planet. It wasn’t even a planet by most standards; there were no naturally occurring life forms anywhere to speak of and you could drive around the circumference at a leisurely pace in just under two days. The fact it had been colonized at all was due to its unique orbit, which kept the same side of the planet away from the sun it lazily floated around. This caused a constant state of bitter cold darkness on one side of the barren rock. The opposite side of Askaro, constantly bombarded by its nearby sun, was all but uninhabitable without proper enclosures but made a great location for solar energy harvesting.

  Because of this unique orbit, some of the more practical and utilitarian minds in law enforcement thought it would be a great place to house the especially nasty lot of criminals that turned up in society from time to time. It wasn’t long before a maze-like facility was built to house these criminals and between the complete darkness and a very zealous warden, Askaro prison became known as an inescapable facility.

  Bren sat on the floor, hunched over and breathing deeply as he tried not to make eye contact with the other inmates while they were shuttled from orbit to the surface of the planet. One of the men to his right spat racial slurs to the man across from him. A man to Bren’s left defecated himself from fear, causing a pungent odor to invade the already musty space. It had been a long thirty hours that anyone not destined for a cell would be relieved was almost over. The shuttle began to bump and shake as it hit the planet’s atmosphere. The shuttering intensified as they careened closer to the surface. Everyone who was used to an orbital entry like this quickly pushed up against a wall for stability, a necessary precaution when proper restraints weren’t available.

  Bren clenched his jaw tight and breathed through his nose. The shuttle rocked the inmates violently and many of them stumbled around with no padding or safety gear to ease the turbulence of the drop. One man tried to hold back a rush of blood from his mouth after biting the tip of his tongue off. It was affecting his ability to breathe so he spat it out across the hold into a nearby prisoner’s lap. Another man went unconscious after his head slammed against the wall. His limp body rolled around like a lifeless doll from the shuttles violent entry. He probably wouldn’t survive the landing.

  A few long moments passed and the shaking came to an abrupt halt that forced balance to waver and knees to buckle. Bren heard the muffed noises of someone on a loudspeaker outside. It was always the same welcome message. Some of the men filed toward the exit ramp, stepping on or over the men who fell during the landing and hadn’t yet stood up. Bren headed to the back of the crowd and took one final deep breath, held it, and closed his eyes in preparation for the next phase of the transfer.

  A locking mechanism clanged open and smoke poured in as pistons lowered the boarding ramp with a hiss. Other inmates squinted against the artificial light pouring into the cargo hold in narrow shafts. Everyone froze as the faint sound of grenade launchers thumped in the distance. A cacophony of loud metal impacts filled the cargo hold, followed by terrified and confused shouts. As the door to the holding area opened a volley of grenades flew into the confined space. They were all trapped inside as the grenades went off.

  Bren continued held his breath and kept his eyes shut tight as panic erupted around him. Flash grenades exploded inside the cargo hold and caused their heads to throb in agony and their senses to waver. Tear gas followed. Some inmates choked and fell back to the ground while others did their best to squeeze through the crowd and escape through the growing gap to the outside world. Some men left the suffocating confines of the cargo hold only to be met with a swift boot to the teeth. Armed and armored men waited outside, subduing the exiting inmates with brutal, practiced efficiency, like farmers harvesting a row of livestock. Bren did his best to keep calm and hold his breath as the beating ensued.

  Once men began to realize the beating that awaited them outside of the cargo hold there was a mix of reluctant surrender and outraged rebellion. Some men simply put their hands above their head and dropped to their knees while others charged at the guards blindly, usually just tripping over themselves or others due to the multitude of inhibitions plaguing them.

  As the gas dissipated and the inmates outside the cargo hold were taken care of, a few guards entered and cleared out the transport. Bren couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He gasped for air, inhaled a moderate dose of the gas and started coughing. Bren cracked open his left eye in time to see an electro-baton wielding guard walking directly toward him.

  “Bren, good to see you again!” the guard said, his gas mask muffling the words.

  Bren nodded at the guard in faux respect a second before the electro-baton jammed into his stomach and dropped him to the floor.

  “Feel good to be back?” the guard asked. He dragged Bren by the back of his jumpsuit down the ramp and onto the dark and desolate prison planet. Bren squinted against the headlights of several vehicles as he looked for Warden Hoskins, who he was sure would be in the crowd chewing on a cigar in anticipation.

  The guard dropped Bren face first into the hard dirt and goaded him to sit up with a shock from his baton. Bren got to his knees and rubbed the tears from his eyes with a dirty shoulder. When they were clear he looked up straight into Warden Hoskins’s face.

