Prison Planet Read online

  Marla was conscious. Her nonorganic components had served to protect her brain and spinal cord from the full effects of the beam. It should have knocked her out. Still, she couldn't move. All she could do was watch Murphy beat Renn's unconscious body and curse him from the bottom of her heart.

  Having stopped the worst of Zit's bleeding, the medics took a moment to haul Murphy off Renn's motionless body, and tried to calm him down.

  Marla looked Renn over. There was blood all over his face, but his chest continued to rise and fall. At least he was alive.

  While part of her mind considered the situation at hand, and wondered what kind of punishment Murphy would mete out, another part, a part she hadn't used in a long time, noticed Renn was good-looking. Ignoring the blood, she saw light brown hair and even features. The way Murphy had taken him apart, the idiot obviously knew nothing about hand-to-hand combat. But he had guts, by God, guts enough to fight for what he assumed was an abused dog. Something deep down in a hidden recess of her being softened, and then gave way entirely, causing the other part of her mind to groan in disgust. “You've got to be kidding, you a female cyberdog, falling for some incompetent clown who can't even throw a decent punch! Don't you have enough problems? All he'll do is cause you more pain. How stupid can you get?”

  The hidden part of her sighed, and answered, “Very, very stupid I'm afraid.”

  Suddenly Murphy's voice came from somewhere behind her. She tried to turn, but nothing happened. His voice was tight with rage. “All right, all right, I'll leave him alone. I still say I oughtta kill them both right now ... but you're right ... those clowns in Internal Affairs would go crazy ... so I'll let Swamp do it for me. Strap ’em down ... we're goin’ dirtside.”

  Seconds later two medics picked her up, carried her across the hold, and dumped her into a cargo net. They were none too gentle, but thanks to Murphy's stunner, she couldn't feel a thing. Moments later Renn was dumped in beside her. He bounced a couple of times and then lay still. Although the net was designed for fragile cargo, and was suspended by a network of shock cords, it wasn't intended for living organisms. Apparently the ride down would be part of Murphy's punishment.

  A few minutes later repellor beams pushed the shuttle out and away from the larger vessel. Seconds later it blasted down towards the planet below. The shuttle's pilot was a cheerful middle-aged woman nicknamed Aunt Sally. She had the pleasant easygoing manner of a favorite aunt. And her graying hair, lined face, and matronly figure did nothing to ruin the image. Matronly or not, Aunt Sally was one hot shuttle pilot, and everybody knew it. As she slipped the shuttle into a descending orbit, she lit a cigarillo, and watched Murphy out of the corner of her eye. He hated the damned things which was reason enough to smoke them. As she puffed the cigar into life Murphy wrinkled his nose. She knew he wanted to complain but didn't dare. Aunt Sally grinned. Screw him. He might be the captain of the guards, but this was her shuttle.

  At first the descent wasn't too bad. But as time went on, and the effects of the stunner began to wear off, things got worse. Now more and more sensory input was making it through to Marla's brain, and she wished it wasn't. She'd always been prone to motion sickness ... and her transformation into a cyborg hadn't lessened the problem. Each time the shuttle hit a new layer of air, it bucked violently, causing the shock-mounted cargo net to move every which way. It made her dizzy. Gritting her teeth, she fought the darkness that threatened to engulf her. Battle-trained Class III cyberdogs don't faint.

  Meanwhile Renn groaned and tried to turn over. He was coming to.

  “Good,” she thought. “Because God knows what's waiting dirtside.” Then the shuttle hit an air pocket, and seemed to drop like a rock, and a wave of blackness pulled Marla under.

  At first Renn thought he'd passed from one nightmare into another. He could still see Murphy's huge fists coming at him and hear the meaty thump as they hit his face. It had continued long after he'd ceased to feel it, and ceased to care. Then came the welcome darkness of death. But now his peace had been shattered by a confusing mix of sensations. The pain he could understand—it might be part of death—but the motion didn't make sense at all. How could you feel motion if you were dead? Maybe he wasn't dead after all. The thought depressed him.

