Orbital Supermax

Psychology is war. You walk into a room, sometimes by choice, sometimes because youve been busted
for diverting medical supplies from Med Bay to the prisoners infirmary, and sit across from the enemy
while they do everything they can to get inside your head.
Do I need to remind you, asked Cayla Wyrick, my psychologist, that failure to comply with these
sessions is a violation of the agreement you made with Captain Fieras to keep you out of a four by four
cell?
She had a long neck and a narrow, but pretty face that made her everyones favorite civilian contractor.
Her blonde locks were cut short, but stylishly done, and her makeup was immaculate, like she was
daring any one of OSP-4s caged monkeys to try something. She was young for a therapist, especially
one stationed way out here in the Banshee system.
I dont understand why Fieras insisted on these sessions. Im a smuggler, not a mental patient.
She crossed her legs and sat back in her chair. And if a smuggler was all you were, Im certain he would
have simply fired you. Or thrown you in a cell. But you have a history, dont you?
I took a sip of ice water and put the glass on a nearby table. There was a huge vid screen behind her that
showed a starscape. In a couple of hours, Lorona, the planet in whose Lagrange point we sat, would
heave itself into view on the lower right.
Of course shed read my file. Shed probably watched the vids of the fiery explosion that had claimed my
brothers life.
I resented Danny for dying so publicly. If wed been miners in some nameless asteroid belt, no one
would have cared about the details. But wed been pilots, best and second-best at the Academy, and
when hed died Id had to accept the medal that should have been his, because Id been right behind
him on the scoreboards. That single incident had become a gold mine for the head shrinkers Id seen in
the years since the incident. Any action I took was labelled survivors syndrome, or twinless twin
syndrome, or any number of other personality disorders. Now that Id been caught with my hand in the
cookie jar, Fieras and Wyrick were falling over themselves in their rush to call it something other than
what it was: a crime of greed.
I didnt want to go through another minute of therapy. Id rather spend my time in a cell.
You know that blush youre wearing is contraband? These guys use the pigment for prison tattoos. Or
wear it. You know. It takes all kinds.
and I think were done for the day, she replied, tapping a few keys on the notepad and then letting
the screen go dark.

A small flash, like someone lighting a match in a dark room, attracted my attention to the screen behind
her. One of the stars began to move. It grew from pinprick to buttonhole, gaining velocity exponentially
until it shot off the top right corner of the screen and disappeared. The whole process had taken maybe
five seconds, and it took me slightly longer than that to figure out what I was looking at.
I launched myself out of my chair at Wyrick. My weight caught her in the shoulder and overturned her
chair. A heartbeat later the station shook violently and the lights flickered before going out. A blast of
super-heated air blew off the cover of the air conditioning vent and flames shot out of it, briefly painting
the darkened office with shades of orange. Emergency lights in the base of each wall came on and we
could see again, albeit dimly.
I rolled away from her and got to my knees. To her credit she didnt say a word about my knocking her
down. What happened? she asked instead.
We got hit by a missile, I said. At least one. For some reason, our automatic defenses didnt come
online to prevent the attack.
The emergency lights changed from red to yellow and flashed a pattern that indicated the door. An
inoffensive, computer-generated voice spoke from everywhere at once. Lieutenant Cayla Wyrick, as the
highest ranking officer on board Orbital Supermax Prison 4, you are now in command. Please follow the
yellow lights to the Auxiliary Command Deck.
Lieutenant Wyrick? I said sarcastically back to the computer. Thats her paygrade, not her rank!
Civilian contractors were paid on the same scale as the military. Wyrick was obviously an OS-9, which
meant she got paid the same as a lieutenant. But that wasnt the same thing as actually being a
lieutenant. She couldnt give orders, or even be saluted. The computer had made a mistake, and it didnt
take me long to realize what else that meant. Wed been attacked with surgical precision. Everyone with
any real rank was already dead.
Wyrick threw the notepad onto her desk and tapped on the starscape until it dissolved into a map of the
station. Green sections were undamaged, yellow meant that wed suffered a non-lethal holing on that
deck, and red meant that we could safely cut the prison food budget. There was a lot of red.
Wyricks fingers danced across the vidscreen. Command, Engineering, Med Bay theyre all offline.
I joined her at the screen. May I?
She glared at me, then reluctantly keyed in her override codes. Without wasting any time, I swapped
back to the starscape and then zoomed in as far as I could on the source of those missiles. It didnt take
much scrolling to find a small pleasure craft that had been hastily modified to accept huge missile racks.
Several more fighters flew nearby in close formation. A larger ship lurked behind them, but the stations
limited magnification gave it a pixelated look and I couldnt quite make out what it was. Suddenly, the
image was obscured by something so large that it too was pixelated. A fighter maybe, passing very close
to the station. And not one of the UEEs either.

I tried the emergency channels but all I heard was the dull hiss of static across all wavelengths. We were
being jammed. Pirates. I dont know what theyre doing here, but it cant be good.
Is it a prison break? asked Wyrick.
Maybe? But youd think that anyone worth a small flotilla would have been flown immediately to
Kellog VI, I said, meaning the infamous prison planet. Installations like OSP-4 were prisons in their own
right, but also feeding stations, temporary lodgings where high-risk prisoners from the outer systems
could be held, pending transfer to Kellog VI. It might just be a raid. Once a pirate pack gets too big they
cant sustain themselves on plunder from the occasional freighter. An installation like this might be a
tempting target. The prisoners are just an added bonus. Or theyre expendable, depending on the whims
of the pirates.
But arent there defenses?
Sure. As the prisons former quartermaster I was in a better position to know than anyone else still
alive on the station. I punched up the flight deck. Debris floated in the air. A dark, human-shaped
silhouette tumbled lazily through the micro-gravity. A quick scan highlighted a jagged gash in the hull.
Decompression had been swift and violent, but the stations two fighters were still on their pads. Looks
like we didnt put up much of a fight.
A dull vibration and then a thump echoed through the deck all around us. I felt my stomach lift as gravity
fluctuated. The ominous hiss of air escaping through the vents was a sign that wed suffered too much
damage for the stations systems to patch, and that meant that breathing was going to get difficult
pretty quickly.
Weve gotta go, I said.
Reluctantly, she followed me out the door and down the hall.
The damage was more extensive than I thought. Wires descended from the drop-ceiling like jungle
vines, dripping sparks onto the floor. The air smelled of ozone and burnt rubber and was uncomfortably
hot, as if a fire raged just out of sight. The hallways we passed through were empty and dim, except for
the occasional flash and sizzle from the wiring overhead. The computer was guiding us to Aux
Command, but I had a different plan. Instead I turned aside to the prisons Maximum Security block.
What are we doing here? she asked. We stood in front of a red, metal door with a keypad at its center.
The comm systems are down and that means theres no way for us to send a distress signal. Unless we
get lucky and someone sends us an unscheduled prisoner transfer, the earliest we can expect help is two
weeks from now. Waiting here is not an option. I let my tone convey an additional meaning. Especially
for you.
Wyrick shifted uncomfortably. There are 1600 prisoners and two hundred staff members aboard this
facility. We cant leave them behind.

I stifled my aggravation. Youre a therapist and Im a quartermaster. Neither of us is hero material.

There are two fighters still on the flight deck. We can use them to get off this station and warn the UEE.
Unconvinced, she looked up at the door. Okay, but then what are we doing here?
Getting hero material, I said with a smirk on my face.
Id done a little digging back when Id started misplacing supplies for profit just in case I ever needed a
little inside help to make a quick escape, and every official document I could lay my hands on said that
the guy we were about to liberate was the best damned pilot aboard. He was ex-military, so most of the
files Id found were redacted, but Id found a list of medals hed received and pretty much the only ones
he didnt have were the ones you got for taking a bullet.
Opening the Maximum Security door was like opening an oven. A blast of superheated air seared my
face and I looked away involuntarily. There werent any flames visible in the passageway, but some of
the plastic fascia on the walls burped and puckered.
Give me your card, I said with a wave of my hand.
Nylund, said Wyrick, you cant
I nodded down the passageway. Dont worry, Ill be back. Im not escaping through that.
Thats not what I meant, she replied, but gave me the card anyway.
My instincts were telling me not to go in. The heat was too intense, the air wasnt breathable, that kind
of thing. I ignored them. I might have been able to find another pilot, but this guy was the best and Id
convinced myself that anyone else would get us killed. I stayed as low as I could, on the opposite side of
the hallway from the puckering plastic, but it was nearly unbearable. I counted two doors and then
swiped Wyricks card.
The panel went green and the door slid open. I was about to find out what kind of man we were risking
our lives to set free.

