Crusade For Vengeance (Dark Vengeance Book 2) (34 page)

The guards moved along the walkways in their light-blue, medium, unpowered armour.  Each wore an Energy Baton on their left hip and Mag pistol on the right, at least most of them.  Some had their weapons the other way around.  Valerie guessed they were left handed.  Strange that no one had been able to explain that peculiarity of humankind after thousands of years.

She pushed the errant thought away.  Valerie found it happening more often as the weeks dragged into months, with nothing to break the monotony.  She forced herself to concentrate on the guards.  It was all she did most days.  Pick an empty table and lay out on one of the benches, her head on the day’s new pillow for her cell.  With her eyes focused on a spot of the ceiling between the suspended walkways, she would use her peripheral vision to keep track of the guards.

In that time she had learned they were disciplined.  They moved around randomly, often stopping to talk to their buddies, but they never took their helmets off and never looked away from the prisoners below.  The armour was not Legion issue.  Valerie recognised it as a commercial variant.  It was strong enough to stop a Mag round, but would struggle with shots from a Pulse weapon.  The armour would not protect them from her, if she was close enough and landed a clean blow.

There were always a minimum of twenty guards on the walkways at any one time.  If one wanted to step out, they waited for their replacement.  The guards had a ten hour shift.  Two hours into the Rock’s day, twenty men and women entered through the single door over the showers.  Once they were all in position, the previous shift would leave.  The third shift started two hours before lights out. 

It was difficult to do an exact count, their armour was all identical, but using sizes and sex, Valerie thought there were approximately fifteen more guards beyond the door at any given time.  It would give this playpen an adequate reserve, should they ever need it, until more could be summoned from elsewhere.  She had not been able to tell if they had the same shifts looking after them.  She suspected so.  The voyeurs who liked to watch her shower were there every day without fail.  No doubt the guards were effectively prisoners as well, though with much nicer accommodations.  If the rumours were true and this was a space station somewhere, the guards would not be able to leave easily.

A commotion broke Valerie’s train of thought and she looked up.  It seemed Marcie and her gang were up to their old tricks.  As she sank further into despondency, Valerie stopped caring what was going on around her.  She noticed Marcie pushing the boundaries Valerie set but left her to it.  She hadn’t been able to find the emotion inside of her to care.

Marcie was clearly picking on the wrong woman again or in this case the wrong women.  There were three of them.  All stood taller than Valerie and without a gram of fat on any of them.  Each had their hair in the same style.  A single ponytail tied tightly in a knot at the back of the head and shaved sides.  Their sleeves were rolled up as far as they would go and the front of the jumpsuits half unzipped.  It was all to display their tattoos.  Gleaming fire ran down each of their left arms with complex designs on their chests, necks and right arms.

“Spartans,” Valerie said quietly to herself.  “Where did they find you?”

Unsurprisingly, Marcie and her gang weren’t doing very well.  Three were already down and the others wouldn’t be far behind.  She was about to lay back and let them get on with it, when a flung body hit Quin’s Hispanic friend Ingrid.  The small woman had not made sure she was clear enough of the fight and went down with a cry.  Quin wasn’t far away and reacted quickly to help, but one of the Spartan women took it as a threat.

Quin had some training.  She was just able to block the Spartan’s punch and return it with one of her own.  Her opponent didn’t even try to stop it, but let it land on her jaw with little effect.  Quin had the barest moment to look surprised before she was doubled over by a blow to the stomach.

“Shit!” Valerie swore.  She needed Quin if she was going to have a chance at getting out of here.  The woman still refused to have anything to do with her, but it was obvious she had connections with the other prisoners.  Possibly with the guards as well and she just punched a Spartan in the face.  Quin would be lucky to live, let alone walk again.  By the time the guards decided to intervene it would be too late.

