The silver fleet the com.., p.143
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 143
There were no windows, just a strip light which was turned off at a predetermined point to encourage them to get some rest. LaCruz would have liked to have had a little more time to examine the door, specifically the lock, but with the only light coming from under the door, she reckoned she was wasting her time. Instead, she decided to make herself as comfortable as possible before trying to get some sleep.
She woke up in the corner, with the big woman, who’d been asleep earlier, pinning her down. While the woman’s knee crushed her chest, the woman busied herself trying to remove LaCruz’s boots. Pinned down like that, LaCruz found it impossible sit up and didn’t have enough room to bring her fists into play either so she did the next best thing. She sank her teeth into the fleshy part of the woman’s thigh.
The woman let out a scream as though she were being murdered and quickly rolled off her.
Lacruz sat up, relieved to find that none of her ribs were broken and was happy to leave it at that but the big woman had other ideas. She came round and stood over her meaning to drop down on her with both knees but LaCruz was too quick for her. Rolling to one side, she reached up and grabbed the back of the other woman’s belt, intending to pull herself to her feet. In reality what happened was that as soon as she pulled down on the belt, the older woman over balanced and fell backwards, cracking the back of her head against the far wall.
The sound of it was loud enough to wake the other two women.
They sat up and, upon seeing the big woman lying there cursing, immediately took her side in the matter.
LaCruz had had enough by this stage so went over to the woman’s bunk and tipped all her things onto the floor. Then she lay down and within a minute was fast asleep.
CHAPTER TEN
LaCruz woke up when a couple turned up to collect the girls.
She had no idea how long she’d slept for but she felt refreshed and was fully awake within thirty seconds. The couple stood in the doorway, a man and a woman, and they seemed reticent to enter the cell. Word must have got around, she assumed, or perhaps they could see the blood stain on the far wall. Either way, they stood at the threshold, beckoning the two young girls to come forward. Although it was all very low key, LaCruz didn’t like what she was seeing. The girls took their time checking their tawdry clothes before searching under the bed for items of make-up they had hidden under their mattress. The fact that the big woman hadn’t taken these for herself told LaCruz all she needed to know.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen the self-same set-up a thousand times before. The market for young flesh never grew old and she could see the desperation in the faces of the two pimps – for that was surely what they were. From their attire, they appeared to be on the lower end of the social scale, reliant on farming out these young girls in order to protect themselves from some greater deprivation. Mariella refused to be rushed when applying her make-up. She was young enough to believe that she still held some agency here, and perhaps she was right. So long as her looks held out, she’d be in demand but that couldn’t last forever. All it would take would be for one of her clients to lash in a moment of rage and her career would quickly come to an end. It looked like that point had almost been reached for Tulip who seemed to be in the process of starving herself to death, not that anyone had noticed.
When they had stepped out of the cell and into the corridor, their minders inspected them thoroughly, like farmers checking their cattle.
After the door was locked, LaCruz sat on the edge of her cot taking in every detail of the room while the other woman sat slumped against the wall staring sullenly at her.
LaCruz said, “Anything to drink around here?”
“Not for you,” the woman struggled to form the ‘f’ properly.
“What’s wrong with your mouth?”
The woman stuck out a tongue which had swollen to twice its normal size. She spat a clot of blood onto the floor.
“What do you care?”
“I care that it won’t get infected. Thing like that gets infected, it’s going to stink the place out.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. Then, watching LaCruz, she put her hand on the vacant cot and pulled herself to her feet. She dropped down in the middle of the bed, her eyes never leaving LaCruz.
“What’s the score with those two?” LaCruz said.
The woman made a non-committal gesture. “Working girls. We all got to work.”
“Doesn’t seem to be suiting the young one. Tulip, is it?”
“She’ll be okay. She may not look it but she’s tough. Not like the others.”
LaCruz made a mental note of that and wondered how many other women hadn’t made it.
“What about you? You not working?”
Anger flashed in the woman’s eyes. “What you trying to say?”
“I’m saying, they’re not keepin’ you here for nothin’. So, what’s the score?”
The woman held up three fingers.
“Kitchen, cleaning, whorin’. That’s it. You can’t do that, they cut you lose.”
“Okay, so I’m thinking… sorry, what’s your name?”
“What you need to know my name for?”
“So we can chat like two society ladies.” That got a laugh. “Name’s LaCruz. What’s yours?”
“Baptised Sylvia but everyone calls me Sylvie.”
“So, Sylvie, I’m guessing: kitchen?”
Sylvie shook her head mournfully. “If only. No. Cleaning. They’ll come for me in a little while.”
“No offence, Sylvie, but don’t they have servitors for stuff like that?”
“Must have done at one time but these people is crazy,” she tapped the side of her skull to emphasize her point. “They’ll shoot anything. They’ll shoot you, they’ll shoot me. And they think it’s funny. Any robots – they shoot.”
Indiscipline. That was good. Trigger happy. Even better. This was all stuff she could use.