The fire in the Maximum Security block travelled through wiring ducts in the drop-ceiling, burning so hot
that it had begun to melt the plastic fascia on the walls. The thick black smoke that poured into the
corridor reminded me of ink slowly spreading through water.
Wes Morgan, the man wed come to spring, pressed his face close to mine. Hed torn a sleeve off his
prison uniform, wet it in his small sink, and then tied it over his face. The other sleeve, he passed to me.
Up there, he pointed at the ceiling, is superheated steam. Down there is chemical smoke thatll kill
you if you breathe it. So stay low, but not too low. He turned to step further down the corridor.
Weve got to get to the flight deck. Its the only way off the station, I said, pointing back up toward
where Cayla Wyrick waited for us. The prison was in lockdown and she was the only one with the codes

to get us there. We didnt have time for detours. I was armed with a snub-nosed stun gun Id taken from
a locker outside the block and there was always the option to turn it on him, but we needed his help to
get us past the pirate blockade.
Were not leaving without Asari, he said gruffly.
Whos Asari? I asked, but Morgan had already begun moving down the corridor toward the next cell. I
was certain Id heard the name before but couldnt remember where, so I followed reluctantly, halfhunched over as Id been instructed. Though I could see no open flame, the air was blistering hot and
seared my lungs when I breathed, even through the wet cloth.
This one, said Morgan through his sleeve. He stood in front of the only other occupied cell on the
block. There was no identifying mark beyond a string of numbers above the door.
Wyrick had given me her ident card and it would open any door in the station. But this was the
Maximum Security block. This was where the UEE parked prisoners they didnt want anyone to find.
Men whod committed atrocious crimes, or who had known pirate affiliations, or
I remembered who Yusaf Asari was.
Im not opening that door. I said firmly. Asari was up on charges of attempted genocide. A Tevarin
terrorist, hed released a weaponized virus on one of the colonies in the Geddon system. The idea had
been to spread the infection through colony transports that were returning to UEE space. The Advocacy
had gotten wind of the plan and locked down the colony before the virus could spread, but the
casualties on the ground had been horrendous. He was a monster in every sense of the word.
We can sit here and argue, or I could just take the ident card from you and open the cell myself. Letting
you keep the card is just a courtesy.
Morgan knew I was armed and didnt seem to care. Maybe he just wanted to keep Asari from dying in
the fire, I reasoned. If that was the case, I could bend a little. I want your personal guarantee that he
doesnt get off the station.
Morgan considered that. I wont help him leave the station. What he does on his own is up to him. It
was the best I was going to get.
Asari did not immediately emerge from his cell. He was big for a Tevarin and that was saying something.
Hed also been scarred across his face and upper shoulders, scars that were plainly visible because of the
white, sleeveless shirt he wore. Morgan, he said with a slurred voice. You dont look anything like I
imagined.
You look just like your newsreels, said Morgan. Consider this a rescue.
Asaris gaze passed over me as if I wasnt even there. I cannot join you, he said. My brother Tevarin
are being held on a lower deck. I will find them and then join the invaders if theyll take us. If not, then
we will kill them.

I understand, said Morgan. He held out a hand, which Asari shook. Its been a pleasure.
Ill see you again, Wes Morgan, if not before death, than after. With that, the giant Tevarin turned
down the corridor and disappeared deeper into the prison.
Were still not going to the flight deck yet, said Morgan when wed returned to Wyrick. He spoke again
before either of us could object. That toy stun gun you have isnt going to mean squat if we run into the
people responsible for taking out the defenses of an Orbital Supermax, and Ill be damned if I face them
armed with nothing more than my winning personality.
No guns, said Wyrick firmly.
Morgan looked her up and down. Youre a sweet girl. Good looking too. You dont want to find out
what these guysll do to you if they have the chance. He let that gruesome thought hang in the air for a
moment before continuing. You know who am I?
Shed gone pale, but she nodded.
Youve read my file?
Another nod. Kellogg IV wanted a psychological profile before we transferred you. I was going to
conduct it sometime next week.
Good. Then you know Im not a psychopath. Guns are a negotiating tool. If I dont have to fire one, I
wont.
She studied him a moment longer, then nodded a third time. Funnily enough, I didnt think it was
Morgans threat that had made up her mind. She was a shrink, and shrinks were good at reading people.
Im guessing she saw something in him that told her that he was telling the truth.
Unfortunately, we werent the first people on the station to think of the armory. We risked the elevator,
taking it down two levels, and then passed through a maze of hallways. As we got close, we began to
hear noises, metal-on-metal, yells and curses. The source was apparent when we rounded a corner. A
prisoner so skinny he looked like he had a concave chest was holding a patch gun against a sealed vaultlike door. The gun, usually used to seal holes in the hull made by micro-meteorites, sparked as it
contacted the metal. Char marks stained a wide swatch where previous attempts to open it had failed.
A giant prisoner whom I knew as Albus Cronock stood with a cluster of men. His arms were folded over
his chest and he oversaw the operation with heavily-lidded eyes. A weapon taken from a dead guard
leaned against a wall nearby, within easy reach.
Last chance to turn around and head for the flight deck, I offered nervously.
Were staying, said Morgan. He held out his hand. Give me the gun.
I hesitated, but surprisingly, Wyrick agreed with him. Do you think it would make a difference one way
or another?

It might not make a difference, but its weight on my hip was comforting and I was reluctant to give it up.
As soon as Id handed it over, Morgan stepped up to one of the control panels that was mounted on the
wall, smashed it with his fist, and then removed a wire from its insides. He popped out the stun guns
clip and did something to it with the wire that caused it to spark. He gave it a brief inspection and when
hed come to a satisfactory conclusion, he popped the clip back into the gun.
There. Now its lethal. He lifted the barrel and pointed it right at us.
Well, I said, glaring at Wyrick, that didnt take long.
This is all part of the plan, isnt it, Morgan? asked Wyrick optimistically.
Its part of a plan, sure, answered Morgan with a shrug. You know that advice you get about your first
day in prison? Find the biggest meanest sonofabitch and start a fight? Thats what were going to do.
Then he waved us forward with the gun. Now get moving.
It took a few seconds for the man with the patch gun to notice that the other prisoners had fallen silent,
but when he did he lowered the tool, lifted his safety goggles, and then looked towards Cronock. The
bigger prisoner pushed off from the wall, caught the butt of the guards rifle with the edge of his toe,
and then tossed it into the air where he caught it with his hands. As he advanced towards us, several of
the other prisoners followed in his wake. Well, well. Cayla Wyrick. Nice to see your pretty face. Who
are your two friends?
I should have realized that everyone knew the prison shrink. Morgan caught my eye. His grip tightened
on the gun and he nodded deliberately at the skinny guy with the patch gun, as if to suggest that I
should charge him if things went south. I shrugged and pretended like I didnt understand him. Im as
brave as the next guy, but a patch gun fuses metal together. There was no way I was going to throw
myself against the sparkly end.
Thats Dr. Wyrick, she said. It was Dr. Wyrick the first time we met and it was Dr. Wyrick last week
when you were crying in my office like a baby because your girlfriend got tired of waiting for you and ran
off with her boss.
Cronock blinked like hed been struck, and then shot looks left and right. Crying? Me? You got the
wrong guy. He hunched his shoulder and spoke in a softer, pleading tone of voice. Isnt there
supposed to be some kind of doctor/patient confidentiality or something?
But Wyrick wasnt done. She looked at the man holding the patch gun. Hello, James. Im surprised to
see you here. What do you think your sister will do when you get another twenty years added to your
sentence for attempting to escape? Stay with Slade and end up in the hospital? You were going to save
her from all that, werent you?
James reddened and then set the patch gun on the ground. Sorry, Cronock, I aint gonna let that
happen.

And you! Mick Brown! Werent you going to ?

This time the prisoner in question didnt even wait for her to finish. All right, all right. You made your
point. I aint touching a hair on your head.
I was stunned. Wyrick had managed to neutralize one of the most violent group of men on the
Supermax. Using words.
Morgans eyes were wide. Is there anyone she hasnt got dirt on?
I could only shrug.
Wyrick strode right into the middle of the group. Even in heels, her head didnt even come up to their
shoulders, but it was like she owned them, body and soul. Ive got news for you. I am this facilitys new
Warden. That means that I am free to offer station paroles and sentencing recommendations to anyone
who helps us out. She looked around, waiting for that news to sink in. Then she held up her ident card.
And because I am the acting warden I have access to the armory.
Morgan blinked, as if hed only been half-listening up until that point. Hold on a second
I stuttered out something too. We were going to arm them? But a cheer went up from the prisoners that
drowned me out. Then Wyrick had the door open and we found ourselves in the center of a bunch of
celebrating madmen who were armed to the teeth.
Since the only thing that was keeping them from throwing us out the nearest airlock was Wyricks lack of
hesitation in divulging confidential information, I made sure to grab a P4SC assault rifle. If they ever
came for me, I was going to be armed.

Being in command of an army of escaped prisoners isnt half as glorious as Id pictured not that Id
pictured it. But when youre assigned to guard said prisoners, your imagination can get a little carried
away. Now, thanks to a pirate attack that had killed every senior officer on the station, the computer
had put the prison shrink in charge, and as her ranking patient I had found myself in a position of
pseudo-authority.
My blue officers uniform stood in stark contrast to the prison orange worn by everyone else in our
group, except Cayla Wyrick, the therapist in question. I was already attracting the occasional curious
glare and I knew that as soon as these guys got bored of the new weapons shed procured for them out
of the armory, things were going to get rough. The trick to staying alive was to keep them occupied, and
Wes Morgan, the mercenary wed rescued from Maximum Security, was attempting to do just that.
Morgan, Wyrick, and Cronock were huddled around Wyricks notepad, just outside the cargo elevator.
The mercenary had proven to be something of an expert hacker and used what was really an office toy
to access the prison broadband. Images of the flight deck, newly patched, flashed across its screen.

