Starship Desolation (9 page)

T
he water was freezing
, and it smelled like ass. So much for sanitary conditions. Slade tried to slip her fingers between the grating and hang on, but Pemberton stomped at her fingertips. She had to tread water and keep her nose above the line.

Pemberton kneeled down and peered through the slats of the grate that covered the pit. “That was a hell of a number you pulled on Tiny. But don’t get any funny ideas about who really runs the show here. It ain’t Tiny, and it ain’t the warden.” He had a slight grin.

Pemberton stood up and walked off.

Slade latched on to the grate and held herself up. There was no way you could get any real sleep in the hole. The minute you did, you’d sink into the water and get a mouthful of muck. It was going to be an exercise in sleep deprivation, among other things.

After basic training, she had attended the Navy Fighter Weapons School. But she also continued her training at Ranger School. After that, it was Reaper training at the Navy’s Special Warfare Academy. She wanted as much advanced tactical warfare training as possible. And it payed off during the first Verge War.

She had survived hell week during Reaper training—and if you could survive that, you could survive just about anything. It was a week of heavy drills and no sleep. You spent most of the time cold and wet, and wet and cold. But that was only a week, and it had pushed her to her limits. She was facing a month in the hole. She wasn’t sure if she would make it.

Slade knew the key to surviving impossible situations was to never let doubt creep into your mind. The minute you opened the door to doubt, it would start to burrow its way in and grow. The mind is a powerful thing. If you believe you’re going to fail, you will fail. If you believe you’re going to succeed, you will succeed. She made up her mind. Come hell, or slimy water, she was going to make it out of this hole alive.

She hoped that her son, Cameron, was serving his time somewhere nicer than this place. If she ever escaped this prison, she was going to find him, and break him out. Then she would go after Rourke. It was still hard to believe he had sold her out.

Slade spent the rest of the day clinging onto the grate, keeping her nose above the water. She never got another meal that day. Or the next. Or the day after that.

She would doze off here and there, maybe getting a few seconds of sleep before her nose would plunge underwater. By the fifth day she was at her limit. Her body was chilled to the bone. Her fingers had seized up from clinching the grate. She was in a delirious state—not awake, but not asleep.

She hadn’t heard hide nor hair of anyone. Not a guard. Not another inmate. It was a weird, sensory deprivation experience. She began to hallucinate. She lost her sense of space and time. It was almost like an out of body experience. Like she was looking down at herself.

She needed food and fresh water. Drinking from the water that surrounded her in the pit would make her so sick, she’d wish she was dead.

Water bugs scurried along the walls of the pit. There was no telling what else lurked in the murky water.

She heard footsteps and a voice calling out to her. She wasn’t sure if it was real or not.

“It’s your lucky day,” Pemberton said. “The warden wants to see you.”

She stared at him a moment, dazed.

“Did you hear me? You’re getting out of here. Let go of the goddamn grate.” Pemberton smacked at her fingers with his baton.

She peeled them off and slipped them away through the grate. They were seized up and looked arthritic. She could barely keep her head above water as Pemberton unlocked the grate and flipped it open.

“Get her out of there,” Pemberton commanded.

Two guards reached in and pulled her out of the water and threw her onto the ground. She was weak and shivering.

“On your feet, inmate!” Pemberton screamed.

Slade staggered to her feet and almost fell down again. She could barely stand. Her knees wobbled and her body trembled.

Pemberton’s face twisted up in disgust at the sight of her. “Take her, and get her cleaned up. She can’t go to the warden like this.”

The guards hauled her away to the shower stalls. One of them turned on the faucet and the other pushed Slade into the stream of water. Hot water. She felt like she had died and gone to heaven for a moment.

“Off with the jumpsuit,”one of the guards commanded.

Slade scowled at him. She was too weak for a fight. She peeled off her jumpsuit and lathered up with soap. The two guards watched with lecherous eyes, but that’s all they did. Slade was sure they’d try something, but they let her be.

One of the guards handed her a towel, and she dried off and covered herself. They led her out of the lockup to Pemberton’s office. “You can change in there.”

She looked at the guard, bewildered.

“Go on.”

She pushed through the door to Pemberton’s office. It was a simple space—desk, computer terminal, two chairs, filing cabinets. On the desk was a black cocktail dress and a pair of high heel shoes.

Now she was sure she was hallucinating. This had to be all a dream. A nice dress and high heels? She hadn’t seen a pair of high heel shoes in years. She hadn’t worn a dress in decades.

