Starship Desolation (6 page)

W
hen it came
to medical technology, the Saarkturians knew what they were doing. By the morning, Walker’s wounds were almost healed. He wasn’t going to be bench pressing 300 pounds any time soon, but he had a good range of motion and only mild soreness. The regenerative gel had done its job.

“What do you say, Bailey? You ready for a walk?”

Bailey barked.

Walker gathered his gear and crawled out of the hole into the freezing pre-dawn desert. The underground burrow had acted as insulation from the elements. It kept cool during the day and retained warmth during the night. Walker wanted to crawl back inside for a moment. It was much more appealing than stepping out into the harsh environment.

The mountains were roughly twenty miles away. Not a leisurely stroll, but doable.

Bailey didn’t want to leave the burrow. And who could blame him? The little guy was shivering.

“C’mon. Don’t be a wuss.”

Bailey whimpered.

“I get it. I want to stay in there where it’s warm and sleep all day too. But you’re in the UPDF now. And UPDF Marines don’t get cold.”

Bailey looked up at him with big sad blue eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The two stared at each other for a moment. “Okay, fine. Stay here. But I’m moving on.” Walker took a few steps. “Don’t come crying to me when you get lonely.”

Bailey whimpered but stayed at the mouth of the burrow.

Walker stopped and looked back at him. “C’mon boy.”

But Bailey wasn’t having any of this cold nonsense.

Walker sighed. “New recruits,” he muttered as he marched back to Bailey. He slung his pack from his shoulders and set it on the ground. He pulled out a small blanket. He wrapped Bailey up and put him in the pack with his head protruding out. Then he sealed the pack around him to keep him warm. He hoisted the pack onto his back. Bailey rode piggy back, surveying the terrain over Walker’s shoulder. He was like a king, and Walker was his personal chauffeur.

“Happy now?”

Bailey barked.

“I think you’re faking it just to get a free ride.”

Walker marched toward the mountains. He stayed on solid ground, making sure to avoid dunes, or mounds of sand, or anything else that might indicate a creature burrowed underneath.

Once the sun was peeking over the horizon, Bailey was ready to climb out of the pack. It was that time of morning that felt pleasant and tropical. Walker let him out and Bailey followed along on foot. Bailey had no problem keeping up with Walker as he jogged.

By the time they reached the mountainous region, Walker was exhausted. He felt like he had sweated out enough liquid to fill a swimming pool. He guzzled down some of his water, and let Bailey drink his fill. But at this rate, their water supply was going to go fast. Dehydration was going to become a serious concern.

Walker’s exposed skin was already red and peeling from sun exposure. The UV light emanating from the sun was intense. The thinner atmosphere wasn’t shielding out as much of it. It didn’t seem to bother Bailey at all. His skin was built for this climate.

The two snaked their way into a canyon. Its sheer cliffs would provide shade from the sun in the mornings and afternoons. But noon was fast approaching. And there was another problem. Walker got the distinct impression that something was following them. Another predator, out there, stalking them.

A falling rock. A blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. A gut feeling. That’s all he had to go on. But it was enough. He had learned long ago to trust that little voice that whispered in the back of his mind. Every time he had ignored that feeling, he had wished he’d listened.

Walker marched through the canyon and found an overhang that provided cover. The massive rock jutted out at an almost perpendicular angle. Walker and Bailey climbed into the protective alcove and took shelter. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it might get them through the hottest part of the day. Hopefully the rocks would radiate enough warmth to get them through the night.

Noon was tough. The reflection of the sun on the bright sand was blinding. It was enough to burn your retina, if you stared at it long enough. Every breath of air was like fire. Nothing moved on the surface of this planet at midday. Not even bugs.

As the afternoon began to cool, Walker set out to find some wood for a fire. The only vegetation on this rotten planet were the twisted thorn-filled trees. He used his tactical sword to hack the branches. The blade had serrations near the hilt. It wasn’t as good as a saw, but with some effort, it worked. He cut down a few trees and carried the wood back to the campsite, making several trips. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes were upon him.

After the sun dipped down below the horizon, Walker made a fire. He and Bailey huddled around it and ate some rations. It almost felt like camping. All they needed were some marshmallows. But this was one trip to the wilderness that wasn’t going to end.

Walker planned on getting an early start in the morning to look for a more suitable, long-term shelter. He wrapped Bailey up in a blanket, and the two settled in for some shut-eye. Walker used his pack as a makeshift pillow. The amber flames flickered and popped and threw off a nice amount of heat. The alcove in the rocks seem to hold in the warmth rather well. All in all, it wasn’t a bad place to camp for the evening.

By the middle of the night, the fire had died down. Only a few glowing coals and ash remained. And the temperature had dropped considerably. But that wasn’t the worst of their problems.

There was a howling in the distance. The discordant sound drew closer.