When LaCruz stood up, Sylvie eyed her suspiciously.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You’re fine. I just need some hot water, that’s all.”
Sylvie glared at her. “What you need water for?”
LaCruz reached inside the lining of her belt and brought out a small pouch.
“Drugs?”
“Er, no. Salt, actually. I thought we could take a look at that mouth of yours.”
The cell came equipped with a single nozzle for water which you could adjust to change temperature. Even at the highest temperature, it wasn’t particularly hot but LaCruz filled a cup and then sprinkled in some of the salt. She handed it to Sylvie and told her to swill it around her mouth, making sure to wash out the wound before spitting it out. They repeated this process three more times.
When they’d finished, Sylvie showed LaCruz her tongue, like a child trying to show they’d swallowed everything. She must have bitten down hard on her tongue when she’d banged her head. She’d been lucky not to have bitten it off completely.
When they’d finished Sylvie said, “You think you’re getting out of here, don’t you?”
“What if I am?”
“That’s what we all thought. But we were wrong.”
LaCruz wanted to question her, find out how she’d come to end up in a place like this, but she didn’t. She had an idea she was going to need Sylvie’s help if they were to have any chance of getting out of there and so didn’t want to push her luck.
“You must have thought about it, though,” LaCruz probed. “Escaping. Don’t tell me you haven’t.”
Sylvie graced her with a rare smile. “Oh, I think about it every day. An’ it would work too. Hundred percent.”
LaCruz gave her a quizzical look. “Okay. Say I were to believe you. What’s stopping you from doing it?”
Sylvie took a moment to look carefully around the room. Then she said, “First of all: I’d need somebody to back me up. Someone I could rely on. Someone solid.”
“Okay, so, what’s the second thing?”
“If I did manage to make it out of here, I’d be condemning every single person on this ship to death.”
*
It was about midday when the guards came to take LaCruz along to the mess hall. By that time, Sylvie was long gone. The eight ‘new’ women had to line up in the corridor before they were allowed to go inside. LaCruz recognised two of the women she’d come over with, Marsh and a woman called Petey. She and her exchanged a knowing glance. Marsh was towards the front, her long auburn hair draped over her shoulders. She didn’t bother to acknowledge LaCruz.
They only had to pass through one set of doors to get here, which LaCruz took as a good sign, adding the details to her mental map. She’d already formed a decent idea of the area Sylvie worked in, particularly where they stored their cleaning products, so she was already starting to put the pieces of a plan together.
Although she was, by now, extremely hungry, her main hope in attending the mess hall was that she might be able to find out where they were holding Markham. It didn’t matter if she didn’t get to speak to him directly but if she could get a message to him she’d be just as happy. So she was thrilled, when upon entering the mess hall, she spied him on the other side of the room, sitting between two Marines. It was the haircuts which set them apart.
The women had to wait behind a barrier in the centre of the room until the queue for the servery had gone down. The Marsh woman was in a group which was told where they could sit before they were sent over to get served. As their group snaked past the male diners their presence elicited an all too familiar response from the men who were eating. LaCruz’s heart sank as she heard Marsh respond to the cat calls. Drawing unwanted attention to herself. There was nothing quite like fresh meat in a prison environment to get the male inmates excited and, as a woman, that was the last thing you needed.
Only, the fact that they weren’t then escorted to their seats LaCruz found reassuring. There were two guards by the refectory, both armed, but they weren’t really paying attention to their duties. One was checking his wrist monitor while the other was chatting to one of the chefs. All useful information.
When it came their turn to approach the servery, LaCruz waited until she was halfway there before glancing over in Markham’s direction. He looked up at just that moment, held eye contact with her while he mouthed what could have been ‘Blow’ before dropping his gaze back towards the table.
The food was the usual synthesised stuff she’d been expecting but she was surprised that they included some kind of pudding for dessert. She hung back, waiting until the next group of women were despatched before selecting her dessert. As she’d expected, there was a cacophony of sound as the new women came over and she used this distraction to pick up a second dessert dish and force it down on top of the other.
She ignored the tirade of wolf whistles behind her, picked up her tray and headed for the table where Petey was sitting. She put her tray down opposite her and then sat down. Immediately, she picked up the top dessert and crammed it into her mouth. Then she substituted the second bowl, placing that on top.
“Interesting!” Petey said. She was thin, all angles and edges, her dyed blonde hair starting to grow out.
“This ain’t no fine dining experience,” LaCruz said. “It’s all about the calories.”
“I see.”
LaCruz moved to a bowl of thin stew, using the heel of bread she’d been given to soak up the juices.
“You’ve been to prison before?” the woman asked.
“Not prison, as such, no. Spent a little time in juvenile detention, though.”
“And is that one of the tricks you picked up there?”
“Yeah. That and learning how not to draw attention to yourself.”
She inclined her head over towards where Marsh was sitting.
“Yeah,” Petey didn’t even bother to look. “Someone needs to talk to her about that.”
“If she sticks around long enough.”