No. This was definitely a dream. She was still back in the pit, probably on the verge of drowning.

She reached out and grabbed the dress. It felt real. She slipped out of the towel and into the dress. It fit her perfectly. It hugged her sensuous curves.

She slipped the shoes on. The stiletto heels accentuated her toned calves. Slade had nice legs. She had nice everything. She was a fine woman. All she needed was a little makeup and she’d be ready for an evening on the town.

She figured they had gotten her sizes from the database. But why?

Her heart began to fill with dread. Something was up. She had realized this wasn’t a dream. It was very real. The warden wanted her to look nice. But what did he have in mind?

W
alker’s feet
and ankles were cuffed. They were going to leave him to die in the middle of the desert, with the harsh sun rising in the sky. No human could survive exposed to the elements. If he made it through the first day, it would be a miracle. He’d surely die by the second. The vultures were circling overhead. They’d probably be gnawing at his flesh soon.

“Just think of it as a little vacation,” Malik said with a grin. “A day at the beach.”

Walker began laughing, which put a scowl on Malik's face. “What’s so funny?”

Walker nodded and looked behind Malik. Three of the deadly giant arthropods had emerged from the sand. Malik's eyes went wide as they stood tall. Sand poured off their exoskeletons.

“Looks like we’re all going to die out here,” Walker mused.

Malik raised his weapon and took aim at one of the creatures as it approached. His finger gripped the trigger and squeezed off a flurry of gunfire. Muzzle flash sparked from the barrel. Bullets tore through the air. But they just bounced off the arthropod’s hard outer shell.

The creatures retracted their heads into their shells. They angled their shells almost perpendicular to the ground as they charged, making it almost impossible to hit their softer flesh.

Both Malik and the woman, Saaja, unleashed a torrent of gunfire—with almost no effect. The things kept charging closer.

Walker struggled against his metal bonds. They were too strong to break, and his fists were too wide to slip through, no matter how hard he pulled. The metal gouged into his flesh, and blood began to ooze from his raw skin.

Malik blasted at one of the creatures legs. The armor was thinner, and a barrage of fire severed one of the limbs. It slowed the thing down a little. Saaja and Malik cut through limbs with a hail of bullets. But the things were almost on top of them now.

They dodged and weaved as claws grasped at them.

“Watch out,” Walker said. “Those claws are loaded with venom.”

Saaja lit up one of the claws with a stream of bullets. It erupted in a yellowish-green blast. But another claw stabbed into her from behind. Her body went limp. The rifle fell from her hands. She dropped to the sand, paralyzed.

The creature pulled her limp body close and was about to feast on her flesh. Its ugly head jutted out from its exoskeleton. Malik blasted the monster’s skull, exploding it into a thousand chunks of goo. The carcass crashed to the sand, still twitching.

Malik kept fighting off the creatures. But a few more were coming. Walker was rolling around in the sand, dodging claws that were stabbing at him. He was about to be monster food.

“Looks like you could use an extra hand,” Walker shouted to Malik.

Malik was outnumbered, and he knew it. Trying to fend off multiple attacks and protect Saaja’s motionless body was impossible. He couldn’t keep this up for long.

He fired at a claw that was menacing Walker. The creature’s head protruded from its shell, and the hideous thing let out a screech. Malik blasted the creature’s exposed head. It exploded in a mess of goo.

Malik dropped down and unlatched Walker’s restraints. His eyes found Walker’s, and without saying a word, they had a warrior’s agreement. They’d fight on the same side until the bugs were defeated.

Walker sprung to his feet and grabbed Saaja’s weapon. The creatures’ tails split off like a wishbone into the claws. Walker began blasting at the tails, cutting them off at the base. Without the claws, these things were a lot less threatening.

Round after round blasted into the horrid arthropods. Green and yellow goo coated the sand. Twitchy carcasses lined the desert. Six of them had already been downed. Three still remained. But Walker was out of bullets.

He tossed the weapon down. “My sword. Give me my sword!” he yelled to Malik.

An arthropod was bearing down on Walker.

Malik unhitched the scabbard from his utility belt and tossed it to Walker, in between bursts of gunfire.

Walker snatched it out of the air and slid the blade from its scabbard.

An arthropod was storming toward Saaja’s motionless body. She was an easy meal. A claw reached out to grasp her. The beast was trying to sneak in for a snatch and grab, and whisk Saaja’s body away.