In the darkness, Walker could hear heavy footsteps and deep rumbling breaths. He peeled his eyelids open and stared out into the night. Staring back at him were three pairs of fierce eyes, reflecting the glow of the smoldering embers of the fire. The eyes stood maybe three feet above the ground. They weren’t human. Throaty snarls filled the air. The eyes drew closer. These were the eyes of a predator. No doubt about it.

“
T
his agreement is
unacceptable to us.” The Decluvian Ambassador crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. His face was stern. Ugly. But stern.

The Decluvian’s had evolved from an amphibian species. They had brightly colored skin with black spots. The ambassador’s predominant color was orange, but some were blue, others were yellow, some were green, and some displayed multiple colors.

Large, protruding eyes gave them almost 360 degree vision. They had long, slender fingers—three on each hand, and an opposable thumb. There was slight webbing in between the digits. The tips of their fingers could adhere to almost anything. They preferred hot and humid climates with lots of water. And water was something the Decluvians were running out of.

They were an aposematic species—their skin was toxic. And they could also secrete the toxin through sweat when threatened. Touching a Decluvian could be a deadly proposition. The poison easily permeated through Saarkturian and human skin. Almost instantaneous paralysis and loss of autonomic function would result.

They didn’t really have tentacles—that was the stuff of urban legend and contemptuous jokes. But there were plenty of other species out in the cosmos that did have tentacles.

The two men sat at a table in a conference room within the palace. The Ambassador had two personal guards with him. Rylon attended the meeting without guards—though they weren’t far away.

“We’ve conceded the Thelovian sector,” Rylon said. “I’ve offered the Kophosis realm, which has more water than you could use in a hundred lifetimes. Plus the promise of lasting peace between our great civilizations.”

“Saarkturia must become a Decluvian colony and swear allegiance to Emperor Tyvelon,” said Ambassador Borgnavi.

Rylan gritted his teeth and smiled. Borgnavi was full of himself. There was no way a Saarkturian would ever bow down to a Decluvian. And, apparently, they felt the same way.

“What I’m offering is a peaceful coexistence, and a shared throne. With a Decluvian Queen on a Saarkturian throne, you are guaranteed a voice and a legacy in the monarchy.”

Borgnavi kept his stern look.

“Allegiance to the Emperor.”

Rylon sighed. “I have made a good faith gesture with Thelovian. Keep it. The sector is yours. When you wish to resume these negotiations, in good faith, let me know.” He smiled and stood up from the table.

Borgnavi looked flustered. “I have traveled a great distance to negotiate, and you walk out?”

“I didn’t see any negotiating on your part. I only heard demands.”

Borgnavi scowled at him.

The Decluvians weren’t the best negotiators in the galaxy, and they wore their emotions on their sleeves. But they knew enough to ask for more than they wanted. And Rylon knew this. It was all about posturing, but eventually the Ambassador would come back down to reality.

“Phiblios.”

“There are 15 inhabited planets in that sector. We’d have to relocate countless civilians, not to mention the mineral value.” Rylon pretended to be appalled at the idea.

“We want Phiblios.”

In truth, there were only a handful of settlers in the Phiblios sector. It was junk. The planets had no real value. Rylon knew the Declovians wanted the system, but he had no idea why. “I don’t know, that’s asking a lot. I’ll have to bring that before the King, but I don’t think he will agree.”

“Phiblios, or there is no deal.”

“I will need assurances from you. Do not make me look like a fool. I will present this to the King on your behalf. But you must give me your word that the Emperor will agree to these terms.”

The Ambassador leaned in and smiled. “Unlike you, I have the authority to negotiate on his behalf.”

“I can only aspire to be someone as powerful as yourself. Thank you for your time and consideration. I will be in contact with you as soon as the King makes a decision.” Rylon was stroking Borgnavi’s ego, and playing hard to get. He didn’t need to get Valinok’s approval on anything. The boy would do as he suggested.

T
he inmates were hosed
down with a high pressure line. It felt like thousands of pellets hitting your skin. Afterwards, they stepped into a chamber with a disinfectant gas.

Slade emerged from the chamber, hacking and coughing. Her lungs were on fire. It was probably Methylchloraltrioxilate. A known carcinogen.

She covered her private parts as best she could. But no one was shy about looking. Half of the men had pitched a tent. The other half probably couldn’t get it up. Slade was a good looking woman. That fact wasn’t lost on anyone.

The prisoners were marched to another room where a woman with latex gloves performed a cavity search on each of the inmates. Slade breathed a sigh of relief that it was a woman conducting the search, and that she was changing gloves between each prisoner. But Pemberton made sure to take a special interest in Slade’s examination, standing over the woman’s shoulder.

The prisoners were issued new jumpsuits, then escorted to their cells. The entire prison watched with glee as the freshman class of inmates nervously strolled into their new home. There were whistles and catcalls. Hoots and hollers. And all manner of sexual offers.

Giles was pulled out of line and forced to wait in the commons area. The rest were shown to their compartments.

