Condemned (Death Planet Book 1) (4 page)

“I said help me. Not throw bugs at me.”

Thumps came from the pit. She leaned over the edge, and stared in. The sun had almost set, but the light-intensifiers in her eyes boosted the shadows into a grainy green glow. One of the most useful damn body upgrades she ever bought.

A man in an orange jumpsuit hopped around the base of the pit, slamming his boot onto the ground as he tried to squash the bug. It ran up the arm of a skeleton draped with tattered orange cloth, and sat on top of the skull, hissing at the newbie. He kicked toward the bug. His boot hit the skull of the skeleton, sending it flying across the pit. But the bug had already crawled down into the rib cage, and spat a stream of black goo toward him. The newbie screamed as the goo splattered his face, and bounced from wall to wall as he tried to wipe it away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brunhilde said.

He backed into the corner farthest from the bug, crunching the rib cage of another skeleton as he stomped on it. The bug raised a dozen legs and waved them in the air as it hissed at him.

“I was running, and fell in. I've been stuck for an hour.”

She shouldn't even think of helping him. Who knows why he was Condemned? Scrawny little fucker, but what did size matter, with all the black market body mods these days? Still, someone who could afford those kind of mods could also afford to bribe some PubSafe commissar to keep him out of Hades.

The drone that followed her buzzed past, and descended into the pit. A light on the front clicked on, shining a narrow beam toward the man, then the bug. The bug spat goo at the drone. It dodged, and rose out of spit range.

“From the look of those bones,” she said, “whoever built this pit forgot about it a long time ago.”

The man glanced up at her hairy face, then at her hairy chest, where her breasts swung free. His eyes followed them for a second, then he hunched down in the corner.

“On second thoughts, maybe I'll stay here with the bug.”

She leaned forward, and held out her paw. “Come on. I'll help you out. But don't expect any more than that. And don't forget you owe me a favour, if I ever run into you again.”

He waved her away. “No. I'm happy down here, thanks.”

Some people had no gratitude. She grabbed a thick branch on the nearest tree, and twisted it. The wood stretched and creaked, and she twisted it in the other direction until it gave way with a loud snap. Then she tore it away, and pushed it down into the pit. The bug hissed at her, and she turned the branch until it was leaning toward the man.

“Please, Comrade Furry,” he said. “Just go away.”

“I'm not going to eat you.”

Though she was hungry. The newbie ignored the branch, turned away, and began to hum. She swung it toward him, but he dodged out of the way. If he was some kind of trap, it was the stupidest fucking trap she’d ever heard of. Maybe she should just smack the stupid shit on the head, and leave him there.

Then again, she’d be quaking in her boots if she was in his position, too. Perhaps some gentle persuasion would work?

“Grab the fucking branch, Comrade Fuckwit, or I'm going to eat your head and shit it down your neck.”

He stared at her. She growled, and bared her teeth. He got the message, and grabbed the branch. She pushed it in until it touched the bottom of the pit, and the broken wood scraped against the dirt-covered metal. He stared at her as he clambered up, and finally grabbed the edge of the pit to pull himself out. As his knees reached solid ground, he rolled away, keeping the pit between them.

He stood, and brushed the dirt, debris and mud from his jumpsuit. “Thanks. But I hope you won’t mind if I don’t want to stick around.”

“Just get the fuck out of here before I kill you.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then his head disappeared. Blood spurted from the torn, red remnants of his neck, and he continued standing for a few seconds before the legs gave way and his chest tipped forward. He went over the edge of the pit, and tumbled down. The branch cracked as he landed on it, and the bug scuttled away.

A black mass crunched on bone, in the shadows beneath the trees. The bug waited a few seconds, then scuttled across the floor of the pit, into the expanding pool of blood around the man’s severed neck. It climbed on his back, and began to chew.

Something squeaked behind Brunhilde. A furry creature about half a metre long stood on a rock, its long ears twitching, and eyes locked on the crunching black thing.

The black creature turned and stared at Brunhilde with all three of its eyes, one on each side of its head, and the other in the forehead. It twisted gently from side to side as it studied her, and pushed itself up on its haunches until the eyes rose almost to her chest. It opened its mouth, and bared four rows of sharp teeth. It took a slow step toward her, and growled.