It was vented in the initial attack, I said. Looks like the pirates who attacked the station patched it up,
restored the gravity.
We could see a few pirates milling around in clumps, while landing lights had lit up a section of the flight
deck and a large freighter was maneuvering through the bluish airshield. It looked like it had been
cobbled together from parts of other ships. A large fixed-mount particle cannon extended above the
bow, painted to look like the horn of some savage beast. Unfortunately, the illusion of ferocity was
shattered by two disproportionately small wings, which made the ship look less like a predator and
more like a turkey with a horn.
Its the Dogs, Morgan said grimly. His finger highlighted some graffiti on the side of the freighter.
The Dogs? I asked.
The Nova Dogs. Theyre bad news. Heavy on weapons and light on morals. Got deep pockets too, for
pirates.
Cannibals, grunted Cronock. Aint gonna let us join them.
When he saw the look Wyrick and I gave him, he shrugged. If you expected loyalty, youre bigger idiots
than I thought.
We can try a flanking maneuver, said Morgan, ignoring the remark. Hed probably taken it for granted
that Cronock would turn on us at his first opportunity. He shifted the camera angle on the notepads
screen. Sneak in behind these fighters and hit them before they know were there.
Cronock burped loudly. Flanking maneuver? These boys aint soldiers. You gotta use short words and
speak slowly with this lot.
Can we reason with the pirates? suggested Wyrick.
Morgan continued on as if Wyrick hadnt spoken. Your men wont last five minutes against the Nova
Dogs in a direct attack.
Only one way to find out. Cronock ham-fisted the elevator button and barked for his men to get in. I
stood with Wyrick in the back, trying to figure out how Id gotten into this situation. If Id wanted to fight
pirates I could have flown a fighter for the UEE. Id had my choice of assignments when Id graduated. Of
course, Davids death had convinced me to work anywhere but in a cockpit.
Security on OSP-4 was tight, and the flight deck was designed to be confining and claustrophobic. The
elevator opened into an airlock that was effectively a killing field. Guards on the flight deck could fire
into it through a vertical slot on the wall, and I knew that there was a subsonic device near the ceiling
that could be used to stun anyone inside. Fortunately though, we had Wyrick, and her codes allowed us
to disable both the airlock defenses and the elevator alarm.

It was a simple matter for Cronocks men to overwhelm the few pirates stationed at the elevator doors.
This small success was taken to be a sign that his plan was the best one and he strode across the flight
deck like the crest of an orange wave that fired lead in every direction. Those few pirates who were
scattered around the flight deck quickly took cover behind stacks of crates and returned fire.
Stay here, said Morgan quietly, putting a hand on my chest. He glanced around quickly, taking in the
positions of the pirates. Something doesnt feel right.
The small file of pirates that had just begun to disembark from the armored freighter were more heavily
armed and better trained than the rest. They quickly shielded a huge man in a black suit from the
gunfire and urged him back up the gangplank. He was having none of it, and shoved his lieutenants
aside.
Throw down your weapons! he roared at his subordinates, and I could see a flash of chrome where his
jaw had been. The rest of him was hugely muscular, so much so that his head looked comically small
atop his massive shoulders. He had long black hair that matched the black flight suit that he wore. The
decal on his chest displayed a skull in the jaws of a larger skull, which made a grim kind of sense for the
leader of a cannibal pack.
He strode right into the thick of the gunfire, batting down the weapons of his pirates.
Cronock, surprised and confused by the sudden surrender, must have felt that he had no choice but to
stop firing himself, and ordered his men to stand down.
Who is that? asked Wyrick quietly.
Morgans jaw had tightened. Martin Kilkenny. Youd probably diagnose him with a god complex. He
became infamous for an attack he led on a slave ship, except instead of freeing the slaves, he and his
crew ate them, and then sold the ship. Were in trouble.
Cronock did not appear to recognize Kilkenny, or if he did, he was unintimidated. Were here for your
ships. Give over the codes if you want to live.
I cant hear you. Come closer! yelled Kilkenny, cupping a hand behind his ear.
Did you see that? said Morgan quietly to Wyrick and I while Kilkenny was speaking. He nodded at the
fighters.
I followed his gaze. The two vehicles were the OSP-4s advanced Hornet fighters. After a few moments I
saw a change in light. Someone was inside the fighter! My eyes shifted to the second Hornet. The angle
was too oblique for me to see inside the cockpit, but I was sure that it too was occupied. Worse,
Cronocks group had moved right into the arc of the ships weapons.
We have to warn them, said Wyrick in alarm.

Morgan looked at the psychiatrist like shed sprouted another head. What do you think those prisoners
were going to do to us once they no longer needed your codes to escape the station? We wait here. No
matter which group loses, we win.
We cant just let them be slaughtered, said Wyrick desperately. I almost pitied her. I had forgotten
that she knew each of these men with the intimacy only a psychologist possessed. She knew their
backstories, their hopes, their dreams it was her job to bring out the best in them in the hopes of
helping them to be rehabilitated. Morgan and I had the luxury of seeing a crowd of heavily armed
lunatics in orange jumpers. We could watch them get slaughtered without a second thought. She
couldnt.
It doesnt help us if Kilkenny kills Cronock without a fight, I pointed out.
Fine, he shook his head. Fine. Keep quiet and follow me.
We kept low to the ground and sprinted behind the nearest fighter. Morgan ducked beneath the
fuselage and beckoned us to follow. On the other side was a stack of crates that had been scored by
blaster fire. Two dead pirates lay sprawled out on the deck nearby.
Pay attention, said Morgan, pressing a knife into my hand. He pointed at a thin rubber hose that
dangled from the fighters front landing gear. This carries hydraulic fluid for the landing gear. When I
say so, you cut it. Dont get any on your hands. Its poisonous as hell.
He ducked his head around the fighters nose and checked out Cronocks group. They were completely
oblivious to the fighters front-mounted weaponry. With a sigh, he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and
sighted down the barrel at the other fighters landing gear.
Stop there, said Kilkenny to Cronock. I could barely see either of them around the fighters landing
gear.
Wyrick knelt beside me. She was unarmed, having refused the weapon Morgan had offered her back at
the armory. Philosophical grounds, I guessed. I respected her decision but that didnt mean I couldnt
wish we had a third gun. Even crouched underneath the fighter, I felt exposed. She didnt seem to notice
my discomfort. Whats wrong with his jaw?
Shut up, hissed Morgan. He pointed with the rifle at a spot above my head. The cockpit is right
there.
Wyrick and I looked up and then back at him. We nodded in unison.
I said, said Cronock repeated, louder than he had before. Were here for your ,
I heard you, said Kilkenny. I just needed you to be exactly where you are now. Cronocks crew had
walked right into his trap.

Now! said Morgan sharply. He opened fire on the other fighters landing gear, the rifle chugging in his
hands. I slashed with the knife, but to my horror the rubber hose flexed with my cut. Bright flashes
seared my vision as the Hornets guns began firing into the crowd of prisoners.
Nylund! shouted Wyrick. Her nails dug into my arm.
Im trying, I shouted back. I grabbed the hose in my other hand and began to saw at it. Morgan had
turned to fire at Kilkennys men, whod retreated into the freighter. All at once I cut through the hose
and hydraulic fluid sprayed everywhere. The nose of the Hornet dropped abruptly, and it would have hit
me in the head had I not fallen backwards to avoid the spraying fluid. Laser fire hit the deck nearby and
hot air washed over us.
This way, shouted Morgan to what remained of Cronocks men. We heard a hiss above us and he
swivelled and fired. The body of a pirate fell out of the cockpit to the deck beside us, a bloody hole
where his eye had been. Morgan grabbed Wyricks arm, yanked her out from under the fighter, and
then practically threw her at the loading platform. I followed, sliding to a stop in front of the platforms
control panel. One of the coaxial guns on the armored freighter had powered up and was spitting lasers
at us. I slammed my hand on what I guessed was the down button and a fighter-sized square of floor
shuddered into motion beneath our feet.
I heard Wyrick shout for Morgan, who was firing at the freighter to little effect as a half-dozen prisoners
made a break for us. The platform moved depressingly slowly, but thankfully we sank out of the coaxial
guns arc in a few seconds. Just before the platforms doors shut above us, Morgan slid over the edge
and dropped down beside us.
Well, he said, looking back the way wed come. We need to find another way off the station.