  “Well look who we have here,” Warden Hoskins said in mock surprise. He flicked ash from his cigar onto Bren’s cheek. “I believe we have some unfinished business to take care of Mr. Beltrami.”

  Bren coughed up a ball of phlegm and spat it on Warden Hoskins’s pant leg, only to be beaten into unconsciousness with a combination of bludgeons and electro-shocks.

  Bren awoke in a familiar cell. He recognized the smell. He felt around for the markings he had made with a shiv years before to sharpen the tool. They had put him in his old cell, his father’s old cell. Bren groaned. He sat up and peered into the darkness, noticing with a probing hand they took away his mattress, pillow and toilet paper.

  “Bastards,” he muttered. He really had to go too. Bren hauled himself up grimacing in pain and sat on the toilet. He took care of business before leaning over to turn on the sink. There was a nauseating chug followed by a few spurts of air. No liquid came out.

  “Bastards.”

  Bren squinted around his cell for something to clean himself with, the dim glow of his jumpsuit the only source of light. The cell was empty save for the rusty metal slab that was supposed to be his bed. Bren chewed off a strip of his sleeve and used it to wipe before flushing. Instead of the normal whoosh of a flush, Bren was greeted with silence.

  “Bastards.”

  Bren sat in complete darkness. In a place like Askaro, minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. Time became irrelevant. It didn’t matter how long he waited, all he could ever see was darkness or the dull green glow from his jumpsuit. Each cell was insulated to prevent any noise from entering or escaping. The sensory deprivation was maddening.

  “Mr. Beltrami?” a metallic voice said. Bren jumped.

  The voice was from an intercom in the cell that allowed the ‘correctional officers’ the ability rehabilitate inmates and confirm compliance before entering for routine cleanings. Or routine beatings.

  “Mr. Beltrami, I know you’ve awoken. I’m sending in Frank to escort you to my office. You know the routine. It would be prudent of you not to do anything stupid.”

  Bren sighed and reached out to find the wall the toilet was attached to. He put his hands high above his head and flat against the wall before spreading his legs two shoulder-widths apart. A moment later he heard the locking mechanism deactivate and his cell door creaked open. Multiple footsteps closed in behind him. Bren grunted as a pair of bionic hands crushed his forearms and forced his hands behind his back. He felt the thin cold steel of razorcuffs tighten around his wrists. He couldn’t see but Bren was positive that Frank had entered with at least two other guards, who were presumably armed. Despite his overwhelming desire to cause a ruckus Bren knew it
was best to comply peacefully. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun though.

  “Damn Frank, quite a grip you got there. Get some new hardware since I was here?”

  “Shut up B-B-Beltrami, get your ass moving b-b-before I collapse your throat.”

  “Jaw implants too? Cheap ones by the sound of it. Having trouble with your ‘B’s there champ?”

  Like a padded vice, a pair of noise cancelling earmuffs gripped his head to prevent him from discerning any map of the prison via the aural reflection of footfalls. Bren groaned as a cold hand clamped around the back of his neck and lead him out of the cell. He tried not to squirm. Frank had tightened the razorcuffs too much for his liking and he wanted to play it safe given their history. At the same time, Bren didn’t want Frank to forget who was winning their personal vendetta.

  Frank led Bren through the maze of hallways and doors. They doubled back and made unnecessary turns so that Bren couldn’t figure out exactly where they were headed or how to get there. It didn’t much matter because he was ‘muffed and not wearing the fancy dark vision contacts that Frank and his two armed associates had. All officials within the prison wore dark vision contacts, specially designed for their individual eyes. That ensured that it was more difficult for any inmate to get a hold of them, as opposed to goggles that could be stolen or obtained rather easily. It was also a minimally invasive option compared to eye implants that allowed the user to see in no light situations. Only the warden and a few enthusiastic guards had that procedure done.

  Frank shoved Bren forward and he fell to his knees. The cold steel of the razorcuffs cut into Bren’s wrists at the sudden motion. He grimaced and stood up as the earmuffs were ripped from his head. He waited for the warden to speak so he could figure out if he was facing the right way.

  “Before we begin,” a voice said to his left. He turned to face the voice. “You did not escape. I want to make that very clear. I gave you an opportunity and you, foolishly I might add, took advantage of that opportunity in the most suicidal way I can think of. You crossed me.”

  There was a pause before Bren heard a metallic ping as a small flame appeared in the darkness. Warden Hoskins took a deep puff of his cigar as he lit it; the glow cast harsh shadows across the scarred crags of his face. Once the cigar was lit, the world plunged back to darkness save for the glow of the ash. Warden Hoskins exhaled.