  His eyes popped open. Damn. He was alive all right, if you could call laying next to a dead dog in a gyrating cargo net living. No, the dog was still warm, so maybe it was alive, too. The shuttle shuddered, and the whole cargo net swayed in sympathy. They were making an atmosphere landing. He'd made some tricky atmospheric landings himself, enough to know what they felt like, although he'd never made one in a cargo net before. He tried to sit up, but the combined forces of Swamp's gravity, and the shuttle's erratic motion, made that impossible. Besides it hurt like hell. Renn forced himself to relax and gather his strength. Ten to one he'd need it.

  Aunt Sally blew out a thin stream of noxious gray smoke and smiled. The shuttle was screaming over the swampy terrain at about 900 miles an hour just 300 feet off the ground. This was fun. Talk about a rush! They'd have her ass on any other planet. A globe-circling sonic boom doesn't improve your popularity. But if a few prisoners lose a little sleep ... so what?

  Below, an endless canopy of green flashed by, obscured now and then by broken clouds, and divided by a thousand channels of sluggish brown water. Just part of the endless equatorial swamps which gave the planet its name. Aunt Sally knew the planet had other, more attractive latitudes both north and south, but those were empty of the swamp monsters which fueled the planet's economy, and therefore empty of prisoners as well. Because even in the more pleasant latitudes you needed weapons, medical supplies, and a hundred other things to survive. And there was only one way to get them—hunt swamp monsters, or support those who did. She shivered. God help the poor bastards.

  Aunt Sally scanned her readouts and gently cut power. The LZ was ninety standard miles ahead. As the ship slowed, she stubbed out the cigarillo, and grinned when Murphy heaved a sigh of relief.

  Silently cursing the shuttle pilot, Murphy touched a series of keys and activated the shuttle's automatic weapons system. SOP for any prison planet, but especially Swamp. The place was home to some very hostile alien life forms, plus about a hundred thousand prisoners, all of whom wanted to leave. And even though the orbiting weapons platforms would burn any ships lifting without the proper codes, there were still prisoners willing to give it a try as had happened five years before. Two thousand of them had joined forces to ambush a supply shuttle. Murphy smiled at the thought. Home-made rocket launchers against ship's weapons. It was no contest. The shuttle's energy weapons cut them down in bloody swaths, started a forest fire around the LZ, and boiled the surrounding channels temporarily dry. When it was over and the ship lifted, only forty-seven prisoners were still alive, most of them badly wounded. Murphy sighed. He'd been on leave and missed the whole thing.

  As the shuttle lost all forward motion, Aunt Sally's blunt fingers danced across the control panel, and they started dropping towards the surface. Outside, the ship's repellors made a loud screaming sound, and deep in the swamp something heard, and raised a massive head to answer in kind. Other things heard too, quickly slithering into turgid brown water, or scurrying deeper into lush vegetation. Thousands of insects took to the humid air. Each was the size of a small bird, and the combined sound of their wings filled the air with an ominous hum. Soon they filled the sky and threw a shadow across the land below.

  As that shadow swept over them, a small group of men paused, and looked up with hungry eyes. Then without a word they resumed their march. They were tough, as mean as the swamp itself, and just as heartless. Their leader was a full seven feet tall. His giant strides set a mean pace, and the others hurried to keep up. But they didn't mind, because greenies didn't arrive every day, and when they did, it was easy pickings. To them a sonic boom was a call to action. An omen of good things to come. So they hurried forward while the swampy trail squished and sucked at the soles of th
eir boots.

  Moments later the shuttle thumped down onto the glazed surface of the LZ. In its own way the LZ was a high-tech work of art. Initial surveys had shown the spongy land wouldn't support anything heavier than a scout. So the Imperial Engineers had made a few changes. First, they set up a complex network of interlocking portable force-field generators. Each was situated to create an invisible cylinder of energy. One end of the cylinder rested on a small island and the other reached a mile up into the sky. Having done this, they dropped a miniature hell bomb right down the middle of the invisible shaft. When the bomb went off, its energy was channeled straight up and down. The result was an island of fused rock and earth a quarter-mile across and a mile deep. Voila! A crude but serviceable landing zone.

