Time Siege (14 page)

Off balance, Raets pivoted right and tried to swing him off. James's body destroyed two levels of shelves and swept the contents off a third. He swung his legs around and managed to scissor Raets's head between them. He squeezed them together as he clung to Raets's arms. The big man, mouth full of James's thigh, roared and charged, smashing him into the wall.

James thought he heard a rib pop, but kept pushing his legs together. Raets smashed him into the wall two more times before he began to weaken. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he dropped to one knee, and the two of them crashed onto the floor. The big man continued to paw at James's legs until he finally went limp.

Gasping for breath, James pulled himself from underneath Raets. He stumbled forward and closed the door before anyone walked by. The neighbors had most definitely heard the ruckus, but in this sort of place, no one stuck their head out and asked for trouble. By the time he got back to the unconscious man and checked his pulse, Raets was already stirring. The last thing James wanted to do now was go another three rounds with the giant. For a second, James considered just killing him. It would be merciful and painless. It was also tactically the right decision.

James wrapped his hands around Raets's neck. A quick twist would end it. He stopped himself from following through. The guy, no matter how crooked or bad, was just trying to get by.

“Black abyss,” he muttered. “You're losing your edge.”

That wasn't quite true. He was in denial. He had lost it months ago. A year ago, he wouldn't have cared whether or not he killed Raets, that Tier-5 Mong or those monitors. Now, he just couldn't stomach it anymore.

James unhooked his cryo band and linked it around Raets's wrist. Within a few seconds, the big man was snoring lightly. He took the next hour combing through the apartment and stripping Raets of his uniform. Using the real thing would give him a lot more flexibility if needed. When he was finished, he left the residence, giving Raets one last look. The cryo band would have enough power to keep him asleep and sustained for two weeks. That should be long enough for James to get to Nereid and finish the job.

“Sleep tight, big guy,” he said, hurrying back to the studio.

He found Grace packing when he returned to their residence.

“You look like shit,” Grace said. “At least more than usual.”

“Hello to you as well.”

“Did you find what you needed?” Grace asked.

He held up Raets's duffel bag. “I leave in two days. Wait for me at the Kuiper Belt. I've already put in the exact coordinates in the
Frankenstein
. Are you sure you'll be all right piloting her?”

“Really, James? Did you just ask the Mother of Time if she could pilot a vessel she designed and built?” she scoffed. “I'm sure I'll be fine.”

James had his doubts. The
Frankenstein
was difficult to control, built from a hodgepodge of ships not known for their maneuverability. “I guess we're set then.”

Grace smirked and tsked mockingly. “Oh pet, I always knew if you didn't change your ways, you'd end up in prison.”

 

THIRTEEN

339

Inmate 339 walked through the narrow passageway, his eyes alert and constantly scanning the shadowed crevices on both sides. His feet felt every uneven bump and groove of the etched stone, worn down by years of daily traffic. He had been walking—bouncing, more like, in this reduced gravity—through the lower subsections of the prison, known as the dungeon, for the better part of an hour now.

630 and 461 trailed a few steps behind in a single file. 630 could competently watch his back but 461 would be worthless in these cramped quarters. He was here more as a visual deterrent than anything else. Maybe they could avoid the song and dance altogether for once. Probably not, though. Things didn't work like that here in Amazon Penal Colony 3.

The small group turned the corner and continued down a steep slope. These tunnels ran deep throughout Nereid. The penal colony carved a way to wherever the mining was best. A string of dim lights lined the ceiling of the pathway, spaced every forty or so meters, just bright enough to tell 339 what was directly in front of him, but not much more. If someone was trying to ambush him, this would be the place to do it. This was the world he lived in now.

Along the way, he passed a cluster of other inmates using energy picks to chip away the dense top layers to where the low-grade mineral deposits or gas pockets lay. The junk inside the moon wasn't worth much, but for the Amazon Corporation, which was in the prison business anyway, the side venture of putting their convicted slaves to work was just an added bonus. It also kept the sheep too tired to cause trouble.

