Imprisoned Page 2

  “One of those males is Jak, which is why I have to go,” Ari reminded her. “And size doesn’t matter so much. You know Jak’s been teaching me Ton-kwa self defense for years. I can take on an opponent twice as large as me and throw him.”

  “Maybe in the sparring ring, My Lady,” Hanna objected. “But never in a desperate, awful place like BleakHall! They won’t obey the rules there—there’s no referee to stop the match if things get too rough. And what if more than one attacks you at a time? Oh…” She brought her faded apron up to her eyes and began to cry. “Oh Goddess of Mercy, what will you do then?”

  Ari felt a sudden cold chill go down her back. What would she do if she was attacked by multiple assailants at once? Hanna actually made a very good point.

  Resolutely, she pushed the fear away.

  “That’s not going to happen, Hanna,” she said firmly. “In fact, I’ll probably barely be in the prison for an hour. All I have to do is get in and find Jak. The moment I can touch him…”

  Grabbing the old nurse by her arm, she touched her Prison ID again, rubbing the lower point of the triangular metal plate in a specific rhythm. At once a glowing golden bubble enclosed them both and they began to float upward.

  “My Lady!” Hanna gasped, grabbing for Ari’s hand. “What—?”

  Once more Ari rubbed her ID, turning off the switch hidden beneath it. The bubble popped noiselessly and they fell the inch and a half they’d floated back down to the flagstones.

  “Oh!” Hanna stumbled and would have fallen to her knees if Ari hadn’t caught her. “What was that?”

  “A tribian transport bubble,” Ari said. “It cost me almost all the profits Jak had saved from his last three harvests but I don’t think he’ll mind if it works. When it works,” she corrected herself quickly.

  “But how…how does it work? If you can tell me without getting too technical, My Lady,” Hanna added quickly.

  “I think I can manage.” Ari smiled at her. “The transport bubble is a solid lightbeam sphere just big enough for two. It can be deployed at any time and as long as you’re out in open air, it will take you straight up into the sky.”

  “It…it will?” Hanna still looked shaken. “But then how…?”

  “Don’t you see?” Ari asked. “I’ve just got to get to Jak when we’re both outside—probably in the exercise yard, which I know they have because I’ve studied the plans of the prison. Then the two of us float up…up…and away to a remote life support craft I’ve already got orbiting the moon where BleakHall is located. It’s not much but it will get us back to Phobos with no problem. So you see, Hanna, I really do have everything planned out to the last degree. Now do you feel better?”

  The old maid nodded thoughtfully.

  “You know, I do a bit. Although…” she gestured to Ari’s closed robe doubtfully. “I had no idea you were getting up to such things in your lab, My Lady.”

  Ari coughed, feeling her cheeks get a bit hot. “Well obviously this wasn’t the originally intended use for the solid-holo tech I’ve been working on. I was thinking more along the lines of people being able to hug their loved ones when they made a holo call. I was just getting ready to publish my findings before…” Her throat was suddenly tight. “Before Jak was taken.”

  “Well I must say—what you’ve come up with is nothing short of amazing. I do hope it will help keep you safe.” She enfolded Ari in a hug, her frail old body trembling with emotion. “I pray the Goddess of Mercy will watch over you, My Lady. No matter how many gadgets and gizmos you have hidden inside that awful metal tag you’re wearing, I still worry about you.”

  “I know you do, Hanna.” Ari hugged the old lady back and reflected that Hanna was much more than a servant. She’d been with Ari’s family her entire life and though Hanna insisted on calling her “My Lady” and Jak, “My Lord” she was really more of a surrogate grandmother than a domestic.

  “Oh, My Lady…” Hanna mourned softly. “I can’t believe you’re really going to do this.”

  “I have to—what other choice do we have? You know the Yonnites don’t allow their prisoners appeals—Jak has no hope unless I go for him. Besides, I’m going to be all right.” Firmly but gently, she disengaged from the embrace and held Hanna at arms length, looking earnestly into her eyes. “I’m going to go get Jak and the two of us will be home before you know it—you’ll see.”

