“I can vouch for that,” Matt said.

  “Shut up,” I snapped. “It was your idea.”

  “Shit,” someone said, leaning over the guy Shaq had bitten. “He’s dead. That ugly blue rat killed him!”

  A murmur rose through the closest group of inmates, their attention turning to Shaq, who remained on the floor near my feet, using his paws to wash his face. He stopped to look up at the speaker.

  “What?” Quasar said, eying the dead man. “He’s not a rat, is he?”

  “I already told you he isn’t a rat,” I replied, crouching and putting my hand out. Shaq jumped into it, and I lifted him to eye level. “He’s a Jagger,” I said loudly. “He’s extremely venomous. You mess with us, you mess with him.” I turned him toward the inmates, who flinched when Shaq raised his arms and did his best impression of a hiss. It sounded more cute than threatening, at least to me. “His name is Shaq,” I said to Quasar. “He understands English, he just doesn’t have the vocal capacity to speak it.”

  Quasar stared at him. “Shaq, huh?” She laughed. “Maybe I was a little too harsh on you two. A venomous pet can go a long way here.”

  ‘He’s not a pet. He’s a member of our crew.”

  Shaq buzzed out a “yeah.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “It’s okay,” Shaq buzzed.

  “He kind of speaks English, doesn’t he?”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  “Well, if he’s loyal to you he’ll still go a long way here to help keep you safe. But don’t think that’ll keep them from trying to hurt you, especially after you just helped me with Jango.”

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “A member of the SFH Family.”

  “SFH?”

  “Soldier for hire. A combat mercenary. His story is a little like mine, except instead of trying to stop something bad from happening, he started it. A real scumbag on his best day. He’s always had it in for me, but I’m usually able to avoid him. I couldn’t today since I had to show you around. Seeing you two, I think he wanted to assert his dominance.”

  “That didn’t go too well for him,” Matt said.

  “No, it didn’t. And it won’t go too well for me either. The SFH won’t ever forget this. Damn it.”

  “We’ve got your back,” Matt added.

  She shook her head. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”

  “We know you used to be one of the good guys,” I said. “Can we say that for anyone else in here?”

  “I don’t know everyone here, but probably not. That doesn’t mean you should trust me.”

  “Is there anyone we can completely trust?”

  “If you really are unaffiliated? Not likely.”

  “You’ve been doing this on your own for twelve years. You obviously know how to survive in this place. We’re better off on the same side.”

  “Are you even smugglers?” she asked. “For real?”

  “It’s a long story,” Matt replied.

  The guardbot took a few steps toward us. Quasar glanced at it. “We should continue the tour.”

  “Will you show us the library when we’re done?” I asked.

  She looked back at me, hesitant. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “I’m good at that.”

  “It’s our mistake to make,” Matt added.

  “Yeah,” Shaq buzzed.

  “Okay. You’re on.”

  CHAPTER 8

  It didn’t take long for Quasar to finish the rest of the tour. The setup of the head was similar to the ones on Head Case, mostly waterless and containing a similar weird shower. Only the showers on the prison satellite were arranged more like a car wash. Instead of taking off clothes, each inmate stepped onto a conveyor belt which carried them, fully clothed, beneath the strange invisible heating jets that cleaned not only the body, but their coveralls and underwear as well. I liked that. Less chance of a bodily attack by not putting the goods out there for everyone to ogle.

  From there, we passed back to Block F and the mess. The block was in many ways a mirror image of Block D and the head, except a massive assembler with twelve output hatches occupied the space where the bathroom had been in Block D. Long tables with attached benches filled the floor space. Only a few inmates were actually eating when we entered, and they didn’t even look up at us as we crossed to the assembler.

  Quasar had mentioned earlier that the menu was limited. She wasn’t kidding. Displayed on a screen beside the output hatch, the range of choices went from grits to gruel, with nothing in the list that looked at all appetizing. Not because it wasn’t possible with the resources the machine had in storage. We were in prison after all; why did we deserve anything that tasted good?