All of this flashed through Valerie’s mind in an instant, the prospect of combat burning through her despondency better than anything else in weeks.  She was off the bench and moving, old instincts keeping her speed down to more normal levels.  Against three Spartans she might get away without using her enhanced physicality, but she was going to need all of her skills.

Quin was on the floor, curled into a ball and probably felt like she had been hit by a cargo shuttle.  Her Spartan opponent stood over her.  She was about to follow up with something more permanent, when Valerie arrived.  The woman sensed her approach and spun to meet her.  The Spartan’s right arm swung out viciously to be blocked by Valerie, allowing her a hard jab to the woman’s kidney.  She grunted in pain and surprise at Valerie’s attack, stepping back out of immediate reach to give herself time to recover.

Valerie didn’t let her and drove in with a right, left, right, combination of punches.  The woman managed to stop them, but Valerie closed the distance and landed an elbow to the nose.  Her head snapped back.  Valerie followed it with a knee to the stomach and, in the same move, took out the other woman’s knee.  The woman collapsed to the ground.  She was down not out.  There was no time to make sure.  The other two had noticed they had a worthy opponent.

Swiftly finishing off what was left of Marcie’s gang with contemptuous ease, they came at Valerie.  Much as Hanna and Deni tried to do on that rooftop months ago, the Spartans split to encircle her.  Valerie was not going to let them and went for the taller of the two.  Unlike the first one, this woman was expecting a skilled attack.  She was able to hold Valerie off long enough for her partner to come in from the other side.

Valerie found herself caught between them, desperately trading blows, as each side tried to find a weakness.  Several times she moved to extradite herself from this losing predicament.  Each time the Spartans moved seamlessly to block her.  They were landing blows more often than she could manage.  Had she been a normal human being, they would be wearing her down.  With her enhancements, she was able to accept their blows and keep going. 

She saw the slight surprise in their faces, the increased determination to take down this woman who dared stand up to them, two against one.  Out of the corner of her eye, Valerie saw the third was back on her feet and about to join the fight.  In moments she was going to have to do something that would mark her as different.  She wasn’t going to have a choice.

“STOP!  Cease fighting and step away immediately.”  The call came down from overhead and this time Valerie didn’t comply.  She couldn’t and, just as she knew they wouldn’t, the Spartans refused to stop the fight.  Their honour was at stake.  The guards activated the bands.

Burning fire raced up Valerie’s arm.  It felt like it was melting in a pit of lava and she didn’t drop.  She stood there and rode the pain as she stared into the eyes of the tallest Spartan.  All three of them had stopped fighting and she could see the pain written on their faces, but they refused to fall.  They would rather die first.  That was what the shining fire tattooed on their arms meant.  They had learned to conqueror physical pain.  For them this was no more than the training a young Spartan warrior went through before his or her thirteenth birthday.

The four women stood there like statues.  Valerie with her arms up, feet apart, perfectly balanced and ready, the pain coursing through her.  Around her, the three Spartans were in similar poses and the seconds dragged by with none of them moving.  A circle of yellow surrounded them, the prisoners watching silently.

“Disperse to your Cells!” the amplified voice cried with no effect.  Movement from above broke the tableau.  Silent, blue armoured shapes dropped down on grav-belts.  Yellow scattered from all around and the Spartans spun in unison to meet the swinging Energy Batons.  Valerie didn’t even have to think.  She moved with them.

A short time ago, she was in a desperate fight against these women and now she fought beside them.  She knew the four of them would have little chance against armoured guards.  Without weapons, and distracted by the raging fire of pain coursing through them, they could not prevail, even if Valerie unleashed her full strength.  It wasn’t the point.  In this she had purpose, a target to centre her rage on.

The Spartans had been trained since they could walk to fight and so had Valerie.  These women were in their physical prime and fought like cornered tigers.  Valerie moved with them, adapting her style to theirs.  They battled as a unit and she slotted neatly in with them.  Instinctively, they recognised her as the better fighter.  They let her have her head, supporting her and watching her back when needed.

