Condemned (Death Planet Book 1) (12 page)

Mud splashed across the square as the King’s metal feet stomped past, his steam engine belching smoke and steam with every step. The mud splattered the Guards’ uniforms, and dripped in brown trails down the dark leather. The glowing eyes in the King’s eye slits turned toward Daniel as the metal man passed, leaving a trail of steam and the smell of burning wood behind.

Daniel backed toward the wall.

And his pie vanished from his hand.

D
aniel stared at his empty hand. Had some kind of animal grabbed his pie? As they walked to the square, he'd seen some rats scuttling beneath the boardwalk, fighting over scraps of garbage, and some creatures that looked like baby versions of the hounds the hunters had chased him with. But would they really risk being killed for a pie?

Something moved in the darkness beneath the building alongside. Daniel crouched and peered under the boardwalk. Sunlight reflected from two eyes staring back at him, some sharp teeth, and two hands holding the pie as the teeth tore pieces away, chewed briefly, and gulped it down.

Black and white striped fur covered the face, between two tall, mouse-like ears. One dark eye bulged out on the left side of its face, while the other looked almost human. It lowered the pie, and hissed at him as he stared at it.

The arms and hands could look human too, but the fingers and nails were far too long, and the furry arms far too short, as though it had traded one for the other. The rest was wrapped in the thin, mud-stained remains of a torn white dress. Something disturbingly reminiscent of a girl's body covered in fur showed through when it moved, and when the cloth swung aside.

“What are you doing?” Guy said.

“There’s something down here. And it stole my pie.”

Guy peered under the boardwalk, then swung his arm.

“Get away.”

The creature hissed at him, and backed under the building. He reached beneath the boards, trying to pull the pie away from the creature, but her hand grabbed his wrist instead. He twisted his arm from side to side until she let go, then she backed away under the wood, chewing on the pie. He stood, and brushed the dirt from his leg.

“You’re not getting that back. Please don't feed the street-rats. At least, not with food I paid for.”

“What is it?”

“Probably a whore-baby dumped on the streets because there’s no better use for it. Don’t often see girls, but a man would have to be pretty far gone to make use of that one.”

So it was human. “Why did she look like that?”

“Everyone's had too much genetic engineering. Even the ones who aren’t hybrids aren’t really human any more. Back home, most babies don’t work right without an automedic to fix them up. Most of them here don’t even get as far as being born. The ones that do, and look like her, no-one wants. They usually don’t live that long.”

“Couldn't the State have done something about it before they sent people here?”

“They did. They turned off the birth control implants before dumping us here. Or maybe it wore out on the trip. You can Mate with anyone you want here, you don’t have to wait for a eugenics committee to pick them. They just don’t want us making too many babies.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time doing just that.”

“No, I mean, they want us making babies, that's half of what the commissars watch us for. They don't want us raising them, building up an army, and maybe becoming a threat.”

“Then maybe we should do just that.”

“Always the optimist.”

“Better than giving up.” Like you.

Guy led Daniel across the square through a crowd standing beneath a faded banner of the King’s red eyes staring from the dark triangles of his helmet. Then into a street on the far side. Something the size of his hand with long wings and a mouth of sharp teeth watched him from a sloping roof. A small hound lounged in an alley, chewing on something bloody, and watched him as he passed.

“What were you saying about brains earlier?” Daniel said.

“Not brains. The Brain. He was Condemned in the First Batch, like the King. He was a librarian, or something, knows everything about everything. He made the steam engine, he made gunpowder, he made the first guns. He’s been figuring out all the stuff none of the rest of us gave a shit about before. If I knew I’d be coming here, I’d have had my nose stuffed in books all my life, memorizing the lot. Then I’d be King.”

“Why would they Condemn a librarian?”

“Fucked if I know. But, if he could make all those things here, who knows what he was making back home?”

“Where is he? Maybe he can help me escape.”

“The King keeps him locked up. Doesn’t want anyone else getting their hands on him. Wants to be sure he keeps all the secrets for himself.”

“Other people must know them.”