Walker chopped down on the claw. The blade cut into the monster’s flesh. The claw dangled, hanging on by a few strands of muscle and fascia. Walker spun and hacked the other claw that was stabbing toward him.

The blade sliced clean through the monster’s flesh. Its shrill screech pierced Walker’s ears. Then the creature charged him. Walker held his ground and plunged his sword into the thing’s brain.

The massive creature bowled Walker over. Its heavy carcass pinned Walker against the sand. The thing’s legs twitched and scratched up the sand for a few moments. Walker tried to heave the carcass off him. But its crushing weight was too heavy. Walker could barely breathe.

Malik finished off the last of the arthropods. Nearly a dozen were either dead, or writhing in the sand on their way to death.

Malik rushed to check on Saaja. She was alive, but barely. The spikes of one of the claws had punctured her lung. Her blood was flowing out onto the sand and filling her lungs with fluid. She had heart palpitations. She was gurgling for breath. Saaja had so much venom in her system, her autonomic nervous system was shutting down as well.

Malik put pressure on her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He had the look of abject terror on his face. His black eyes gazed upon Saaja with worry. Walker could tell he cared deeply for her. They were probably more than just crew mates.

“You need to drain the fluid from her chest,” Walker yelled.

Malik was in such a state of panic that he was almost paralyzed himself. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Get this bug off of me.” Walker’s voice groaned as he tried in vein to push the carcass aside.

Malik stayed with Saaja, ignoring Walker.

“Get this bug off of me, or she is going to die.”

“
I
sn’t she just a peach
?” the warden said.

Slade was on display in the Warden’s office. Her hands were cuffed behind her back.

Pemberton and the two guards were there. Another man was sizing her up. He was maybe 40, about 6 feet tall, with dark hair. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. He wore an old-school leather flight jacket and aviator sunglasses.

He wasn’t a prison official. He didn’t have anything to do with the Department of Corrections. He was with a man of an alien species, and a woman. The man had green skin and wide, fish-like eyes. He was probably Alfluvian, but there was something different about him.

They all had empty holsters. No outside weapons were allowed in the prison.

“She’s alright,” the man said, sounding disappointed. “You got anything better.”

Slade clenched her jaw. She knew exactly what this man was. He was a trafficker. He was looking at merchandise, and he was negotiating price.

The first rule of negotiation is to never act interested. If you want to get the price down, you find something wrong with the merchandise. You’ve got a better deal just around the corner. Make the seller insecure and he’ll come down off of his ask price. You don’t need to buy what he’s selling.

“Son, it doesn’t come any better than this,” the warden said. “Not in here.”

That sleaze ball of a warden was selling female prisoners to the highest bidder. That’s why the prison population didn’t match up to the books. That’s why there were hardly any women on Alpha Ceti 7.

The man in the aviator sunglasses grabbed Slade’s jaw and looked over her face from side to side. Slade jerked away.

“Feisty.” He turned around and faced the warden. “I don’t know, Carson. She looks like trouble. And she’s got a busted lip.”

Warden Carson smiled. “The lip will heal.”

“She’s got a chipped tooth.”

“Minor cosmetic damage.” Carson shrugged.

“I have a very demanding clientele. If I show up with sub-par material, Little Nicky is not going to be happy.”

Slade’s eyes went wide.
Sub-par? Who the fuck is this guy?

“I’ll give you 45,000 credits, tops.”

“Logan, you insult me,” Carson said. “Nothing less than 75,000.”

“Are you high? You must be smoking that Cetian herb.”

Slade clenched her jaw.

“I can go 55,000,” Logan said. “That’s it.”

“65,000. That’s as low as I can go. You aren’t the only trader in the system, you know.”

“55,000 untraceable credits. That’s my final offer.” Logan folded his arms and eyed Carson.

Carson’s eyes narrowed. Then he sighed. “Deal. But I’m getting the short end of the stick here.”

Logan smiled and shook Carson’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The woman with Logan hefted a briefcase onto Carson’s desk. Her name was Mia. She flicked open the latches, lifted the lid, and turned the case to face Carson.

His eyes lit up with glee.

“It’s all there,” Logan said. “Count it.”

“No need,” Carson said. “If you’re short, I’ll find you, and bring you back here to rot.” He grinned.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the hospitality, but we need to be going.”

Logan grabbed Slade’s arm. She jerked away.

“I’m already beginning to think I paid too much for you,” Logan said.