The twelve of us who had made it to the loading platform alive had to wait in the dark as the thirteenth
choked to death on his own blood. The sound was hideous and wet, and no man spoke until it stopped.
It was a sign of how badly the pirate force led by Martin Kilkenny had damaged the station that the
lights wouldnt come on in the cargo area in which we now hid for several minutes. When they did
flicker to life, the light was dim and uncertain.
We felt the platform begin to stir in response to a summons from above, but Morgan bashed the panel
to pieces with the butt of his rifle. Nearby, Wyrick, the prisons therapist and our de facto conscience
wept softly over the dead man.
Okay Nylund, said Morgan. We need another way off the station.
I realized that Id been staring into space and shook my head. Wed gone to the Flight Deck to steal the
stations two Hornet fighters and then use them to run the blockade set up by the Nova Dogs and their
Captain, Martin Kilkenny, a pirate about whom I knew little, save that he was a cannibal and that there

was, in the words of Cayla Wyrick, something wrong with his jaw. Now, with the Flight Deck in pirate
hands, not only would we have to find another ship, wed have to fight our way past those very same
Hornets.
Nylund?
Im thinking, I said quickly. There are two mothballed fighters and an old station transport in a hangar
on the other side of the station, but it would take a miracle worker to get them battle-ready. Besides,
Kilkennys men would simply follow us in the Hornets and gun us down. They wouldnt even need the
rest of their ships.
Then we need to take out the fighters. Morgan glanced ruefully at the destroyed control panel. I
guess that was a little hasty. Is there another way to get back up to the Flight Deck?
We cant go back there. Wyrick rose. Shed dealt with the prisoners at the armory, traveled through
the station with ex-convicts, and survived being shot at by the Nova Dogs. Some women would have
crumbled under the pressure, but she seemed to have gained something from the experience. She stood
straighter, held her chin up. Gone was the therapists passivity. She would have a hard time re-entering
the practice once this was all over. We need every man we have left.
Morgans fist clenched. We have no other choice,
We dont negotiate with terrorists, I said, not realizing that Id spoken aloud. When I found all eyes
upon me, I realized that Ive have to explain myself. We dont negotiate with terrorists. If a group of
prisoners ever seized the Flight Deck, we were to activate the automated turrets. Blow them to kingdom
come.
Wyrick flushed with anger. I never knew about that policy. Flushing prisoners into space is inhuman.
Morgan put his hand out to stop her. Its that or die. He gave her room to object, but she remained
sullenly silent. Okay, he said, continuing on, we activate the turrets, blow up Kilkenny and his men,
and then escape on the backup fighters.
Not so fast, I interjected. There are a lot of missing steps there. The turrets were activated on the
Command Deck and thats gone. Then theres the matter of fixing the fighters
Never mind that. I know a guy. The turrets though Morgan looked around and pointed at several
circular nodules in the ceiling. There. Can we hack them from here?
No. Theyre strictly remote. Cant have the prisoners disabling the turrets themselves. I rose, excited
despite myself. But there is the server room. If it hasnt been destroyed.
Fine,

Whatever Morgan was about to say was drowned out by a burst of static from the station-wide comm
system. The voice that came up was so deep and sonorous that I had no doubt it belonged to a pirate
captain. Of course, it was Kilkenny himself.
My name is Martin Kilkenny, and you can consider me your parole officer. I say parole because you are
not free men. A free man is a man who can do any task he chooses, but there is only one task you need
to accomplish to earn a place aboard my ship. I am looking for a man named Martin Browning. Prisoner
number AX-345987.
There was a pause.
You may have heard that the Nova Dogs are cannibals. You have not heard wrong. We are creatures of
the Void, and the Void is a hungry place. Does it not try and claw its way into your station? Does it not
suck you into its belly like wet pasta? We follow its example. What we dont use, we eat. There are
twelve spots aboard my ship. One in the crew cabin and eleven in the kitchen. A useful man will earn his
place in the crew.
Complete silence.
Charming, said Wyrick dryly.
Maybe hell find this chap and leave? said one of the prisoners. Wispy hair, body like a bag of sticks. It
was Relic, I think, the prisoner whod threatened us with a patch gun.
Maybe, I said and let the word dangle in the air. If Kilkenny was hunting this Browning character, hed
leave us alone. That was the thought of course, but I knew that wed killed some of Kilkennys men and
hed come after us for that if he could.
We made our way through the utility corridors towards the server room. The former prisoners who
trailed behind us whispered about Kilkennys offer. No one seemed to know anyone named Browning,
but each of them thought they knew someone who did. Despite the recent massacre of their friends,
they all dreamed that they would be the one to claim Kilkennys unused berth. The thought that the
winner of their little contest might have to eat the losers never occurred to them.
I thought I knew a better way to find Martin Browning. Wyrick walked at the front of the group, just
behind Morgan. I caught her arm and then with a nod of my head indicated that she should slow her
pace. If Morgan noticed he said nothing.
Theres a direct terminal in the server room. With your access codes, you can find out who this
Browning guy is. Which cell hes in.
You want to turn him over to Kilkenny? After everything weve seen?
Maybe. We need to consider our options here. What if he gets his man and, the unlikelihood of my
own suggestion made me stumble. well, he just leaves. One mans life in exchange for everyone on
the station. Who wouldnt make that deal?

The man in question, I suspect. Wyrick seemed to think that ended the argument and rejoined
Morgan in the front.
The deck which housed the server room was dark, and I worried that it had no power. If that was the
case wed have to draft a new plan, and quickly. Morgan found a few palm lights on a wall, which he
distributed. We passed through a door that had once been secure and entered a room that was the kind
of hot that soaked through our clothes and dried out our eyes. Banks upon banks of black boxes stared
at us with flickering green and red lights.
Its hot in here, said Relic unnecessarily.
Morgan looked around and then moved down one of the rows. Lets find an active terminal. Spread
out.
I followed Wyrick. I had worked out something important on the journey here. The server room was
truly the heart of the station. From here, all things were possible. Though the records of my arrest and
trial would eventually be sent back to the UEE, we were isolated enough that transferring large amounts
of data could get expensive. For now, it was all stored on the stations servers. Given the right access, I
could wipe out evidence of my crimes. Everyone who knew that I was even a prisoner was dead, aside
from Wyrick herself, and after this was all over I could perhaps find some way to buy her silence.
All Im saying is that there is no harm in finding out which cell is his. Its the only thing that Kilkenny
wants. It has value. We could trade that information. But then maybe warn Browning that Kilkenny is
coming for him.
Wyrick stopped cold. I nearly ran into her. She turned and I could see the blue of her eyes in the palm
light. Im your therapist, Nylund. I know you better than you know yourself. Youre not a coward at
heart. You know that caving in to Kilkenny is wrong. This self-serving criminal that youve become, its
just your way of dealing with your guilt. Youre punishing yourself.
The palm-light dipped and I caught hold of one of the server racks. My brother has nothing to do with
this. I licked my lips with a dry tongue. And I may be a self-serving criminal, but I am not punishing
myself. I am trying to use every tool at my disposal to get us all out of here alive.
If therapists can lie, then so too can their patients.
Wyrick caught my gaze for an uncomfortably long time, her blue eyes darting microscopically, as if to
keep the line between our pupils unbroken. At last, she seemed to come to some conclusion. I will give
you the access codes. If you want them. Do you really want them, Nylund? Think very carefully.
Despite myself, I did. I thought of Danny and our days in the Academy. Before his death, Id been a
straight arrow. I never would have considered committing a crime, let alone wiping out the evidence
that Id done it. What had changed since then? I shied away from that thought. Damned headshrinkers
were starting to get to me.

Yes, I said as innocently as I could.

I was uncertain if shed follow through on her promise, but she pressed on a sliver of metal and a
terminal popped open. She punched in her codes and then walked away. Her radical therapy had failed,
I told myself victoriously.
It was only after Id wiped the evidence of my crimes from the database that I realized that it was not a
victory at all. For some reason, it felt more like a loss.
I had pulled up a query window and the cursor flashed at me. I suddenly felt a huge weight on me that
had nothing to do with the heat. I was betraying Wyricks trust twice in as many minutes. I told myself
Id make it up to her. At first, the thought was flippant, but it felt right, so I told myself again that Id
make it up to her and meant it this time.
My fingers danced across the keyboard as I punched in Martin Brownings name. To my surprise it came
up blank. Out of the 2400 prisoners on OSP-4, not a single one had the misfortune to be named Martin
Browning, and the ident Kilkenny had given belonged to a dead man named Wilbur Marx.
Morgan had found another terminal in the back of the room and brought up a view of the Flight Deck. A
targeting reticle hovered over the two Hornets. The connections are fried, he said, wiping sweat off
the back of his neck and flicking droplets onto the floor. Its this damn heat. Only one of the turrets is
responding. We wont have much time.
Target the fighters first, I said, wiping sweaty palms against my pants. The freighters deadly but we
can outrun her.
Find what you were looking for? asked Morgan, glancing over his shoulder.
Sure. Used one of the terminals to check my messages. Pay some bills. You know. It was a weak joke,
but he grunted a laugh and didnt follow up. Wyrick, standing beside him, studiously avoided looking at
me. I tried to think of something to say to win back her trust, but I couldnt.
Morgan punched a few keys into the terminal and the targeting reticle turned red. Consider this a love
letter addressed to Captain Kilkenny, he said, mashing down the keys.

I was in a bad spot.

I was an officer in a prison that had been half-destroyed by pirates, in which most of the prisoners had
escaped and now wandered the hallways unfettered. Those few criminals whose lives wed saved still
didnt trust me. Wes Morgan, the mercenary that wed rescued from a prison cell, probably thought I
was a fool, and Wyrick well, Cayla Wyrick was my therapist.
The cargo hold is this way, I offered when I realized that we were about to miss a turn.
Were not going to the cargo hold, said Morgan without slowing.