  “From your mouth to the Goddess of Mercy’s ear, My Lady,” Hanna whispered. But though she tried to smile and put on a brave face for Ari’s benefit, her faded blue eyes still filled with tears.

  Ari smiled and tried to comfort her but she couldn’t help worrying herself. No matter how prepared she was, the fact was, she was a small female walking into a triple max prison filled with violent, dangerous males—many of them murderers, rapists, and homicidal sociopaths.

  She couldn’t help wondering if she would make it out alive.

  One

  Six Months Before

  “Commander Lathe, I think you know why I asked you here.” Sylvan drummed restlessly on his desk, a frown hovering around his mouth as he waited for the other male to be seated.

  “I think so.” Lathe nodded, a fierce look coming into his piercing turquoise eyes as he settled in the chair across from Sylvan’s desk. “Is it about BleakHall?”

  “It is.” Sylvan spoke quietly, still studying the other male.

  For a Blood Kindred, Lathe had unusual coloring, he thought. Most of his kind had the same pale blond hair and ice blue eyes that Sylvan did himself. Lathe had brown hair though—a deep chocolate brown with auburn highlights and long, thick lashes to match, which fringed his strange turquoise eyes. But then, his coloring probably had something to do with the special type of Blood Kindred he was.

  More than almost any other branch of the Kindred family tree, the Blood Kindred seemed to have a penchant for mutations and variations. And Lathe was the rarest of them all. In fact, Sylvan hated to risk him on this mission, which was horribly dangerous. Like himself, Lathe was a doctor aboard the Mother Ship and a well-respected scientist as well. Such a mind and such rare talents shouldn’t be wasted on such a hazardous assignment. But the other male had a personal stake in this and honor demanded that Sylvan offer the mission to him first before he asked anyone else.

  “As you know, the complaints about BleakHall have been piling up—from all corners of the galaxy,” Sylvan said, choosing his words carefully. “Ever since the Yonnites outsourced the guard duties to the Horvaths, there have been reports of abuses. Cruelty, torture…”

  “And death,” Lathe finished for him, his eyes flashing.

  “And death,” Sylvan agreed heavily. “Yes, I’m sorry for I know how it pains you to speak of this.”

  Lathe’s younger brother, a promising young officer aboard a Kindred freighter, had been captured and sold into slavery on Yonnie Six. When he refused to submit to his mistress, he had been sent to BleakHall. Lathe had learned of his brother’s incarceration and had asked the High Council for help in rescuing him. But before a rescue effort could be made, word came that Thonolan had died in the dungeons of the Triple Max penitentiary.

  Lathe’s eyes were bright, but with fury, not tears, Sylvan saw.

  “I don’t mind speaking of death as long as we also speak of justice,” he said, his voice a low, angry growl. “What can be done to avenge my brother’s murder?”

  “First and foremost we must prove the problem exists,” Sylvan said.

  “What?” Lathe demanded. “Of course it exists! You said it yourself—complaints are pouring in from everywhere. Clearly this prison is corrupt—the Horvaths are torturing the prisoners, killing them! They—”

  “No one cares,” Sylvan cut in harshly. Seeing the shocked look on Lathe’s face, he made his tone softer. “Forgive me, Brother. I should have said, no one in Yonnite society cares. More specifically, no one on the Yonnite Council of Mistresses—the Sacred Seven—cares. And until we can bring the matter to them with corroborat
ing evidence to prove that there is wanton cruelty and abuse being committed by the guards, they aren’t going to listen to us.”

  “Why can’t we just attack the damn prison?” Lathe growled. “It’s full of males who shouldn’t be there.”

  “It’s also full of males who should,” Sylvan said gently. “BleakHall is the only penitentiary in the galaxy that accepts many of the felons housed there. If we attack the prison, not only do the Kindred declare war on Yonnie Six, we also release more rapists, murderers, and sociopaths on the galaxy than have been free since the Scourge were at full strength.”