  When we followed Quaser back to the elevators, the guardbot didn’t follow, signaling the end of our initiation. Instead, the machine slowly stomped away, continuing what Quasar explained was its sentry mode, a semi-randomized patrol pattern of all the blocks. It would continue with that until its batteries ran down, which happened around the same time as lights out. It would then enter the assembler maintenance area to recharge. Those two hours were the only time the prison went completely unwatched, and Quasar was adamant that both we and she always made it back to our cells before then. Since the cell doors locked from the inside, locking everyone else out was the only way she could guarantee her safety during the night, or ours now that we had thrown our lot in with her.

  She had called it a mistake to align ourselves with her, and in the back of my mind I couldn’t help wondering if we had chosen a side too quickly. We might not have been official smugglers or members of the smuggling Family, but maybe we could have convinced them to take us in. Then again, I continued holding onto the hope we wouldn’t be in this position for long. Keep breaking us out was a major long shot, but either Alter would show up to rescue us, or we would find a way to save ourselves. I couldn’t accept any other option. I didn’t have time to bide.

  A slight tremor in my hand on the way down to the lower decks had returned that truth to stark reality. It wasn’t just because I had lost my chance to visit Alter’s contact and a possible cure. I was separated from both the meds I had picked up on Earth and the treatments from Head Case’s autodoc. While I might survive for a few months with the cancer, the full suite of symptoms wouldn’t take long to come back without anything to help relieve them.

  The library was on Deck Five, only one deck above the contingent of live security guards who worked on the satellite. Of course, the elevator couldn’t access those decks without clearance. Quasar could only recall four times in the twelve years she had been on the satellite that anyone had spotted a guard above Deck Four, always because of a critical life support malfunction on one of the upper decks. She had never seen the guard herself, but apparently when they did make an appearance, they came surrounded by guardbots in an alternate operational mode that made them much more dangerous.

  “The reason I like the library so much is because it’s quiet,” Quasar explained as we crossed Deck Five, passing a number of other inmates along the way. Most of the prisoners headed for the elevator were in their coveralls and sweaty. “The gym on the other hand? That’s where all the action is. There’s almost always at least a few hundred people working the weights and cardio equipment.” She pointed to an open doorway on the left. “That’s the gym there.”

  I caught a glimpse of the interior as we passed. It was as crowded as she claimed, a sea of yellow coveralls pumping iron, running on treadmills, and gathering in small groups to chat and pass the time.

  “I take it you don’t use the gym,” Matt said.

  “Nope. Not ever. For me to step in there is a death sentence. Everythings too tightly packed for the guardbots to enter, and the adrenaline makes fights common. I stick to body weight exercises in my cell. You look like you hit the weights, Stang.” She glanced at me. “You don’t.”

  “I’ve been going to the gym on our ship for the last two weeks,” I explained.

  She smiled. “You must have been real scrawny before.”

  “You have no idea,” Matt added.

  Shouting erupted out in the wide passageway before I could come up with a decent retort, verifying Quasar’s claims about the fighting. The commotion died down by the time we reached the entrance to the library, the altercation over.

  The size of the space was in proportion to its popularity. While the gym appeared to be twice the size of an LA Fitness, the library was more like the interior of a Starbucks. The wall to the immediate right of the entrance was lined with cubbies, most of which contained glass slabs slightly smaller than the one we had delivered to Kasper. Smaller tables mingled with individual chairs across the available floor space. Two other inmates occupied a pair of tables, reading on their slabs.

  “This place could use a little ambience,” I said, taking in the room. The drab gray walls and embedded LED lighting along the ceiling made the place feel cold and dead. “A fireplace or something.”

  “I’ll put in a request to management,” Quasar replied. “We’re lucky we have this at all.” She plucked a couple of slabs from adjacent cubbies and handed one to Matt and me before taking her own. “I can show you how to use the slab if you’re unfamiliar.”