Slade caught a lucky break—she was bunking with Kirby. At least she wouldn’t have a fight every night after the lights went out. She figured she could handle Kirby. And he seemed like a nice enough kid. He had probably hacked a computer system somewhere. Exposed government corruption. Did something to piss someone of power off. He wasn’t like the others, and he probably didn’t really belong here. Neither did Slade, for that matter. But if you asked anybody who was an inmate at Alpha Ceti 7, none of them
belonged
here. They were all
innocent
.

“What we’ve got here is a leader,” Pemberton said as he circled Giles. “An instigator. One thing we do not like here are leaders. Thinkers. Revolutionaries. You keep your head down and do your time, and we will all get along just fine. But this man started a riot.” Pemberton gripped his baton. “Let this be a lesson to anyone who would lead a revolt.”

Pemberton whacked Giles in the gut. He doubled over with pain. The other guards joined in beating Giles to the ground. They hit him and kicked him and zapped him with their stun batons. Blood splattered. Ribs cracked. Bones broke. When it was all said and done, Giles was a twitching blob on the floor, amidst a pool of blood.

Pemberton looked upon his handiwork with glee.

A couple of guards dragged Giles’s broken body to the
medical
center.

It was a running joke among the inmates. Sure, the facility had a medical center for the staff and to administer routine medications for the inmates. They were quick to deal with colds and flu and infectious outbreaks. But forget about major medical. The
major medical center
was the facility’s crematorium.

They boxed Giles up and put him on the conveyor belt, and rolled him into a 4000 degree furnace. You could hear his screams reverberate all the way through the cell block.

Pemberton and his gang weren’t fucking around. Sure, they got paid by the number of inmates housed. But that didn’t keep them from sacrificing one, just to let the others know how the rule of law worked here.

The first night was the worst. If you could make it through the first night, maybe you could make it through the second. And if you could make it through the second, maybe the third wasn’t out of the question. And that was how you had to do your time at Alpha Ceti 7. One day at a time. For the rest of your life.

For some, it was too much. The prospect of spending the rest of their life in this shit-hole was too much to bear. They hung themselves, or found a way to open up their carotid artery, or slice their wrists. Kirby cried himself to sleep that night. But he didn’t kill himself.

There were no windows in the facility. You had no idea if it was day or night. You had to rely on the schedule provided for you by the facility’s lighting. It was an underground facility. The surface wasn’t survivable. With an average temperature of 300 degrees, Alpha Ceti 7 was the perfect place for a prison. Even if you could escape, you had nowhere to go. There were over 2000 inmates incarcerated in the facility. None of them were ever going to see the light of day again.

And the smell was something atrocious. Like an old pair of gym clothes that never got washed. The hot, damp, musty body odor of 2000 men. Pungent and sour.

The facility was completely dependent upon resupply ships. Of course, there were evacuation protocols for the staff, in case of emergency. But a delayed resupply transport could wreak havoc on the day-to-day operations.

Breakfast was a chalky, thick liquid that contained all of the vital nutrients. Bland and tasteless. But it would keep you from starving. You weren’t going to get bacon and eggs in this place, not even on holidays.

In the mess hall, all eyes were on the newbies. The inmates were like sharks eying fresh meat. Slade took a seat at an empty table. Kirby followed close behind. He knew if anyone could protect him in here, it would be Slade.

She stared at her cup of tasteless slop, then began to slurp it down. It was gross and left a bad aftertaste. She kept her eyes sharp, surveying the crowd. She knew she was going to get tested on her first day in the joint, just like she had been on the transport ship. It was just a question of who. Would it be the big, thick meathead? The short mouthy guy with his entourage? The inmate with the cold stare and a gang tattoo under his eye? Those were just the guys at the next table. Every inmate in here was a potential threat.

In the sea of hard faces, she saw one that was familiar. Commander Ian Marlow.
Former
Commander Marlow—now inmate 2993836.

Marlow caught sight of Slade and moved to her table. “Mind if I have a seat, Captain.”

“Certainly, Commander.”

“I wouldn’t wish this place on my worst enemy. But it’s nice to see a familiar face.” He set his half eaten cup of gruel on the table and sat down. “Welcome to the resort. I’m sure you’ll get a visit from the real welcoming committee soon. So keep eyes in the back of your head.”

“Who should I be concerned with?”

“It may be the warden’s prison, but Tiny controls the inmates. Over my left shoulder, two tables back. You can’t miss him.”

Slade’s eyes found the man. He made Giles look like a dwarf. Tiny’s face was hard and rugged. He was built like a tank. Broad shoulders. Hulking biceps. Cinder blocks for fists. It was easy to see why he ran the show in here. There wasn’t another inmate that could match him in a fight. Whatever Tiny wanted, he got. By the look in his eye, he wanted Slade. He was staring right back at her.

Slade blew him a kiss, just to let him know she wasn’t afraid of him.