  So far, not even the combined effects of time, swamp, and weather had managed to damage the LZ's blackened surface. Wind-blown soil occasionally collected here and there, quickly giving birth to a fantastic variety of plant life. For a while lush foliage would grow, and then, when it became too thick, the next shuttle in would burn it off. Aunt Sally considered doing so on this trip, but decided it wasn't necessary quite yet. There was growth working its way in from the edges of the LZ, but there was still plenty of room in the middle, and that's where she set the shuttle down. Putting all systems on standby, she pulled out her knitting, and started a new row.

  Marla regained consciousness as they pulled her from the cargo net. Although she had full sensory input her body was still paralyzed. Renn was nowhere to be seen so perhaps they'd taken him first. One man held her up, grunting at the effort involved, while another slipped a cargo sling under her stomach. Then each grabbed one end of the sling, lifted, and carried her towards the main cargo hatch. The hair on the back of her neck bristled as the sluggish breeze brought her the corrupt smell of the surrounding swamp. A growl formed deep in her throat and she carefully suppressed it. They'd love to stun her again.

  When they reached the open hatch, Marla saw it was ten or fifteen feet to the ground, and there was no ladder in sight. The men began to swing her back and forth in concert. They were going to throw her out! Desperately she tried to regain motor control but felt no response. Damn! Depending on how she hit, the fall could kill her. Suddenly Murphy was there laughing. “Bye bye bitch! Hope you can fly!”

  And then she was flying. Flying and falling towards the hard surface below. She hit hard but felt no pain. Had she been lucky enough to land on something soft? Then she felt movement underneath her. “Damn! You're a heavy dog. That's the last time I'm catching you till you lose some weight.” Suddenly Renn was standing over her. For the first time she realized he was a bit chubby.

  She tried to say, “Look who's talking,” but found herself making a growling sound instead. Anyway she didn't mean it. He'd obviously risked injury to break her fall.

  Then she heard Murphy's laughter, and saw Renn turn in that direction. Her own head still refused to move.

  Murphy stood framed in the cargo hatch, hands on hips, the large equipment bag on the deck beside him. Looking down he shook his head in mock sympathy. “In a few hours you'll be dead meat, scum bag, and the thought makes me sad, not because I like you, but because you deserve a few years on Swamp before you die.” Murphy shrugged. “But them's the breaks. Here, I'll even leave your gear, not that you've got the slightest idea what to do with it.”

  With that Murphy picked up the bag and threw it. It hit Renn in the chest and knocked him over backwards. Murphy was still laughing as the cargo hatch cycled closed.

  As Renn got up, the ship lifted on screaming repellors, danced to the far side of the LZ, and blasted towards the sky. As Aunt Sally fed power to the main drives, she lit another cigarillo, and grinned. By the time Murphy reached the control room it would be full of smoke.

  Chapter Two

  Renn watched the shuttle lift with mixed emotions. Unpleasant though it was, the prison shuttle was a connection with the past and everything familiar. As it dwindled to a spark of light, and then vanished altogether, he knew there was no turning back. But at least he was free! He'd make a new start, find a way off this damned pus ball, and get the bastards who'd framed him. Wouldn't they be surprised when he showed up to even the score!

  As quickly as the fantasy came it was gone, replaced by the stark reality of the brooding swamp, the humid air which settled over him like a cloak, and the strange noises all around. The dog made a sound deep in its throat and he knelt by its side. He gave it a reassuring pat on the head, and said, “Take it easy boy ... you'll be OK ... it takes awhile for the effects to wear off. That bastard Murphy must have set his stunner for max.”

  “You idiot!” Marla thought desperately, trying to speak but producing a whimper instead. “I'm not a dog, not a boy, and not nearly as stupid as you are. Can't you hear them? Damn, they sound like a herd of elephants ... and the smell ... my God they stink! Break out a weapon and load it. Do something for God's sake!”

  But Renn didn't do anything. He didn't have her amplified hearing, enhanced sense of smell, or experience in dealing with physical danger. So when the men stepped out of the dense undergrowth a few seconds later he wasn't ready. There were five of them, all dressed in hand-sewn leather. They seemed to fade into the thick green vegetation behind them. All were heavily armed. One was seven feet tall, and so intimidating his weapons seemed superfluous. His huge frame was topped with a big, bony head, a blade-like nose, long greasy hair, and a single eye. It gleamed with malevolence. Not stupid malevolence, but intelligent malevolence, the kind that chooses evil over good because it seems like the most logical decision. Shiny metal filled the giant's other eye socket, flashing in the broken sunlight, and showing Renn a picture of himself. It didn't look good. When the giant spoke, his voice was surprisingly cultured.