“Maybe. But not many. Most of us relied on skulltops back home, to call up anything we wanted over the Net. Not many can remember all the details themselves.”

“We could try.”

“Besides, you have to remember that everyone on Hades was dumb enough to get caught. Most of us wised up after we got here, but we were never the brightest of the bunch. The smart crooks are still commissars back home.”

“Then how did the Brain get caught?”

“Beats me. But there’s book smarts and street smarts. Guess he has one, and not the other.”

Yells and laughter floated across the street to them from a tall windowless, red-painted building. A waterfall of gold and silver circles surrounded the doors, with more red circles in dark triangles like the King’s eyes painted above. A King’s Guard with a sword on each hip studied those who passed by.

“What’s that?” Daniel said.

“King’s Casino. Want a look? It’s a hoot.”

“What’s a casino?”

“They bet on stuff for shinies.”

“What the heck does that mean?”

“Oh, shit, kid. They banned betting back home long before you were born. Say I toss a shiny, and you say whether it’ll land showing the King’s face or the King’s ass. If you pick right, I give you shinies. If you pick wrong, you give me shinies.”

“That’s stupid.”

Guy shrugged. “Man’s got to find something to fill his time here. Besides, some people get rich if they’re good at picking winners. Easier than robbing for a living.”

A loud yell of far more male voices than Daniel could easily distinguish burst from the doors. He opened his mouth, but Guy was already crossing the street, weaving between the stalls and a passing cart. Daniel followed.

Hooves splashed mud across him, and he ducked back just fast enough to avoid being smashed by a hauler pulling a cart along the street. The driver scowled at him. “Stupid shit.”

Then Daniel pulled his foot back before a wheel rolled over it. He looked both ways before he stepped out past the stalls again. Guy watched from the far side as Daniel crossed.

“Try not to get yourself killed.”

“I’m doing my best. I’m not used to those things. Autocars stop when you step in the street.”

The Guard stared at them with piggy eyes. Guy nodded to him, and shook his pouch of shinies. The Guard motioned them inside.

Daniel’s eyes adjusted to the dim light as Guy led him through the doors, and into the crowd beyond. Men laughed, burning torches flickered on the walls, and metal clinked. It stank of smoke, sweat, and worse. Topless girls dodged groping hands as they carried trays of mugs from the bar. One squealed as a scarred old man grabbed her breast, then she slapped his hand and pulled away. He laughed, and slapped her ass.

Guy stared across the room. “We’re in luck. Pit fight’s on.”

B
runhilde stomped into the dark, smoky bar. Princess tried to hide behind her back, not wanting to be the centre of attention for the first time in her life. That made a real change.

She was born Peter, with a pair of balls and a pecker, but she had to become a girl to really understand what they were there for. Spaceships and ray guns had never interested her as much as dresses and makeup. She didn’t dream of travelling the galaxy like her male comrades, she dreamed of sauntering through town in a slinky dress that showed her curves, and turned the head of every man who caught sight of her. She wanted a handsome black commissar—maybe even the Great Leader himself—a wedding that would make a real princess proud, and to ride into the sunset with him to fill a castle with their babies.

Not that anyone got married any more, but weddings looked like great fun in the underground romance novels the girls had passed around at EdCamp. Well, until Sasha was caught reading one, and send to Reeducation, to eliminate any trace of reactionary patriarchal rapethink. The others deleted their copies of the books straight away, before the commissars could find them, but they were hardly likely to search a boy's files for romance stories. Princess had scoured the dark depths of the Net, devouring every romance book she could find, and dreaming she was the heroine of every story.

It was only when she brought Frankie, her first real boyfriend, back to the barracks, that her comrades finally agreed that she should lose her balls and became the girl she should have been. She fell sleep in the Gender Re-Identification Centre as a boy, and woke a few days later as a girl, fully functional, and eager to try out her new body. The fancy dresses Frankie had bought her from the commissars’ stores finally fit. The makeup made her look hot, not stupid. Men who'd previously ignored the short, chubby boy from EdCamp couldn't keep their eyes off the short girl with long hair and big hooters.