339 saw a body lay crumpled in a heap at the end of one of the excavated grooves. He signaled to the other two and waited until they took up positions on either side of him. He bent and rolled the body over. It was still warm, if barely. The pulse was weak. Irritated, 339 glared at the half-dozen men hacking away at the rock. “506 is still alive. Why hasn't he been taken to an aid station?”

The nearest inmate didn't even bother looking his way. “Good riddance. Old man was holding us back. On his last leg anyway. Besides, our cart's only half full. Not gonna lose a day's worth of digging and get half rations for his sorry ass.”

339 stood. “All of you, pack your shit and move him to an aid station. Now.”

Most of this gang of workers ignored him. The Amazon guards never wandered down here. With the way the penal colony was set up, supervision wasn't really necessary. You did what you were told, starved, or were jettisoned out into space. Other than that, the inmates ran their own hierarchy.

“When did they start promoting inmates to guards?” One of the inmates shrugged. “You can take your orders and kiss—”

The man next to him grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. The loudmouth swallowed his words, looking more worried than frightened. “Oh, didn't realize it was you. Come on, lads. Pack it up.”

In less than a minute, the entire group had gathered their gear and loaded the unconscious man onto the cart. 339 checked the body again before they began pushing it back up the passage. He took out his pack of heater cigs and handed one to each of the workers. “Each of you take this, and give one to 506 when he wakes. If he pulls through, you'll get a quarter ration as well.”

The loudmouth shook his head. “Don't sweat it, 339. I know I owe you. I'll see to the old geezer.” He managed to look ashamed.

339 watched them until they reached the end of the corridor and turned the corner. He turned back to his two guys. “Let's go.”

630 grinned. “More polite than a small-dicked guard with a pain stick.”

339 grunted and gestured for them to follow. Time was running out. Hopefully it wasn't too late. The three of them continued deeper underground past several more clusters of inmates until they reached the far end of the tributaries, where the smooth walls gave way to more natural jagged edges. They left the last of the ceiling lights behind as they descended into the mine.

This was the farthest reach of the prison, almost an hour's walk from the main colony. The air down here was the hardest to breathe, the temperature always near freezing, and if someone was injured this far out, the odds of them making it back for help were slim. 339 should know; he had been one of them just six months ago.

Inmates who died down here sometimes weren't found for weeks. The fodders were always sent down, with the odds of them surviving the first month less than half. The longer they were tenured or the better they worked, the closer they were allowed to mine near the penal colony. The small group proceeded to one of the more recently excavated tunnels. The cart tracks ended a hundred meters in, and the walls were all virgin.

“Split up. Three-hundred-step limit. Don't engage,” he ordered, pointing to the two side tunnels on the right.

The three of them spread out, moving through the darkness with their shoulder mounts the only source of light. He heard the other men call out intermittently.

“Sixteen steps.”

“Twelve steps.”

His fellows continued to call out, their voices bouncing around the walls, fading the farther away they got. Within two minutes, 339 found himself alone. Most inmates hated the tributary tunnels. The blackness down here often was suffocating and easily disoriented the senses. For 339, who spent the majority of his life working in zero gravity, the wide expanse of space wasn't too dissimilar from this darkness. In both cases, a person had to turn off or filter out the senses that weren't necessary so that he could focus on what was important. Otherwise, their environment—either the terrifying vastness of space or the crushing darkness of a tunnel deep underground—threatened to overwhelm.

The one thing Inmate 339 couldn't turn off was his mind, and in these dark winding tunnels, there wasn't much else to do but put one foot in front of the other, and think. Thinking was often the enemy. A man could drive himself crazy thinking about all the mistakes he had made in his life. Many had after spending prolonged periods of time down here.

339 shook his head. This was his lot now, his penance for his morality. The best way he could honor it was to make the most of it. Those bastards thought they could take everything from him. They had tried and almost succeeded. He almost lost it the first few days down here. Then he remembered who he was. What he was. That was something no one could take. Which was why he was down here right now.