I asked him if not there then where, but he ignored me, and I let it drop. No one else seemed to care.
The prisoners followed him like young pups following the Alpha Wolf. Wyrick wouldnt talk to me. Shed
disagreed with my decision to turn Martin Browning over to the Nova Dogs, and though I hadnt actually
managed to find out who he was in the server room, the fact that Id looked at all made me a coward in
her eyes.
As we passed deeper into the bowels of the station, we began to hear things through the walls. Quiet
coughs coming through the ventilation ducts, but then something else. A low giggling that never seemed
to stop, never took a breath. The shifting of papery fabric. The scent of sweat and the unwashed.
Fat Max, the largest man amongst us, if not in muscle then in pure bulk, stopped dead, blocking the
corridor. I aint going in there.
The door ahead of us was riveted steel and painted with a white stripe that bore another, red stripe on
its back. I recognized it at once. It was the Forensic Psychiatry wing. A buddy of mine once described it
as being like Maximum Security if the prisoners were tweaking all the time. A man in Maximum Security
might stab you for a toothpick, but a man in Forensic Psychiatry would stab you if the voices in his head
told him you even owned a toothpick. These were men who would not survive on a prison world like
Quarterdeck, either because they could not take care of themselves, or because other prisoners would
kill them out of fear for their own safety.
Only a few of them had actually gone insane while they were on the station. Most were simply monsters
the other systems didnt know what to do with. Some were sane, but had performed acts so horrendous
a jury of twelve reasonable men and women could not comprehend how anyone in their right mind
could have committed them.
I could understand why Fat Max wanted to avoid the place. But I also understood that I needed to win
points with Morgan and Wyrick. I pushed my way to the front of the group and turned around. These
men did not look like the hardened group of prisoners wed found trying to break into the prison
Armoury. Theyd seen many of their friends killed in Martin Kilkennys ambush, and had themselves
been threatened with death by a cannibal. They were scared.
What the hell is the matter with you? I asked. Whats the worst that can happen? Will these guys kill
and eat you? Cause thats what the guys behind us have promised to do, and we know theyre
cannibals.
Fat Max glared back at me with beady eyes that were made small by the vast slabs of coffee-colored
flesh that were his cheeks. Go in yourselves then.
Fine. But you know what? I turned and pointed dramatically at Wyrick. Blonde with diamond ear studs
and a pantsuit, she had kicked off her high heels somewhere on the Flight Deck and now wore nothing
but her stocking feet. This woman came here three times a week, every week, as part of her job, and
shes going back in now. Are you going to let her go in alone?

It turned out that several of them would. But more than half decided to come with us, and I figured it
was no great loss to leave those others behind.
I cant decide if I should feel flattered or insulted by that little speech, Wyrick said as we slowly
advanced into the ward. It was the first shed spoken to me since Id used her codes to look up
Brownings info.
Im as scared as Fat Max, I admitted. It takes courage to do what you do.
Fat Max stayed behind, she pointed out. You didnt.
I didnt know how to take the compliment. Did this mean that I was earning my way back into her good
graces? I was about to continue our conversation but shed already walked away.
I dont know what Id expected Forensic Psychiatry to look like, but what we found looked very much
like a hospital. Medical stations that included defibrillators and firefighting equipment were mounted on
the walls and beds were lined up on one side of the corridor. Each bed had restraints, but they were
clean and sterile in nature. We came to a common area with a few scattered tables upon which old
fashioned cardboard board games were laid out. A circle of sofas were arranged around a shattered
vidscreen and a line of bloody footprints led from there to one of the doors. There was a medical
dispensary behind a sheet of Plexiglas on one side of the room, but the door swung on its hinges and I
could see several patients slumped over with dried foam and vomit on their mouths and the fronts of
their shirts.
Wheres the staff? asked Morgan.
No one answered.
We proceeded further into the ward, encountering the occasional patient who was so stoned on
prescription medication that they barely acknowledged our presence. Wyrick was no doctor and there
wasnt much she could do for them except try to keep them calm as we passed.
Morgan occasionally checked the map on Wyricks notepad. He seemed to know exactly where his
friend was being held. We came to a door that required her to enter her codes again, and for the first
time since wed begun our little journey she balked.
This is the high security ward. If this is where your friend is incarcerated, hes better off staying here
where he can receive treatment.
Herbys got a condition, but I know how to manage it, said Morgan defensively.
Herby? asked Wyrick with one eyebrow raised. You dont mean Herschel Konicek?
You know him. It wasnt a question. More of an admission of defeat.
As a therapist, I hope he gets treatment. As a woman, I hope he rots in his cell.

Morgan shook his head. Wyrick hadnt asked for an explanation, but he gave her one anyways. Herby
was one of the best field mechanics I ever knew. One time, our APC was attacked by Vanduul. They blew
the thing to hell. The damage was bad enough, they left us for dead. We found Herby under the
wreckage with a three inch piece of steel in his forehead. Crazy thing was, he was still able to walk and
talk. Except for this piece of metal in his skull, he looked perfectly normal. So there we were in the
middle of hundreds of miles of desert with no vehicle. What were we going to do? Walk to the nearest
town? Well, Herby took the APCs drivetrain, hooked two wheels to it and we drove outta there on the
ugliest motorcycle you ever seen.
When we got back, we took Herby to the hospital and it turns out the metal fragment damaged the
part of his brain responsible for impulse control. What happened to those womenhe knew what he
was doinghe just couldnt stop himself. Cut him up inside, real bad.
I wouldnt wish what he did to his victims on anyone, but he was a victim too. Our unit was all-male, so
as long as he stuck with us, didnt take any shore leave, he could have a life. Course, when the law
caught up to me, it caught up to him too, and thats how he got here.
Morgan turned to Wyrick. The fact is, we need him to fix Nylunds mothballed fighters. I understand
that you have more incentive than anyone to keep him in his cell. But Ill do whatever it takes to make
sure you stay safe. Herby will know not to cross me.
Wyrick crossed her arms, hugging herself. She looked up at me, then at the other prisoners. If I was in
her position Id want to stay clear of Konicek, but there was no way we were getting those fighters
operational without some high caliber help, and she knew it too. Her choice was simple: agree to free
Konicek, or let the rest of us be captured by Kilkenny and his crew. I didnt envy her the decision. Okay.
We release him, butif what you say is true, and Koniceks condition is the result of a brain injury, then
hell never be cured. After all this is over, I want your word that youll bring him back here.
Done, said Morgan so quickly that I could tell that Wyrick was trying to figure out where she screwed
up. After a moment, she gave up and punched her code into the console.
The reinforced door began to slide open and then stopped abruptly, the lights on the panel going from
green to orange, indicating that an obstruction was present. It took Morgan and two of the prisoners to
force it open, and when it finally did, a guard slumped to the ground. His eyes had been pushed into
their sockets and two scarlet trails, like scabbed-over tears ran down his cheeks. The rest of the corridor
was coated in blood, more than Id ever seen in one place. We found a few bodies, but also many empty
blood pouches, normally used for transfusions. The stench of rot and copper hung heavy in the air.
Herby! Morgan called out, but there was no answer. Somewhere far away I thought I heard the
beginning of a hysterical laugh that was quickly cut short. We were being sent a message and we all
knew it.

As ex-quartermaster aboard OSP-4, I have seen my share of dead bodies. Contrary to popular belief, we
do not space the bodies of men who die in prison. Instead, each death begins a rigorous investigation,
and I was required to provide for all of the medical supplies and any other exotic components the
examiners need for their tests. I have seen the bodies of men shanked by other prisoners, beaten to
death with lead pipes, and I even saw one man whod gotten stuck in one of the heating ducts and
slowly cooked.
The sight that confronted me and the small group of escaped prisoners in the Forensic Psychiatry Ward
was unlike any other Id seen. Dead bodies. Men and women, some wearing guard uniforms, others the
flimsy dressing gowns of the patients. Some of their faces were beaten into a mass of purplish flesh, but
others were recognizable. Some lay slumped peacefully against a wall while others wore looks of horror.
Someone had broken the overhead lights and shattered glass littered the floor.
I heard a sob from Cayla Wyrick. She knelt next to a young man with angry red welts on his cheek and a
frightened stare captured in his cold, dead eyes. She said something to him I couldnt quite hear.
Figuring she needed some privacy I left her and joined Wes Morgan, the mercenary wed rescued from
the Maximum Security wing, who stood further down the corridor.
Do you feel that? he asked me.
Existential terror? Yeah, Im there.
No, he took a deep breath. The atmosphere mixture is wrong in this wing. Captain Kilkennys attack
must have damaged the recyclers. Theres too much nitrogen and too little oxygen.
You can smell that?
No, he admitted. But I feel a little drunk. Dont you? Thats one of the signs of nitrogen narcosis. We
need to find Herby and get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
I turned and looked at the half-dozen or so men in orange-jumpsuits. They were all armed, many with
prison tattoos on their face and hands. One of them, whom I learned was simply called Shank, had
dyed the white of his eyes so that he stared at us with blacked-out orbs. Not the type of men who
needed any more -osis anythings.
They were the enemy of our enemy, so to speak, and wed somehow come to the conclusion that it was
best to travel together as long as we were all trying to avoid becoming the Nova Dogs next meal.
Literally. They were cannibals. Now that decision was starting to look a little dicier. What do we do
about them?
Nothing. Morgan raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder. Look at them. At the armory they
were taking turns trying to out alpha-male each other. Now? Theyre more afraid of Kilkenny than they
are of us. If they werent they would have already shot us both in the back His eyes roamed over to
Wyrick, who knelt next to another of the bodies. and done much worse to her.