  I activated the slab. It was close enough to the interface for Head Case’s console that I didn't feel like I needed help. “Thanks, but I think I’ve got it.”

  “We should sit,” she added, crossing to a table in the corner. I wasn’t sure the flimsy metal chair would support her until she settled into it. Matt and I pulled up a couple of the extra chairs, drawing the attention of one of the other inmates. She turned off her slab and stood up, leaving the library with it.

  “We can take the slabs back to our cells?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “Affirmative,” Quasar replied.

  “So why do you come down here to read?”

  “Close your eyes and listen.”

  I did as she said. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly. It’s quiet.”

  “Yes, it is,” the other inmate in the room agreed, looking up from his slab. “So shut the hell up.”

  “Sorry,” I replied, lowering my voice. “How come the other prisoners don’t just bring all of the slabs back to their cells and keep them?”

  “Because they can only be recharged in the cubbies,” Quasar replied in an equal whisper. “They can’t keep them forever.”

  “What if we break one?”

  “There are prisoners in purple coveralls floating around the common areas. It’s their job to maintain everything. But if you break a slab intentionally you’ll be setting yourself up for a beating.”

  “Didn’t I just ask you to shut the hell up?” the other inmate repeated. “Or do I need to shut you up myself?”

  I glanced over at the guy. “Sorry, I’m new to the satellite.”

  “So what? I don’t care. Just shut your hole.”

  “I have questions.”

  He put the slab on his table and raised a fist. “All the answers are right here.”

  I put my hands up in capitulation. Shaq wasn’t so forgiving. He buzzed sharply in what seemed like a warning.

  The man looked at him and laughed. “Is your gastrid going to fight me?”

  “Why does everyone keep calling him a gastrid?” I asked. “He’s not a gastrid, whatever that is. He’s a Jagger.”

  The man looked away from us, returning his attention to his slab. He began tapping on it while I navigated to the satellite’s datastore and started browsing through the collection of books. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Hegemony history, maybe? It couldn’t hurt.

  Or maybe it would be a total waste of time. We needed to find a way out of this mess, and a history lesson wouldn’t do it.

  Would anything?

  The other inmate coughed, drawing my attention. He held up his slab facing me. He had found an image of a blueish rodent that bore only a vague resemblance to Shaq. “That’s a gastrid.” He pointed at Shaq. “So is he.”

  “What?” Shaq buzzed, also unable to spot the similarity.

  Quasar looked over at the image. “Sorry, Shaq. I shouldn’t have called you a gastrid before. You don’t look anything like that.”

  “Thank you,” Shaq buzzed in reply.

  “Yes, he does,” the other guy stubbornly insisted.

  “No he doesn’t,” I countered. “Did you look up Jagger?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You should before you keep insulting him.”

  “Oh, am I insulting you, little blue gastrid?” the guy teased. “What’s the matter? You don’t like being called a pest? They should have exterminated you before they let you come up here. Next thing you know, we’ll have a whole infestation of you little buggers.”

  Shaq buzzed sharply again in complaint, hopping from my arm to the prisoner’s table to tell him off in a rapid series of buzzes.

  “Are you serious?” the inmate said. “I’m going to crush you with this thing.” He held up the slab.

  “Look it up,” I repeated. “Before you do something stupid.”

  The man glared at Shaq before tapping on the slab a few times. I knew when he had found Jagger in whatever encyclopedia he was using because his eyes scanned the slab and then his face went stark white. He lowered the device, slowly pushing his chair back as he looked at Shaq.

  “Uh.” He swallowed hard. “My apologies. No offense intended. I uhh… I have to go.”

  Shoving his seat back far enough, he jumped out of it and made a beeline for the door, shoving his slab back in the cubby before rushing out.

  Shaq buzzed in amusement, which caused me to break into laughter too, releasing some of my built up tension. Matt and Quasar joined us, free to be as loud as we wanted now that we had the small library to ourselves.