  “What about the honest males? The ones who were captured as slaves and refused to bow their heads to Yonnite mistresses?” Lathe demanded. “What about them? Do we just forget them because they happen to be in BleakHall and the Council doesn’t want to risk war with Yonnie Six?”

  “Nobody is forgetting them,” Sylvan said evenly. “In fact, we’re in the process of arranging a back-channel to get them out.”

  “Too bad no one could arrange such a thing for Thonolan.” Lathe’s deep voice was bitter.

  “It’s because of your brother’s death that we are doing so now,” Sylvan said, speaking as gently as he could. “We’re going to try to make certain that no more innocent lives are lost to BleakHall. But we need a male on the inside to help facilitate the channel and to gather evidence to present to the Yonnite Council of Mistresses about what is really going on in their prison.”

  “You mean…” Lathe’s turquoise eyes went wide. “You want someone to go into the prison under cover? Pretending to be a prisoner?”

  “Exactly.” Sylvan nodded. “If we can prove the abuse, we can make them see that the current ownership of the prison is corrupt and force them to do something about it. If they don’t, other planets will stop sending them prisoners and their bottom line will suffer.” He shook his head grimly. “That’s about the only thing that Yonnites understand. The Goddess knows most of them don’t have much in the way of compassion or pity.”

  “You speak as though you had personal experience of them,” Lathe remarked, keeping his tone neutral.

  “Only in passing but that was enough.” Sylvan told him of his recent encounter with a Yonnite Mistress—Mistress Hellenix and her Kindred slave, Malik.

  “And you say he was a Volt Kindred?” Lathe’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know there were any left. How did she keep such a powerful male contained?”

  Sylvan shook his head. “It was my impression that she didn’t—he stayed with her for a reason. Though what that reason was, I never found out. In fact…” He steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “We have reason to believe that Mistress Hellenix is one of the Yonnites responsible for outsourcing BleakHall’s guard positions to the Horvaths. She sits on the prison’s board of directors and plays a most active roll in its administration.”

  “I wonder if she ever bothers to come to the prison itself to see how its being run?” Lathe muttered. “I wonder if I’ll see her while I’m there.”

  “While you’re there?” Sylvan frowned.

  “Isn’t that why you called me here? To offer me the mission?” Lathe asked. “You don’t have to ask, Commander Sylvan—my answer is yes. I’ll do everything I can to avenge my brother’s death and make certain no other innocent males are trapped at BleakHall.”

  “It’s very dangerous,” Sylvan pointed out. Though honor demanded that he offer the assignment to Lathe, he couldn’t help wishing that the other male would turn it down. But one look at the fury in those turquoise eyes let him know his wish was in vain.

  “I don’t give a damn,” Lathe growled. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary—danger or not.”

  “You’ll need to wear a vid-corder. We have one implanted in a prison ID you’ll be wearing—it’s only five microns wide by eight microns across,” Sylvan told him. “With it you can record everything that happens all around you—especially the evidence of abuse. We’ve got a few other tools we can send with you too. We’ve arranged to get you in as a prisoner and your backstory is that you’re a medic. With any luck the Horvaths will allow you into the BleakHall infirmary. You can record first-hand accounts of every injury that occurs there.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Lathe nodded. “I’m in.”

  “You won’t be able to take any weapons with you. It’s going to be insanely dangerous,” Sylvan couldn’t help saying again. “Some might even call it suicide to take this mission.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Lathe said shortly.

  Sylvan nodded reluctantly.

  “You are uniquely suited to defend yourself in such a situation, I suppose.”

  “Because of my mutation, you mean?” Lathe barked a short, unhappy laugh and the motion showed his extra-long fangs. Though a Blood Kindred’s fangs were only supposed to grow and sharpen when he found a female he wanted to bond to him, Lathe’s were always razor-sharp.

  “I’ve thought of that, you know,” he continued. “If only it had been me that was taken instead of Thonolan. He was just a regular Blood Kindred. If only he’d had my abilities…”

  “You can’t do that to yourself,” Sylvan said gently. “You can’t trade souls like cards in a pack or let yourself feel responsible for what happened to your brother. He was a grown male, Lathe—it wasn’t your fault.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” Lathe looked away. “It should have been me. I should have been with him.”