Behind him, he heard it. A bell. Two rings, followed by a pause, and then another ring. Clear and precise. One of his guys had found what they were looking for. 339 hurried back, moving in the darkness more haphazardly than he should have been, occasionally stubbing his toe in his thin plastic shoes and stumbling over sudden changes in the elevation.

By the time he got back to the main tributary tunnel, both 630 and 461 were waiting for him. 461, with the bell in his hand, signaled for them to follow. He led them down the second tunnel on the right, which angled to an upward climb before flattening out into a long passageway.

“How many, and are we too late?” 339 asked.

461 shook his head. “Looked like five or six Apexes and three fodders.”

“Must have taken a while to drag them all the way there,” 630 added.

A few minutes later, they heard the rhythmic sound of fists pounding flesh, a smack and thud that echoed against the hard rock walls. It was followed by groans and laughter, and then more thuds.

339 and his companions rounded the corner and came upon a group of inmates beating on three others. They must have just started, since only one was unconscious while the other two were curled up in fetal positions as the bullies towering over them rained down blows.

339 had had to deal with this when he first arrived as well. Except when it happened, it was seven of the Apexes against just two. 339 killed two that day and sent three others to the infirmary. The fodder fighting alongside him didn't make it. That was the day his legend here at the penal colony was born.

He coughed.

Half of the Apexes taking a break from the beat-down looked his way. One of them stopped, but the other three kept going.

“Guess we're done here.” He recognized 793's voice. He was the ringleader among them, and incidentally one of the men 339 had sent to the infirmary that day.

793's group sauntered past 339 as if nothing were the matter. These beatings, known as welcome parties, were a weekly occurrence, something that happened every time a new shipment of inmates came in. This was how the Apexes maintained their control and fear over the eastern blocks of Colony 3. Most of the time, 339 was too late to stop them. By the time he found out about one and made it down here, the beatings were done, and the only thing left to do was pick up the broken bodies of the new inmates and drag them to the infirmary. This time, he was almost too late. Almost.

He stuck his hand into 793's chest as the guy tried to pass him. “This is the last time.”

793 batted it away. “Whatever, suck-space. Just because you're some ex-cop doesn't mean you own the place. You stop us when you find us.”

Before he could take another step, 339 leaned forward, collapsed his arm, and threw an elbow that shattered the man's cheekbone. 793 continued to flip in circles as he flew backward in the light gravity.

339 saw a flash to the side and juked left as a body came crashing toward him. One of his hands grabbed a forearm and the other, a part of a shirt, and he spun downward, throwing the Apex in a circular motion until his momentum carried him straight up. 339 let go and watched as the man slammed into the ceiling.

Another came at him. This time, the inmate had a metal shank, which he swung in wide arcs. These guys obviously weren't the Apex's best. 339 caught his wrist and bent it at an awkward angle until the Apex dropped the shank. 339 slammed the inmate's face down onto the ground and finished him off with a kick to the jaw.

Still another attacked. This time, 630 and 461 took care of the Apex. 630 pinned him down while fat 461 sat on top of him. 339 looked at the remaining two Apexes huddling in fear. “Pick up your trash and take them back to your boss. Tell 881 that if I find out about one more of these incidents, I'll take your entire crew out.”

He kept the quivering bullies under his steely gaze as they struggled to drag their four companions out of the room. Good thing gravity was light here, though he was willing to bet those four were going to have pretty bad scrapes and cuts by the time they woke up. Not to mention the broken bones he had probably given two of them.

He pointed at the two new inmates slowly getting to their feet. “Help those two back. I'll take care of the last.”

339 walked over to the unconscious inmate and shined his light on his face. It was a mess of blood and dirt covered by thin wisps of gray hair. The man's cheeks were hollow, his skin crackly. Though he was saved this time, 339 feared this man's tenure on Nereid wouldn't be long. He bent over and checked the body. Nothing was broken. Then he got onto a knee and tapped the man gently on the face.