Or their hands.

The men of Kingston had stared at her bare chest ever since she entered the gates. She’d lived for that kind of attention back home, but they weren’t the kind of looks that said they wanted to give her some eCreds as a tip. She’d barely avoided a gang-bang with those assholes the previous night, and there were a lot more assholes watching her now.

The old man with scarred arms was still following her, showing the rotten teeth behind his weird, twisted smile. He’d stared at her as they entered the gates, and followed her to the bar. Now he was staring at her ass.

“Where’d you get these pants, then?”

She put her hand on the butt of the revolver where she’d stuck it into her waistband. “One thing I can tell you right now. There’s no way you’re getting into them.”

His gaze moved to the gun, and the smile disappeared. He crept backwards out the door, into the street.

Kingston wasn’t a safe place to be. Shit, the whole planet wasn’t a safe place to be. Back home, she was used to being a weak and girly girl in the criminal underworld, surviving on her wits, and the danger gave her a thrill. But she knew the rules there. She knew the men she could trust, the men who would keep a girl happy and safe so long as she was useful to them, and the men would think nothing of dumping her in the desert after using her body and cutting her throat. Here, she had no idea. New rules, new people, and most of them worse than any she’d known before.

Her eyes slowly adapted to the dim light in the bar. Many of these men lounged on the floor, with dopey eyes, like they were stoned out of their skulls. Of the remainder, those who weren’t staring at Brunhilde were staring at her. She twisted her hips to show the gun, and tapped her fingers on the butt. How many bullets did she have left, anyway?

“Afternoon, girls.” a deep voice said. A tall, dark-skinned man stood beside a table full of bottles, wooden kegs, and mugs. His arm muscles bulged, and his jawbone showed through the side of his face, where his left cheek was just a gaping hole. “This is my bar, not a playground for gawking tourists. So you two had better be here to drink, or smoke.” His gaze roamed over Princess’ body. “Or something.”

Brunhilde stomped toward him. The floorboards creaked as she slammed her feet down, and the tables and benches shook with each step. Princess slapped her hand on the rough wooden table behind her for support. Then found herself looking into the eyes of a fat, bearded man who sat beside it on the bench, nursing a mug of purple liquid. She pulled her hand back.

The bartender pushed himself up to his full height, and pulled his shoulders back. Brunhilde bent her back, hunching forward so her head didn’t press against the ceiling.

She stared down at him. He stared up at her. The men at the benches tensed, ready for a fight. Princess glanced toward the door. She could be there in five seconds, if she had to run.

Brunhilde leaned further forward, until her face almost touched the bartender's.

“Who do I have to kill to get a job around here?”

Good idea. They needed money to survive. And Princess didn’t want to go back to porn. Not here, anyway. Nor with the kind of worn-out, battered, rotting men who filled the bar.

Though the bartender was kind of sexy, in a weird kind of way. Her cheeks warmed as she stared at his muscles. Her heart had fluttered when he looked at her. There was a man who could protect her. And the moustache on what was left of his face reminded her of Frankie. His strong, wide chest heaved for a few seconds as he stared into Brunhilde’s face.

Then dark, purple phlegm splattered the floor as he spat. “Whorehouse always needs new girls. Might even find a place for one like you.”

The men around the tables laughed. The fat one stared at Princess. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“Princess.”

He laughed, and slapped her ass. “Princess, eh? I bet the King would like some of that.”

She grabbed his wrist, and twisted until he moaned with pain. Brunhilde spun around, opened her mouth wide, and roared. Spit splattered across his face as the warm, meaty air blew it toward him. He backed away.

The barman nodded. “Or, I can think of some others who might have a use for some muscle.”

“Like who?” Brunhilde said.

He grabbed a mug, opened a bottle, and tipped a fizzy, green liquid into it. He handed the mug to Brunhilde, who held it in her fingers like a doll’s tea-cup. She lifted it to her nose, and sniffed.

“I’ll ask around,” he said. “Meanwhile, have a drink on me. No hard feelings, I hope?”

She sipped from the mug. “Not yet.”