  “Lathe—”

  “How soon can I go?” the other male cut him off, turning his eyes back to Sylvan. They glowed with intensity. “I’m ready now.”

  “Then we can have you there by as early as tomorrow if you like,” Sylvan said. “But let me urge you to take some time to think about this. To go to the Sacred Grove and pray about if it’s the right decision for you—”

  “I don’t need to think or pray—I know,” Lathe growled. “Put me into BleakHall and leave the rest to me.”

  “Very well.” Sylvan sighed. “Tomorrow it is then. I hate to say this, Commander Lathe, but maybe you should take this evening to get your affairs in order.”

  “I’ve got nothing to get in order.” Lathe shrugged. “My brother is dead—my parents too. And I don’t have a mate.”

  “Are you currently dream-sharing with anyone, though?” Sylvan asked. “If you are, you might want to reconsider taking this assignment.”

  Lathe frowned and for a moment a puzzled expression came over his face. Then he shook his head, like a male pushing away some ridiculous thought.

  “No, I’m not dreaming of any female—I doubt I ever will. Once I thought I might have found my true mate but…”

  “But what?” Sylvan prompted gently.

  Lathe shook his head. “But I was mistaken.” He sighed. “I believe I’m one of those males the Goddess created to be single.”

  “I used to think that about myself, you know,” Sylvan said quietly. “It turned out not to be true. I think the Goddess has someone for everyone.”

  “Not me.” Lathe shook his head firmly. “I’ve got no one and I don’t want anyone.” His eyes gleamed. “I only want to bring down the fucking evil mistresses responsible for my brother’s death and make sure no one else shares his fate.”

  “Well…” Sylvan sighed. “Maybe this is the Goddess’s purpose for you—I pray her grace and protection will go with you into BleakHall.”

  “Thank you but the time for prayers is over. It’s time for action.” Lathe stood and nodded respectfully. “I’ll get my affairs in order and see you tomorrow morning.”

  Then he turned and strode from Sylvan’s office, back straight and broad shoulders set.

  “Goddess,” Sylvan muttered as he watched the other male go. “What have I done?” He looked to the ceiling, his words turning into a prayer. “Please protect him and lend him your strength and guidance, Mother of All Life. Though he thinks he needs no prayers, he will need them now more than ever as he walks willingly into danger and death.�
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  Two

  Present Day

  “What do you mean this is as far as you go? You told me you could take me all the way to the exercise yard to find my brother!”

  Ari glared up at the huge, scaly Horvath who had claimed to be one of the guards when she hired him to smuggle her into BleakHall.

  Horvaths were lizard-like humanoids covered in greenish scales with slitted, shifty yellow eyes, forked tongues, and thick tails that could knock a man off his feet with one powerful swing.

  They were also lying, cheating scum, apparently.

  “Zzorry. Thizz is azz far azz I can take you.” The Horvath shrugged his scaly shoulders.

  “But this is just a holding area for new prisoners,” Ari hissed, looking around. “It’s not even all the way inside the prison!”

  They were standing in the doorway of BleakHall—already past the first checkpoint so there was no turning back. All around her loomed tall black walls, sweating with moisture. They rose up higher than the eye could see, lined with lighted cells—glass cubes in a metal box. Ahead of them was a disorganized hoard of prisoners, all waiting to be processed. Most wore heavy shackles or spiked pain collars but a few were wandering around freely, making notations on battered electronic tablets.

  “Zzorry,” the Horvath said again, clearly not sorry a bit.

  “How am I supposed to get to my brother?” Ari demanded. “You were supposed to take me right to him!”

  “Get prosezzed like all the other prizzoners,” the Horvath said. “Then you can zzee him inzide.”

  “This is not what I paid you for!” Ari whispered in a low, furious voice. “You promised me—”

  But the Horvath didn’t even stay to hear the rest of her complaint. He turned and ambled off towards the guard station where several others of his kind were lounging on a bench sipping clear plasti-glass bottles full of what appeared to be green slime.