Guards fell about them, battered and bruised, if protected from serious injury by their armour.  Valerie procured an Energy Baton for each hand and was using them for precision strikes.  Head, knees, ankles, anywhere she could make her opponent fall.  Unlike the fight in the alley on Ison Island, she had room to manoeuvre.  She floated about the room, the Spartans staying with her.

“ENOUGH!” An amplified voice bellowed and Valerie stopped.  Those guards still standing retreated and the Spartans let them go.  Looking up, the four of them stared into the dozen Pulse rifles pointed at their heads.  Valerie relaxed and dropped the batons on the floor away from her.  The Spartans did the same, following her example.

All of the guards who had fallen around them wore Mag pistols. If they chose, Valerie and the Spartans could have grabbed those pistols as easily as they had the batons.  They all knew that would have been suicide.  Once any of them touched a ranged weapon, the guards would have opened fire.  This wasn’t an escape, it was a release of built-up tension and the guards knew it.

“Valerie Carter,” she said to the women who had fought beside her.

The tallest of them smiled, her jet black hair almost vivid against her pale skin.

“Briseis,” she waved at the other two.  “My sisters Cheimon and Phrike.”  Cheimon was as dark as Briseis was pale, with bone white hair.  Phrike had hair the colour of fire and a deep bronze tan.

Nodding to each of them in turn, Valerie looked up.

“What now?” she asked.

“Return to your cells,” one of the guards said.  “Five days lock down.”

She turned to the tattooed women and shrugged.  “I’ll see you in five days.”  Without a backward glance, Valerie walked to her cell and the door slid shut.  The lights went out as she lay back on the hard bunk and in the dark she smiled.  Now she knew they had Pulse rifles and a reserve of twenty guards behind that door.

***

The lights snapped on and Valerie cried out, blinded by the light.  After one hundred and seventy-four hours of unremitting darkness, with nothing to correct her internal clock against, she lost track of the time.  Bright red spots swam in her vision behind eyelids screwed shut as tight as she could manage.  She clasped a hand over them to reduce what was still coming through.

“Proceed immediately to the shower area,” the automated voice commanded.

“I can’t!  I’m bloody blind!” she snapped, though it wouldn’t make any difference.  That was something she hadn’t missed during her punishment, the constant announcements.  She didn’t give them any thought when she first arrived, but after a few weeks they started to grate on her nerves.

Fresh air wafted through the open door and Valerie eased her eyes open, blinking away the flashing spots.  Her cell stank and she could see the reason in the corner.  Around the hole in the floor that could only be charitably called a toilet, were her own faeces.  It wasn’t much, she managed to get most of it in, but when all you had was a tap barely dribbling water and very weak paper to wipe, it was very difficult to clean up.  It hadn’t been a problem after the first couple of days.  There was no food for those locked in their cell.  All she had consumed for five days was water.

Valerie made sure she didn’t wear her jumpsuit while using the toilet, so at least that wasn’t too bad.  With her eyesight almost back to normal, she gathered her bedding, which smelled as bad as the rest of her, and stood.  She took her time walking down the corridor.  She felt weak and light headed.  She hadn’t exercised during her incarceration, but her body continued to burn calories.  Now it was sending urgent signals she needed sustenance.

It was very tempting to go for the food first, but from the way the other prisoners were avoiding her more than previously, she thought a shower was a better idea.  Her bedding joined the pile with the rest and so did her jumpsuit.  For once the ice cold water was almost blissful as she rigorously scrubbed herself.

“An invigorating wash is just what we need, yes?”  Briseis stepped into the shower next to her, giving no more reaction to the cold water than Valerie.

Glancing about, Valerie saw Cheimon and Phrike join them in the showers on Valerie’s other side.  She decided Briseis was the leader and raised an eyebrow in her direction, while moving her feet in preparation.  The laugh that boomed out of the tall woman was completely genuine.