  Once our amusement subsided, I looked at Quasar, my mood immediately returning to seriousness. “Can we trust you?” I asked.

  “You shouldn’t,” she replied.

  “Maybe not. But can we? Give me an honest answer.”

  “You had my back with Jango. That goes a long way with me, especially here. Yeah, you can trust me.”

  I watched her eyes. Not that I was a pro at judging sincerity, but she looked sincere enough. Besides, what was the worst thing that could happen if she ratted us out? We’d go to jail?

  “Ben, what are you up to?” Matt asked cautiously.

  “I’m glad you were assigned for our initiation,” I said. “It might be the first bit of good luck we’ve had since we picked up Shaq on Cestus.” I leaned over the table, lowering my voice. “I have it on good authority that the Empress may be in danger. Since you were a Royal Marine, I assume you’re still loyal to her. We need to find a way out of here as soon as possible. We need to warn her. Do you think you can help?”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Ben!” Matt snapped, head whipping to look at me with horror-filled eyes. He clearly hadn’t expected me to go right for the jugular. “What the hell?”

  Quasar reacted a little more calmly, but I could still see the moment of panic in her eyes, the instant where I imagined she had to make the decision whether to disassociate herself from us, call the guards, or stay in place and hear me out.

  Fortunately, she decided to stay, at least for the moment.

  “What did you just say?” she asked.

  “The Empress is in danger,” I repeated. “We need to get out of here. To warn her.”

  “Ben, we haven’t even been here two hours,” Matt continued. “We barely know anything about her. No offense,” he said, throwing a quick glance at Quasar before turning his attention back to Ben. “And you’re ready to spill our whole life story?”

  “Yeah, Matt, I am,” I replied defensively. “Every minute counts, especially for me.” I held out my hand, trying to keep it steady. The tremor was unavoidable. “I missed a dose an hour ago.”

  “What is that?” Quasar asked. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay. I have cancer. A brain tumor. I have meds to keep the swelling down back on our ship, but obviously I have nothing here. Without treatment, I’ve got a couple of months at best.” I glared at Matt. “And they won’t be pleasantly spent, which is why we can’t waste time getting settled in or getting to know Quasar. She’s a former Royal Marine. That has to be good enough.”

  “You keep trusting everyone you come across,” Matt countered. “You trusted Keep, and we wound up a trillion miles from home. You trusted Alter, and look where that got us.”

  “I thought you still trusted Alter too?” I snapped back.

  “Who’s Alter?” Quasar asked.

  “It’s one thing to make an acquaintance here, another to start blabbing everything. And I do trust Alter. I think. Maybe. I don’t know. You’re the one who put the idea in my head that we couldn’t trust her.”

  “I just think it’s better to assume that we can’t and try to work things out for ourselves than to lean back and wait for a rescue that might never come. Even if she wants to get us out, maybe she can’t. We don’t know that she hasn’t been caught too. Quasar just said we can trust her.”

  “What are you two going on about?” Quasar tried again.

  Matt sighed loudly. “Well, she said, so that must be true, right? No offense.”

  “We need to take the chance. We don’t have time to sit here and rot.”

  “We don’t even know who the Empress is. Why should we care if she’s in danger or not? Besides, Keep told you that, and you know Keep is a snake.”

  “Oh, okay,” I hissed, looking at Quasar, her eyebrows wrinkling in on each other as she listened to me. “This has more to do with me needing to get out of prison sooner than later because I’m dying than it has to do with potential danger to the Empress. To all of the Hegemony really. I need to get treatment. I also don’t want my best friend in here for the rest of his life. Which of those two reasons is more motivating to you?”

  Quasar looked at me like I was a raving lunatic. And at the moment I was angry and desperate for hope. If we sat here and read history books, went back to our cells and went to sleep, and became integrated parts of the population without even trying to figure out how to get out, the lack of effort, the acceptance would drive me insane.