Fuck this shit.

She raised her arms, extended the claws from her fingers, and slammed her feet onto the ground. Then she stretched out as far as her arms would go, and roared.

The creature lurched back, and hissed.

“Fuck you, motherfucker,” she yelled, and ran toward it, swinging her arms as she jumped onto a nearby rock.

It raised itself onto two legs as she swung her claws toward its face. Then it twisted around, and slammed down to the ground, facing away from her. As she swung again, it jumped away, and raced into the darkness between the trees as rapidly as its six legs could carry it.

“If I ever see you again, you’re dead,” she yelled after it.

The long-eared thing was still hunched on the rock, staring at her. It backed away slowly, and she crouched, retracting her claws and holding out her paw toward it. It took another step back, then stopped. It sniffed the air, then took a step forward, and sniffed her paw. It looked up.

Its small, dark eyes stared into hers. She stroked its head. Its ears twitched at the touch. Kind of like Fluffy Bunny, the rabbit she befriended at the barracks in EdCamp. He used to hop around beneath the barracks building, and stare out at her whenever she passed by. Almost as though he thought she was a relative, not a person.

That was nice to come home to, when the instructors had spent all day shouting at her, or the other kids had been making fun of her. At least someone loved her, and didn't think she was an abomination that should never have been born.

It sniffed her fingers as she wrapped them gently around its head. She smiled, then tightened her grip, and twisted until its neck snapped.

Supper. And about fucking time.

R
ed hobbled along the path at the edge of the wood, keeping his legs wide apart so his thighs didn’t rub against his aching balls. They no longer felt like they were about to burst, but he had to force his lips together to hold back a gasp of pain every time his leather pants rubbed against them. Slaphead and Snake were still giggling behind their hands every time he winced. He’d kick their balls too, if he could just lift his leg high enough. He couldn’t afford to lose control of the gang, or they’d slit his throat while he slept, and take over.

The King’s Guards stood beside a row of carts further down the path. Little shits. Just because they had shiny uniforms, and some of them had pistols in their belts, they looked down on everyone else. Except when they were on their knees, sucking the King's cock to get the job. He'd rather be free.

Haulers snorted and tapped the dirt with their eight furry feet as they stood yoked to the front of the carts. The carts wobbled as the haulers tried to walk on, and the Guards grabbed their reins to pull them back.

The ball-breaker’s head lolled as she walked in front of them, naked, smeared with mud, with blood dripping from her mouth. He hadn’t meant to damage the merchandise, but his hand just reacted naturally to having his balls crushed. His hound growled as she slowed, and she sped up again.

The other two girls just glared. The blonde had been a good fighter at the start, but soon wore out when half a dozen of them surrounded her. The redhead hadn’t even climbed out of her pod before Snake grabbed her and tied her up. The fat guy, well, not much chance of outrunning a pack of hunters when you weight two hundred kilos and aren’t even two metres tall.

Wooden cages stood in the back of each cart, and an older man wearing a fancy fur-trimmed leather outfit stood beside them, waiting for his pick of the day’s catch. The King’s own slave-master, he was always there, every year, but he’d never had a smile on his face as wide as when he watched the
Meat Packers
stroll toward him that night.

“Evening, Garry,” Red said as they stopped beside the carts. He pushed the newbies into line.

“Good hunting I see, comrade.”

Garry grabbed the ball-breaker by her chin, and lifted her face toward him, studying the bruises, staring into her eyes, then pulling back her lips to examine her teeth.

“What happened to her?”

“Thought ssshe could get away,” Red said. Then he nodded toward the one-armed man. “Gave Ssstubby a new ssscar.”

“And made Red see stars,” Slaphead said, and mimicked a knee to the groin.

“So that's why you're talking funny?” Garry said.

“No. Bitch bit my tongue.” Red opened his mouth wide to show the scar. It still hurt like a motherfucker, and he could taste fresh blood every time he spoke and tore it open again.