He was right, of course. The worst of the bunch had stayed behind with Fat Max. I had no doubt theyd
already been captured by Martin Kilkenny. The rest of them they were like a headless snake. Not as
exciting as a live one, but also not as deadly.
Our little group made our way further into Forensic Psychiatry. It was a small ward, but the hallways
were all maddeningly similar to each other and there were quite a few double-locked doors that had
been smashed open, often at a physical cost to the assailant if the bloody marks on them gave any
indication. Always we heard laughter the disturbed, joyless laughter that was as involuntary as a
sneeze.
Eventually, we found one of its sources. A slim man with jaundiced skin, he was covered in medical
bandages hed stolen from an overturned medical cart. He was desperately trying to bind wounds on his
hands and wrists.
Wyrick knelt quickly to offer aid, but recoiled when the crazed man offered his wrist and she saw the
metal band that dangled on one of them. She stumbled back into my arms and for a moment I smelled
sandalwood and roses. I was reminded that she had put on perfume earlier in the day, never suspecting
that an attack by pirates would turn everything upside down.
Whats wrong? I asked.
His watch belonged to a friend of mine, she said quietly. Her hand closed on my arm, painfully, but her
eyes were locked on those of her patient.
It was obvious that her friends corpse now decorated the corridor behind us. One of the prisoners,
name of Relic if I remembered correctly, came to the same conclusion. Only a few hours ago hed
threatened us with a patch gun, but running for your life from a group of cannibals is a heck of a bonding
experience. It wasnt that he cared for Wyrick it was more like hed come to view her as part of his
pack. Any threat to the pack was a threat to him.
He caught the man by a wad of hospital gown and shoved the barrel of his gun into his cheek. When the
man didnt react beyond a giggle, Relic fired the weapon into a wall and then pressed the now sizzling
hot metal into the same spot. Youre a dead man. Hes a dead man.
Wyrick began to cry and I clutched her closer to me.
The crazed man began to mutter incoherently, and as Relic spun him around, I could see that several
hypodermics were lodged in his back. North, East, South, West. Its West, isnt it? Only not quite. West,
west, west. Im high, Wes, up in the sky, Im high. You gotta help me, Wes, before I fall down.
Morgan had raised his gun the moment Relic moved, but now he squinted and lowered it. Herby?
The mans eyes rolled and his head lolled to one side.
Morgan took two steps closer. Is that you? What the hell happened to you?

Relic looked between the two of them, eyes so wide I could see the whites all the way around. His gun
shifted from the man we now suspected was Konicek to Morgan himself. You know him? Are you
together? He turned to his fellow prisoners. Weve been led into a trap. And hes at the center of it.
Morgans eyes narrowed and his hand tightened on his weapons, just what in the hell?
I remembered what Morgan had said about the atmosphere. Relic, I said, using his name to try and
put him at ease. Theres no trap. This is the man weve come to find. Hes the reason were here.
Wyrick pushed away from me and I was suddenly aware of how much Id enjoyed her attention. Your
friend killed my friend, she said. Her bearing had changed in an instant from despair to bitter anger.
Were not taking him with us.
Morgans anger was almost indistinguishable from any of his other emotions, except that it was colder.
Harder. I knew that if I didnt interject hed shoot Relic down without warning and then wed have to
fight our way through his friends as well as the patients.
Now, Caylie Cayla, I quickly corrected myself. I was not immune to the wards altered atmosphere.
There is no evidence that he did the killing. Those needles in his back obviously hes been drugged,
and not by anyone with medical training.
Youve got about ten seconds to put down that rifle, said Morgan. The thumb and forefinger of his offhand circled each other, and the rifle barrel shifted imperceptibly. I had the impression hed gotten the
drop on Relic and not the other way around.
Perhaps Relic knew it too. His tone was almost pleading. Hes a nutter. It would be a mercy. Be a mercy
to all these men
As his gun swung out to encompass the entire ward, Morgan shot him cleanly though his shoulder.
Relics gun clattered to the ground and the prisoner himself was so surprised he followed it down.
I kicked it away before he could regain his senses. Wyrick joined me a moment later, tearing at Relics
jumpsuit to check the wound. She neednt have bothered. If Morgan had wanted to kill him, he would
have. I was certain the wound would prove non-lethal. A temporary inconvenience at best.
Let me get those for you, Herby, said Morgan. One after another, he pulled the hypodermics free. He
slapped the former patient lightly on the cheek, as if unwilling to use full force.
We have to get out of here, Wes, muttered Konicek. Theyre all around us.
Morgan nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Wed found the right man and it looked like we were all
going to get out of here in one piece. I rose and came face-to-face with five hard men and the barrels of
their rifles. Not believing that they could be meant for us, I turned around and spotted a herd of
humanity down the corridor. A dozen men or more in blood-stained smocks, many with dried drool on
them, stood at the other end.

You can all put down your weapons now, said one of the prisoners behind me.
I realized that the guns had, in fact, been meant for us. Wes had spared Relics life, but they didnt see it
that way. One of us had shot one of them. Our little alliance was breaking apart.
My gun clattered to the deck. Wyrick looked back towards the prisoners. Her face was too moist for
tears, and I realized that we were all soaked with sweat, though it wasnt much hotter here than
anywhere else in the station. Was this another symptom of the poisonous atmosphere?
Morgan did not drop his weapon. How do you suppose youre going to get by them? he asked,
nodding over his shoulder.
A lean man with not enough teeth spoke. They aint armed. Well go through em the same way we go
through you. He smiled, showing off his most obvious feature.
You cant get off this station without her, I said, indicating Wyrick. Without her codes none of us were
going anywhere.
Youre right, Wyrick said, and Morgan and I both looked over at her. She wasnt speaking to the
prisoners. She was speaking to us. None of you can.
She took a shuddering breath and put her arms out, as if she was steadying herself on the armrests of
some throne, and then turned to the prisoners. Like it or not, Im the only hope youve got. Any of you.
That means that if we stay together, then we stay together. So I suggest you settle your differences.
Stat.
With that, she turned to lead us down the corridor. Perhaps it was the altered atmosphere, but we
followed like she was Moses walking through the Red Sea. And Ill be damned if those patients didnt
part before us and let us through without so much as a whimper.

I once knew a man whod worked at OSP-4 since the day they set her in space and gave her a spin. He
told me that the only thing that set apart Forensic Psychiatry from the Political Activities Wing was that
the crazies in the PAW had a cause.
We had never meant to go there, but when our elevator stopped and all the lights turned red, Wes
Morgan pried open the doors and we found that the attack by the Nova Dogs had blown open the shaft.
Wed been saved from the vacuum of space by a piece of steel that had peeled off one wall and lodged
underneath the car.
We were lodged in the shaft, but we could all detect the gentle hiss of escaping air and we stepped off
carefully. No man wanted to be the last to disembark and risk a short trip into the black. I let them go,
and eventually only Cayla Wyrick and I remained. It was fitting in a way. She was my therapist, the
woman into whose custody I had been given after being stripped of my rank. She looked at me and I

looked at her, and neither of us wanted to go before the other. In the end, she had more steel in her
than I did, and she followed me out of the shaft.
Right into the barrel of a gun.
Our assailants, like most of our group, wore prison orange, except that they wore red suns painted on
bands of white cloth on their arms. Theyd been waiting by the door of the escalator, capturing and
disarming us one-by-one as we came through.
They took us through the prison block and up a flight of stairs. There, striding around a control center
consisting of hacked notepads and vidscreens that had once been mounted in guard posts, was a
Tevarin. He was tall and well-muscled, with grayish skin, and he owed his freedom to us.
We meet again, Yusaf Asari, said Morgan cockily. By this time wed all been shackled with plastic
handcuffs, and his wrists were bound before him. Several more Tevarin prisoners from the PAW stood
nearby, holding onto our guns for us.
We do indeed, responded Asari. What are you doing here, Morgan?
Sightseeing. You know, snap a few pictures, have a drink with the locals. That kind of thing.
Were here by accident, Wyrick quickly interjected. The small blonde woman in nylons and a suit
looked out of place in the sea of orange and blue uniforms that made up our group, but shed become
as much a part of it as any of us. Our elevator
I dont care what brought you here. I want to know where youre going. Asaris face was stone and
his accent made him stress his syllables in all the wrong places. We are here and the pirates are out
there and no one travels between us. Except you. Why? What are you seeking?
The Nova Dogs, a group of pirates captained by one Martin Kilkenny, were cannibals who sought one
particular prisoner named Martin Browning who no one had ever heard of and who were willing to blow
up the station to find him. Theyd struck without warning, targeting command centers and barracks with
pinpoint precision. It was because of them that Cayla Wyrick, who held the civilian rank of Lieutenant,
had been promoted by OSP-4s computer to Warden. She was the most valuable thing on the station
right now, and I had no idea if Asari knew it or not.
Were getting off the station, said Morgan simply. My chest tightened. What the hell was Morgan
doing? The last thing we needed to do was to tell these guys the truth.
The Tevarin who surrounded us grunted in laughter. All except Asari. I know you too well to believe
thats a joke. How are you going to accomplish that?
Morgan nodded at Herschel Konicek, who still wore the hospital gown hed had on when wed rescued
him from Forensic Psychiatry. Herbys my mechanic. Hes going to fix a couple of mothballed fighters
Nylund knows about, and were going to use them to run the blockade.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking Morgan just what in the hell he was trying to prove.
Asari absorbed this information impassively. What makes you think we wont use those fighters
ourselves?
Morgan shrugged, an awkward motion considering his hands were bound in front of him. Herby wont
work for you. That right, Herby?
Konicek, still coming down from an involuntary high from the drugs the other inmates had fed him,
shrugged and wiped at an ear with his bound hands.
We have our own mechanics.
Not like Herby.
Asari looked at Konicek, who now crouched on his haunches, rocking back and forth. Evidently.
One of the prisoners in the back started to say something, but he was violently cut off by a Tevarin who
shoved the butt of his rifle into his guts. I was glad I hadnt spoken up.
We saved your life, said Morgan quietly. Apparently, the Tevarin have a short memory.
The Tevarin have a long memory. Asaris brow creased. My people remember the Battle of Idris IV
and we remember the day when CorathThai
Enough with the performance, Yusaf. Two years of exchanging chess moves on bits of paper tied to
strings and all of a sudden Im suppressing your people? Morgan took two steps towards Asari and
every rifle in the room raised at once. He stopped and sighed. No ones got more sympathy for your
cause than I do. When we get off this hunk of junk, the first thing Ill do is send your people a note with
the stations coordinates. You know that.
Asari considered this as he looked at his men, meeting each of their gazes. Chess is chess. But I dont
trust you Morgan. Leave the girl here.
Sure, done. Now lets get these cuffs off, said Morgan.
I was offended by just how fast hed agreed to Asaris terms. Hed sold out Wyrick without a second
thought. I couldnt contain myself. Were not leaving Cayla with you
A rifle butt to the solar plexus silenced me a lot quicker than Id like to admit. I spasmed and found
myself on the floor having to struggle not to vomit repeatedly.
Morgans voice sounded fuzzy over the pounding of blood in my ears. Nice going, kid. The idea was to
convince them she wasnt valuable as a hostage.
That, said Asari as I struggled to my feet, is exactly why I dont trust you. The girl stays. And you
uphold your end of the deal.