  “I’m sure at the time you thought you were the smartest son of a bitch to walk into these halls. I think given your current situation we can both agree that you’re not.” The warden let that sink in, as if it were a fine wine worth savoring. “And the way I see it, you owe me a very, very large sum of money to replace the lives you took and the property you destroyed. A sum that for most people in my position could only be paid for in blood.”

  Warden Hoskins took another deep drag of his cigar. Leather squeaked as he stood up from his chair and walked over to the corner of the room. Bren heard the clank of metal objects in the darkness. Warden Hoskins had a reputation for torture and an even more notorious reputation for being good at it.

  “I would love nothing more than to keep you locked up here and watch you slowly waste away in the confines of your cell. But you have a debt to pay. Fortunately for you I am a generous man. I am willing to overlook our differences. I’m willing to overlook our… our history. I am willing to give you a second chance. You have already proven yourself untrustworthy despite my generosity and as such I need to invoke an insurance policy.”

  Bren felt a horrible stabbing pain in the back of his neck as four barbs dug their way into the base of his skull. A cold, rusty hand covered his face and held him still as the barbs sunk deeper into the skin, penetrating almost to the bone. Bren felt a searing hot pain as the barbs heated up and singed his flesh, the hand on his face almost suffocating him. He instinctively tried to reach up with his hands only to have the razorcuffs dig into his wrists. Warm blood trickled down his numb fingers.

  “What you just felt is a device that has grafted itself into your cranium and cauterized the flesh so you don’t get infected,” the hand released from Bren’s mouth, allowing him to gain his bearings on the situation. “That device is rigged to explode if certain conditions are met. Or not met, as the case may be.”

  Bren wanted to yell. Bren wanted to scream and curse and give these men a piece of his mind but he knew it would only end badly for him. Instead he bit his tongue and listened.

  “If you do not complete the request I have of you, it will explode,” Hoskins continued, “If my heart stops beating for any reason, it will explode. If you go to any planet other than those I have given you permission to visit, it will explode. If you attempt to remove it, it explodes. You get the idea.”

  Bren kept silent for a moment. A long, awkward moment.

  “Well?” the warden asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “Don’t you want to know what my request is?”

  “Like I frakking care.”

  Bren heard the beep of a bomb arming itself. Warden Hoskins’ grin widened in the glow of his ash.

  “I forgot to mention I’ve taken it upon myself to clean up your mouth, Mr. Beltrami. I am in the rehabilitation business after all,” he said.

  The crazy bastard had armed the cranial bomb to explode if Bren swore. That was annoying. Saying frak was second only to actually frakking on a list of his favorite things.

  “I was hoping you would have the decency to ask, I had a good rhythm going.”

  “Never been very good at rhythm. You should see me try to dance,” Bren replied, trying to get a hold of the situation again despite his verbal castration. Warden Hoskins was not amused, and chewed on his cigar for a moment.

  “There is something on a nearby planet that has piqued my interest. A research facility to be specific, harboring very sensitive information worth a lot of money to someone in the higher echelons of the govern-”

  “Get to the point,” Bren sighed. The beeping noise started again. He tensed, instinctively wanting to run despite how pointless it would be. The beeping stopped.

  “Never interrupt me, Mr. Beltrami,” Warden Hoskins growled, “My point is that you will accompany a team of individuals to complete a bounty that will net you enough money to pay off your significant debt to me. It’s a private CivOps contract, with standard CivOps fine print. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before.”

  Warden Hoskins waited. Bren wasn’t sure if it was for dramatic effect or because he was, in fact, waiting for something. “You may speak,” he said.

  “What, exactly, is the contract?”

  “The research facility I mentioned earlier has undergone some… stress from local miners. Some of the scientists have been publicly executed for their research and the facility’s automated defenses have been activated. They have successfully defended the facility for the past few days but things are spiraling out of control. The contract states whoever can enter the facility, disarm the defenses and obtain any and all information on the research being done will split a fat check with the rest of the team. I happen to know the owner of the contract and they wanted a highly capable yet expendable asset. I suggested you.”

  Bren considered commenting on how flattered he was but figured it was in his best interest to keep his mouth shut. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea of going on a private mission where he was considered an expendable asset. Unfortunately, with the new piece of hardware clamped to the back of his skull he didn’t have a choice.

  “When you return,” Warden Hoskins continued, “we will discuss your future, or lack thereof, here in my beloved facility. Your father’s gear will be waiting for you in the transport. I’ve kept it clean and operational out of respect for him and the arrangement between us. You leave in one hour.”

  “Eat shit and die,” Bren snapped, confident that his cranial bomb wouldn’t actually explode with Hoskins in the room.

  The ominous beeping started again.

  Bren gritted his teeth
and waited for the bomb to disarm itself.

  “You leave in one hour.”