Petey’s eyes went wide. “You think something might happen to her?”
“These guys ain’t got an awful lot going for them. They’re liable to go a long way to get a piece of that. You understand me?”
Petey made a sour face.
“Then, there’s always the chance that one of them will try and set her up as their new baby mamma.”
Petey choked down what she was eating.
“They can do that?”
“They can do whatever the hell they like if they’ve got the guards onside.”
LaCruz rubbed her thumb and forefinger together in the universal sign for money.
“I see,” Petey went back to her dinner.
LaCruz finished her stew and went to move her bowl when she felt something on the underside. She checked that no one was looking before quickly turning the bowl over.
Written on the base was a message:
Making a list
M
Petey leaned across the table and said, “What does that mean?”
LaCruz gave her a death stare. “You sure you want to know?”
“Tell me. And who’s M?”
“He’s a Marine sergeant. He’s saying that he’s trying put together a list of all the bad guys.”
“Really? What for?”
LaCruz rolled her eyes. “He wants to send them a Christmas card. What d’ya think?”
“No, really? What’s going on?”
LaCruz busied herself with her second dessert. “First rule of engagement: try and assess your opponent’s numbers.”
“And then what?”
LaCruz ran her thumb across her throat. “Then we take them out.”
By the time she’d finished, Petey’s eyes were as big as dinner plates.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence.
When she’d finished, Petey said. “You think I could help?”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“Yeah, like the rest of my life’s such a breeze.”
“Okay,” she took a slip of paper from her sleeve and passed it under the table. “See that big guy over to my right.”
“The one with the beard?”
“That’s him. Name’s Hegazi. If you’re up for it, I’d like you to give him this.”
Petey looked down at the paper.
“Don’t read it!” LaCruz hissed but the woman ignored her.
“Just a list of cleaning products. What good is that going to do.”
“You let me worry about that. Now, you up for this?”
Petey narrowed her eyes.
“You mean now?”
“No time like the present.”
*
The three of them stood in Faulkner’s briefing room.
Faulkner was angry and hadn’t wanted to make a scene on the bridge so had allowed himself to be talked down by Schwartz. She’d been the one to suggest that they retire to the briefing room. It was the nearest place where they could be assured of absolute privacy, the only thing being that, because of McNeill’s physical impairment, it seemed to take them an inordinate amount of time just getting there.
By the time they had arranged themselves around the table the edge had gone off Faulkner’s anger.
“You might need to break this down for me,” Faulkner said. “I thought you said that the Loki was relying on a series of boosts to keep her ahead of us and now that seems not to be the case.”
McNeill’s jaw flexed momentarily.
“Yes, sir. That’s what I believed at the time.”
“Okay. So that’s no longer true. And instead of the Loki operating on minimal power she now appears to be actually accelerating.”
“Captain, I don’t think that Lieutenant McNeill intended…” Schwartz cautioned but Faulkner cut across her.
“In fact, she’s accelerating away so quickly she now has a considerable velocity advantage over us, so that unless we do something extreme in the next few hours were unlikely to be able to intercept her before she reaches the gate.”
“Sir, believe me,” McNeill said. “I am acutely aware of our predicament.”
This only seemed to anger Faulkner further.
“Yes, and a hell of a predicament it is. Tell me. How is it that we managed to miss the Loki firing up her engines again? Tell me how that happened.”
“Sir, if you’ll allow me.”
Faulkner turned to Schwartz. “What is it?”
“I believe that Lieutenant McNeill may have over-stated his case earlier.”
Faulkner rolled his eyes in frustration.
“But I am also sure that he didn’t do so with the intention of misleading us in any way.”
Faulkner expected McNeill to say something at this point, but he simply stared resolutely ahead.
“Very well. Then perhaps you could ask Mister McNeill what is was that he thought might have happened.”
A long silence settled on the room as Faulkner carefully folded his arms.
“Sir, as I said earlier: space is a very big place. There’s plenty of things they might have done to throw us off their tail. My only regret is that we didn’t spot it sooner.”
“Yeah, well, we’re none of us perfect.”
“I can only think that the Loki has a different set of specifications of the other Da’al ships we’ve seen. And I’m starting to think that she might be fitted with some kind of inertia suppressors.”
“Aren’t most ships?”
“They are but conventional inertia suppressors only work to negate forward trajectories. And I’m starting to think that Loki can suppress inertia on a much wider field than that. Possibly one hundred and eighty degrees and even as much as three hundred and sixty.”
“Which means what exactly?”
“She wouldn’t handle like a conventional spacecraft. She’d be able to maneuver without having to take into account her forward velocity.”
Faulkner just stared at him.
“So, what you’re saying, is,” Schwartz explained. “The Loki can turn on a hair.”
“Basically, yes,” McNeill conceded. “Which means that instead of maintaining essentially her initial trajectory, when she boosted she went off in a completely different direction. Then, when she did decide to boost she was so far out of our field of attention that we failed to see her.”