Garry laughed, then moved on to the blonde alongside. As he prodded her teeth, she opened her jaw wide, and bit down. He pulled his fingers back, then held them up in front of his face. He'd moved fast enough to avoid having them bitten off, but blood ran down the index finger where her teeth had torn away a chunk of skin. She stared up at him, and smiled.

“Your name’s Garry?”

“That’s right.”

“I'm gonna kill ya, Garry.”

She cackled.

Garry stepped away. “Gag 'em.”

The hunters grabbed wooden gags, stuffed them in the slaves' mouths, and tied leather straps behind their heads to hold them in place. Garry glanced at the redhead alongside, who glared back at him with red eyes. Then he scratched his chin.

“The King will like the little one, once we tame her. The redhead has a bright future in the whorehouse. The crazy one... I guess someone can find a use for her, somewhere.”

He circled the fat man, whose bulging stomach wobbled, and thighs flapped, as he tried to turn away.

Garry shook his head. “He’s not much good for anything.”

“What about a farm ssslave?”

Garry grabbed the man’s arm and slapped it. Fat wobbled. “Farm slaves need muscles, comrade. He doesn’t have any.”

“He must have sssome, to carry all that weight around.”

Another group of hunters strode down the path, led by the bull hybrid, with three men tied up in front of them. Garry nodded that way. “It’s been a good hunt today. There’s plenty of choice. No need for the King to take second best.”

The fat man mumbled around the gag.

Red slapped the man's side. “There'sss a lot of meat on him.”

“Fatty, though.”

“Fat’sss good for frying.”

“I have my own cook.”

“He’sss gotta be worth a few ssshiniess, even for ssslaughter.”

The man struggled against his bonds, and tried to hobble away, but the hunters grabbed him, and pulled him back into line. He mumbled louder, until Stubby pulled a knife, and pressed the point against his stomach.

Garry shrugged. “Ain’t worth a single shiny to me. I could get better meat at the mines, after they’re all used up.”

“Out of the way, Fudge Packers,” the bull hybrid said, and barged past. His hounds growled, and Red pulled his back.

Assholes. If there weren’t twice as many of them, he’d kill them right there. One day, they were going to regret treating him like shit. But that would have to be a day when he could still feel his balls.

Garry grabbed the bull’s hand and shook it. “Ah, Comrade Dozer, you’ve got a good selection for me today.”

“Take your pick.”

Dozer and his hunter pack lined the slaves up. The men pulled against their bonds, and their teeth ground against the gags. The hunters pulled them back into line, and the hounds growled when they tried to move away.

Garry looked the men over, then grabbed their arms, to measure their muscles with his fingers. “These two should do well in the mines. This one,” he slapped the third man’s ass, “can go to the whores.”

He reached into a wooden strongbox, and pulled out a handful of shiny circles, which clinked as he tossed them into a leather pouch.

“Would have been worth a few more if you'd been more careful.” He nodded toward the ball-breaker. “Those bruises are going to take a while to heal, and the King won't want her 'til she looks pretty.”

“Heard he wasssn't getting any action, now he'sss knocked up all his bitchesss again.”

“Well, there is that.”

“His ballsss mussst be ready to bursst. Could alwaysss do her from behind. That’sss what I do with ugly bitchesss.”

Garry slapped the leather bag in Red's hand. “The King does not ride ugly bitches. But I will pass on your suggestion.”

Red peered inside the bag. Hard to count in the moonlight, but there must be at least a dozen gold shinies and fifty silver in there. Not a bad haul for the day. It would keep the gang happy for months, even if the rest of the
Meat Packers
hadn’t caught anything. If they had done as well as Red, they could be set for the rest of the year.

D
aniel’s eyes opened. The world was dark and blurred, and flickered as it faded in and out of focus. The last he remembered was flying through the air off the cliff. Then... nothing.

A face leaned over him as he finally managed to focus on the world. One brown eye in the suntanned skin studied his own, the other was sunken, the eyelids sewn shut, with a long, wide scar running across them from the forehead to the chin. This stranger wore leather and fur clothes like the hunters, but his beard was shaved, and his hair trimmed. He smiled.

“How you doing, kid?” the man said.

“Pretty shitty, to be honest, comrade.”

The man cackled. “Same here.” He held out his hand. “But your day just got better.”