No, I
Another blow from the same rifle sent me back to my knees. I didnt know why I got back up again. Sure
Id come to respect Wyrick during our escape attempt, but it wasnt like me to risk my own neck for
someone else. It wasnt that I was selfish. Its just that the last time I took a risk, someone very close to
me died. Being a bastard is generally safer for everyone involved. So why was I putting myself out there
for her? Was it because I respected how shed bested twenty armed men with only the sound of her
voice at the armory? Or was it because shed trusted me enough to sign me into the system at the
server room, knowing that I was going to use that access for my own purposes?
Im oh for chrissakes let me speak, I barked as I saw the rifle butt rise again. Asari looked at me and
then nodded at the guard. The rifle lowered. She was the one who saved your life. Without her access
codes wed all be dead. And, despite everything, she has never left a man behind. No one. Not multiplemurderers, not convicted rapists, not even a former quartermaster with sticky fingers. So there isnt a
man among us I looked around at the other prisoners and found a surprising number of them
nodding back, wholl leave her behind now. If you ever want your people to know which sorry ass
scrap of metal you got yourself imprisoned in, youll let us go.
As far as impassioned speeches go, it was one of my best. Asari, whose job it was as leader of the
Tevarin minority in OSP-4 to give impassioned speeches, was not impressed. Or we could just kill you all
and were no worse off than we were before.
Ill stay, said Wyrick. I cant fly a fighter or a transport and Ive never been much of a mechanic. And I
wont shoot anyone. Shed gotten to her feet and, though she was the shortest person in the room by
at least a half a head, somehow, she seemed to loom larger. You dont need me to get off this station.
I was about to protest, not that we needed her access codes to get off the station or anything.
Something more personal. Luckily she cut me off before I embarrassed myself. You have everything you
need to get these boys where they need to go, Lieutenant Avery Nylund. Just remember to send a
search party for me when this is all over, okay?
And just like that we left her there. I kept waiting for Morgan, our ultra-competent mercenary, to
propose a plan to rescue her. As soon as we got out of earshot hed suggest we storm the air ducts, or
take out the guards with knock-out gas. But the plan never materialized. Asaris men marched us to the
nearest working elevator and gave us machine guns instead of the guns wed appropriated from the
armory and sent us on our way.
I was still numb when we arrived at Cargo Deck 1C, which housed the mothballed fighters and reserve
transport that would get us off the station and past Kilkennys blockade. Of course, it was locked, and of
course I pointed this out to Morgan. This is why we need Wyrick. Shes got all the security codes.
Morgan stepped away from the door console and gave the door a thump of disapproval. No. Wyricks
too smart for that. She would have known we wouldnt get far without the codes. He scratched his
head and then looked at me. She called you lieutenant, didnt she?

She had indeed. Shed called me Lieutenant Avery Nylund for the first time ever. Even before Id been
convicted and wed met each other in passing, shed merely called me by my rank. And then it hit me. Id
wiped away the records of my conviction in the server room, and the computer must have then
automatically restored my rank.
It was with some satisfaction that I approached the door console. Voice Print: Lieutenant Avery Nylund.
Passcode: How now brown cow.
One of the hardened criminals in the back of our group burst out laughing and I felt my cheeks go red.
What? I like the way it rhymes.

From a far enough distance, a battle in space looks like dueling fireflies. The actual fighters are lost in
the glare of their exhaust so all you can see are little points of light darting around against a starry
backdrop, and then the occasional violent burst of an explosion.
Theyre shooting down escape pods, I said to Morgan when I realized what was happening.
I guess that explains why we havent run into many guards. Or service staff for that matter, said
Morgan with a shrug. Still, youd think the Nova Dogs would be more interested in boarding them than
shooting them down. Theyre cannibals, arent they? Tough to eat interstellar dust.
It was black humor, but we needed it. Wed left the Political Activities Wing behind and found
temporary shelter in the cargo hold that housed a few mothballed spacecraft. There wed found some
survivors from the attack apprentice engineers that Herschel Konicek had put to work re-fitting the
fighters, an old Cutlass and an older Hornet.
Ive got bad news, sir, said a young tech in an oil-stained blue jumpsuit. Hed spoken to me, not
because of my rank, which wasnt visible because I was in civilian clothing, but because I was the only
one of our group not wearing prison orange. I overheard uh, embarrassed, he pointed at one of the
prisoners while hiding his finger behind his hand. I supplied the name Flint. yes, um, Flint, saying
that you planned to fly these vehicles to the systems jump point?
I explained that yes, we were, and that Id already outlined our plans to them not two days ago. Yes,
he said nervously, well, these are chase fighters. That is, theyve been modified for high speeds. In case
station authorities need, uh, needed to catch an escape vehicle. They cant, however, make quantum
speeds. Youll be caught before you reach the halfway mark.
Good news/bad news, said Morgan. Speed is essential for running a blockade. He glanced over at
the large, rectangular vehicle that was parked next to the fighters. Sparks were shooting away from an
arc welder that was being used to repair some of its armor plating. What about the transport? Can we
use it?

Certainly, said the tech, slowly enough to indicate that it was not at all a certainty. But that brings us
to the other issue. None of these vessels was expected to fly. If not for the help of Mr. Konicek, I dont
believe they would. Even if we get everything back online, there isnt enough fuel to get even one of
them to the jump point, let alone all three.
Morgan considered that for a moment. Then he slapped me on the back, which had become a harbinger
of bad luck for me. Well it just so happens that our fearless leaders previous job assignment was as the
Station Quartermaster. If anyone knows where to find us some fuel, its him.
Sure. I know where to find fuel, I retorted. On the Flight Deck, where its supposed to be. Well only
have to fight through a couple of hundred pirates to get there.
Of course, all the snappy retorts in the world werent going to change the fact that we did indeed need
fuel, and so after a few hours of pacing the deck I came up with a plan. I quickly assembled our strike
team, as I took to calling the six ex-prisoners whod accompanied us all the way from the armory,
mainly because they were useless at repairing fighters and needed something else to do.
We need fuel, and Kilkenny and his men have either confiscated or blown up everything they can find.
But there is an alternate source of fuel that I know is still available. I readied myself for objections
before I continued. The stations positional thrusters. They have huge fuel tanks and theyre kept full at
all times. All we have to do is free one of the fuel pods and bring it back here.
Though Relic had been eating copiously of the stations supplies for most of the last two days, he was
still the skinniest man Id ever laid eyes on. He stood with a tube of nutrient paste in one hand and
squeezed some in his mouth. He spoke before he swallowed. What if we dont want to leave the
station?
That one threw me for a loop. What?
We could stay here. Weve got plenty of food and water, and the door can be welded shut. As soon as
this Kilkenny character finds the man hes looking for, the Nova Dogs will be gone.
Morgan spoke before I could. Am I hearing this right? A bunch of prisoners who dont want to escape
from prison? I know that thinking long-term isnt exactly your thing, Relic, but whats your plan for after
Kilkenny leaves? Wait for the authorities to return you to your cell? What if they dont leave? Kilkenny
will tear this station apart looking for this Martin Browning, and if that means breaking down a few
doors, your welding wont stop him.
Relic was undaunted. Someone needs to guard these fighters then. He said back down and laced his
hands behind his head. Well look after them until you get back.
Another prisoner, a tattooed bald man with a paunch and a five oclock shadow got up slowly and
ominously. Flint was the man the techs were most afraid of, and with good reason. He rarely spoke, but
when he did, everything he said was tinged with violence. I dont trust these two buggers to do it on