“Fuck you,” said Slade.

“Relax, honey,” Logan said. “Where you’re going is much nicer than here.”

“I am not your
honey
.”

“You are now.” He had a slight smirk on his face.

Slade glared at him. But anywhere was better than Alpha Ceti 7. She knew she’d have a better chance of escape outside the prison.

“Logan, the cuff’s please,” Carson said.

Pemberton released Slade. For a moment, she thought about fighting her way out. Planting a stiletto heel in Carson’s crotch would have been fun, but it wasn’t a fight she could win. There were too many of them. And Pemberton, and the guards, had guns.

Mia slapped another set of restraints around Slade’s wrists. Logan grabbed her arm and escorted her to the hangar bay.

His ship was an X-377 Scarab—a mid size, long range, light armored, multi-role vessel. It could accommodate a total of 8, including crew, and had a small cargo hold. They were popular among smugglers, private transport companies, and the ultra wealthy. No billionaire’s space dock was complete without a Scarab.

It was a good looking ship—sleek and fast. It was fitted with two, 30mm guns, both fore and aft. A dozen, armor piercing,
Spitfire
missiles kept most of the hijackers away. The Scarabs usually weren’t carrying enough goods to be worth messing with anyway. They zipped across the galaxy, mostly unnoticed.

Every now and then, the UPDF might harass an unregistered Scarab that they came across. But the UPDF’s primary objective wasn’t to bust drug smugglers, or human traffickers—that fell under the jurisdiction of the Drug Enforcement Corps (DEC), the Planetary Criminal Investigative Service (PCIS), or the Customs and Planetary Protection Agency (CPPA). None of which had the resources to comb the galaxy and intercept the plethora of ships involved in the illegal space trade.

Deep space was the Wild West. And Logan was the equivalent of a cattle rustler.

Stenciled on the side of the craft was the fading and weathered callsign:
SS AURORA
.

Logan marched Slade up the loading ramp, and escorted her to one of the cabins. It was nicer than her prison cell, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to being locked in here either.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Vega Draconis.”

Slade cringed. Vega Draconis was a den of iniquity. It was a colony on the outer reaches that was left to its own devices. It was so far from New Earth, it rarely merited any attention. The PCIS and DEC didn’t usually bother with it. It was one of those places that even cops didn’t like to go.

Vega Draconis was a popular tourist destination site for those looking for illicit fun. The planet’s official tourist motto was:
Adventure Awaits You on Vega Draconis.
The unofficial motto was:
What happens on Vega Draconis didn’t really happen—and if it did, you can’t prove it.

“You seem like a smart woman,” Logan said. “Things will go a lot better for you if you just comply. You might even have a little fun.”

He had no idea who he was talking to. Compliance wasn’t one of Slade’s strong points.

“You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?” he asked.

“Do I look like trouble to you,” Slade said, innocently.

Logan lifted an eyebrow. “You look like a big, heaping handful of it.”

“How about taking these cuffs off?” She batted her eyelashes at him, seductively.

“Not a chance.”

Her face tensed. “You realize we are about to be in the middle of another war,” Slade said.

“Isn’t there always a war going on somewhere?”

“Another Verge War.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Okay, so, you’re one of those conspiracy wackos.”

“Go ahead. Ignore me. It doesn’t change the fact that the Verge are going to retaliate.”

“Nobody has seen the Verge for 25 years, lady.”

His condescending tone grated on her nerves. “I have.”

“Bullshit.”

“We destroyed an entire armada on their way to attack New Earth.”

“Even more bullshit.”

Slade gritted her teeth and huffed.

“Even if what you say is true, what do I care? It doesn’t affect me,” Logan said.

“Who are you going to sell your
product
to if New Earth and all of the colonies are destroyed?”

“Save it, sweetheart. I paid good money for you. And I’m going to sell you for even better money. Anything else doesn’t concern me. So feel free to ramble on about your crusade and your
prophecies of doom
in the confines of your own room.” He shoved her inside and sealed the hatch.

Slade kicked the hatch in frustration. “Can I get something to eat?” She hadn’t had anything to eat since Pemberton shoved her in the pit.

There was no response.

A few moments later, she felt the room warble, and her stomach twisted up as the ship made the jump into slide-space.

There was one good thing that came out of her encounter with the Saarkturians. She no longer had to worry about the slide-space induced degenerative genetic disease. But Vega Draconis was enough to keep her mind occupied with worry for the rest of the journey.