  “Well, well,” he said, turning to his friends. “What have we here gentlemen? A newcomer it would seem. A newcomer and his pet dog. How touching. I never thought I'd see the day when prisoners were allowed to bring pets ... but,” he said, turning to Renn, “we are forgetting our manners. Welcome to Swamp stranger. For somewhat obvious reasons I am called ‘Cyclops.’ While not the name my mother and father chose, it is in keeping with the culture of this planet, and has a somewhat intimidating quality. The four gentlemen behind me are variously known as the Blaster, Knife, Trap, and the Scuz.”

  Renn nodded and smiled. “It's a pleasure gentlemen. Great set of names. You should open a law firm.”

  When Cyclops laughed the sound was cold and harsh. It sent a chill down Renn's spine. “Oh that's a good one isn't gentlemen? The stranger has a sense of humor. I like that. Tell me stranger, how do you like our planet so far? I hope our informal spaceport and somewhat shabby appearance do not offend you?”

  Not sure of how to handle this strange combination of threat and civility, Renn tried to smile. “No of course not, I...”

  “Then you agree we look shabby?” Cyclops interrupted.

  “Why no,” Renn replied, “I just meant that...”

  “He thinks we look shabby,” Cyclops said sadly turning to his men, all of whom did their best to look offended. “He has only been on our beautiful planet for a few minutes, and he is already criticizing the way we dress, and the condition of our only spaceport. It makes me sad. Does it make you sad, too?”

  Renn watched helplessly, as the other four took turns saying that they felt sad. Cyclops was obviously playing with him.

  Cyclops nodded, holding up one hand for silence. “I hear you gentlemen, and understand your unhappiness, but hark, for I bring you glad tidings!”

  The other four did their best to look interested.

  “I feel certain that out new citizen mentions our shabbiness only because he intends to remedy it! Yes, that must be it!” Whirling back towards Renn, Cyclops said, “That is correct is it not? In that bag you have fine raiment's to improve our appearance? Small conveniences with which to improve the quality of our lives?”

  Marla groaned internally
, and struggled against the lingering effects of the stun beam, but it was hopeless. Although the effects of the stunner were wearing off, she was still far short of full mobility, and nothing less would get the job done against five armed opponents.

  “Give ’em the bag,” she said, almost croaking it out, but growling instead. “Now's no time to fight. They've got you outnumbered and out-classed. Just give ’em what they want.” She managed to raise her head slightly, her eyes seeking his, hoping he'd somehow receive her thoughts via mental telepathy. One look made her groan and slump back. The fool was getting ready to fight. It showed in the tense way he held his body and the determination on his face.

  Cyclops saw it, too, and smiled. It would be more fun this way.

  Renn gulped back his fear. “Look, Cyclops, or whatever your name is, why don't we just cut the crap. You intend to steal my equipment. You're armed, plus there's five of you, and only one of me. Its too bad you haven't got the guts for a fair fight.”

  “A fair fight!” Marla wailed inside her self. “If you had a rocket launcher he'd still win! Give ’em the bag!”

  Cyclops rubbed his chin as if considering Renn's challenge. Then he turned to his companions. “Well gentlemen, what do you think? The stranger wants to give us his many gifts, but begs the honor of personal combat first. What say you?”

  Not too surprisingly, the other four all agreed that personal combat sounded like a good idea. Turning back to Renn, Cyclops shrugged, as if to say, “Well there you are, what can I do but comply?”

  As Cyclops made a production out of laying down his weapons, Renn went through a series of warming-up exercises, much to the amusement of Blaster, Knife, Trap, and the Scuz.

  Marla felt proud and sad at the same time. Proud that Renn had the guts to fight, and sad, knowing the certain outcome.

  Renn knew he must be a ludicrous sight, dancing around and shadowboxing, but it was better than standing still, and besides, if his plan worked he'd have the last laugh. It was a desperate plan, and one which he knew had little chance of success. Nonetheless, it was better than nothing. At least he hoped it was.