their own, and I dont trust you buggers to guard these ships. Were going with them, and Ill kill any
man who says otherwise.
I have rarely been more grateful to a convicted murderer. Under his watchful eye, all five remaining exprisoners were shepherded out of the hold and into the elevator, leaving the techs and Herschel Konicek
to work in peace. You think theyll still be here when we get back? I asked Morgan.
Im sure of it, he replied. Herby wont let us down.
Herby was a madman, but I trusted Morgan and that meant that I trusted a madman by extension.
We were equidistant from two positional thrusters. To reach one we had to pass through the Visitor
Center, and I was pretty sure that was Kilkennys base of operations. I didnt relish the idea of sneaking
Relic and his buddies right under the noses of the captain of the Nova Dogs and his men. Plus, Kilkenny
scared the hell out of me, so I scratched it off my list.
To get to thruster number two, we needed to pass through the remains of the Command Deck. It had
been the first place the pirates had attacked and I wasnt sure how much damage it had sustained or if it
even had any atmosphere, so I made sure we were outfitted for spacewalks before entering the code
that would take us there. Eventually the elevator stopped and an indicator flashed to say that there was
an obstruction in the shaft. We pried open the doors and heard a hiss as air escaped into the vacuum of
space. We found ourselves between floors. I could just make out the bottom of the letters that formed
COMMAND on the side of the shaft. We had arrived.
We threw our weapons through the narrow opening and ascended one by one onto the command deck.
Id been here many times before, but I could hear sharp intakes of breath from some of the exprisoners. The OSP-4 was not a military vessel with its tight, enclosed spaces. The Command Deck
looked more like a floor in an office building. Banks of vidscreens occupied every wall, most of them
shattered by explosive decompression. Shards of transparent Plexi floated in the null-g like drops of
water from a frozen rain. Rainbows played against the wall as light from the nearby sun shone through a
jagged rent in one wall. I walked onto the deck, feeling a slight pull from my magnetic boots with every
step.
I heard Morgans voice hiss over the radio. This is it? A bunch of cubicle jockeys run the whole station?
Relic sounded equally offended. Thats a coffee maker He tapped the offending appliance and sent
it spinning around its axis, bleeding crystals of frozen coffee and cream.
I get it. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain and all that. Can we move on now?
I walked over to the hole in the wall and then stopped. A shred of blue fabric from someones uniform
was caught on the twisted metal. Below it floated flash frozen fragments of a person. I looked away
before I could see who it had been. Instead, being careful to maintain my distance from the jagged hull, I
looked outside. The convex shape of the thruster was just visible.

I turned back around in time to see Flint mashing a keyboard with the back of his hand.
Hey! I said just a little too sharply. I modified my tone quickly, remembering who I was speaking to.
This might look like the floor of an office building, but it is in fact the nerve center of a Super Maximum
Security prison. There are safeguards in place. Dangerous safeguards. Remember the UEE doesnt
negotiate with terrorists.
I could barely see Flints face through the dome of his faceplate, not enough to make out an expression,
but he removed his hand.
Suddenly my comm chirped and a red light began to flash inside my helmet. What did you do? I asked
Flint quickly.
He shrugged.
A deep voice emerged from the static, a voice that put a slight emphasis on the wrong syllables, as if the
mouth that produced it didnt quite work properly.
Denizens of OSP-4 I am so very disappointed in you.
Its Kilkenny, said Relics voice.
I know. Shut up.
I had hoped that there was a man among you who would rise above his peers, but that has proven not to
be. Natural selection, it seems, is a slow and tedious process, so I am sounding my bugle and signalling
the end of days. If Martin Browning will not receive his death like a man, then I will deliver it to him like a
god.
The light in my suit dimmed and then went out.
All of a sudden a section of the floor rose abruptly, catapulting Relic into the air. His magnetic boot held
for one tenuous second and then released, sending him into an uncontrolled cartwheel. Because we
were all watching him, none of us noticed the gun barrels that extended out of the floor panel that had
sent him into the air. Maybe Kilkenny had activated the prison defenses, or Flints mashing of the
keyboard had set wheels in motion that would end badly for him. It didnt matter. Id just lowered my
eyes to find the button that worked the comm when I noticed a barrel swivel to track Flint.
The shot was incredibly quick and I couldnt see the wound from where I stood. Flints lower body
remained anchored to the floor with his magnetic boots, but his upper body began to drift.
We need to go! I yelled. I snatched the floating coffeemaker out of the air and threw it at the turret,
hoping it might be tracked.
Morgan spun around and knew exactly what he was looking at. Go, go, go, go! He fired a couple of
shots at it, but the weapons the Tevarin had left us with were substandard at best and failed to

penetrate its armor. With blinding speed, the turret swiveled upwards and shot the coffeemaker three
times, leaving nothing behind but a spray of molten slag.
I reached the elevator, threw my weapon into the narrow slit and then slid into it, propelling myself into
the short space between floors. My boots magnetically grappled themselves to the elevator floor,
forcing me to quickly duck as Morgan slid through the opening behind me. Together we pulled two more
men into the elevator. When no more came I risked I glance over the edge of the floor. Three bodies in
punctured space suits spun through the air of the Command Deck. The turret swiveled towards me and I
found myself staring down the barrel for one frightening instant before I ducked again and mashed the
down button.

The Visitor Center of a Super Max prison is often the only place in the whole complex where prisoners
can set aside the violent reputations theyve cultivated for themselves. On a remote facility like OSP-4,
families must spend thousands of credits and many days of travel to meet with their imprisoned loved
ones. Sometimes, in special cases, the prison has been known to cover part of the costs. There is plenty
of research that indicates that a prisoner who maintains social contact with loved ones is more docile
and easier to manage. Its an investment that tends to pay off in the long run.
The Visitors Center was now home to the Nova Dogs, a group of pirates lead by Martin Kilkenny, a
cannibal with a god complex. I had intended to give it a wide berth, but we needed fuel to make our
escape from OSP-4, and the only available supply we knew about was on the other side of it.
We were close enough that wed turned off our comms. Even a scrambled signal gave off a telltale hiss
of static. Instead, we relied on stage whispers as we crawled through a narrow circuitry duct, which was
itself no easy task in our space suits. In prior times, Id made the trip several times with a bag full of
contraband medical supplies tied to my leg, so I went first. The easiest way to move was to walk on
ones elbows and I was making good progress. The others were struggling.
This would be a lot easier without the space suits, grumbled a voice behind me. Relic from the tone.
The other ex-prisoner, Pike, had a deeper voice and spoke infrequently.
Itll make too much noise if you drag it behind you and well need it at the other end. Besides, theres
enough juice running through these wires to fry you where you stand. The suits insulation should offer
some protection against a short. I spotted movement through an access grate up ahead. Now shut up,
before the Nova Dogs hear us.
Although wed seen the damage caused by Kilkennys men and had had to travel through parts of the
station that were exposed to space, wed had few encounters with the pirates themselves. I got a look at
their current forces through that small access grate.
There were dozens of them in the small space nearly ten meters beneath us. They wore spacesuits that
had come from a dozen different armed forces and even time periods. Some had even been cobbled
together from suits that had once belonged to different races. Many were lazily painted with thick, tar-

like black paint, so that the original color showed through underneath. Few of them wore helmets,
preferring to show off elaborate haircuts, mostly variations on a Mohawk except with long, braided
sideburns, and neck and face tattoos.
Im stuck.
The voice belonged to Pike, our master of words. Dont panic, someone said in a loud hiss.
I aint panicking, Im just stuck.
I looked back at Wes Morgan. His eyebrows raised, and then he looked back down the duct.
I heard a couple of brisk thumps.
You kick me one more time and Ill shoot you in the ass. Pike was slow to anger, but I could hear the
heat coming into his voice. His volume was also rising and my gaze darted to the access grate
apprehensively. The Nova Dogs were a loud bunch, but one of them, a man with a full beard and wild
black hair had cocked his head and turned towards us.
Shut up, I hissed.
Should we leave him behind? asked Relic.
You aint leaving me behind. Pikes statement was final, the threat left unspoken.
It didnt sound like either of them lowered their voices at all. In fact, the volume was climbing. The
bearded pirate had risen and begun to walk over towards us, a rifle clutched loosely in one hand.
Last warning, guys. Keep it down. The confines were tight, but I did my best to move to the other side
of the duct, out of view. He was far enough beneath us that the angle would do some of the work of
hiding me, but I didnt want him to spot movement.
You gotta get me unstuck. I aint dying here. I heard the sound of creasing aluminum and banging as
Pike attempted to free himself.
Someone cursed and then a shout of alarm rang out from the pirate beneath me. Shots cut the air and
sparks blew out of the wall of the duct closest to the Visitor Center. Holes appeared in a line, passing
from the bottom corner to the roof just above my head.
Behind me, Pike had begun to panic and clawed at Relic, who was desperately trying to kick him away.
Morgan, the one with the most experience out of any of us, had hunkered down on the side of the air
duct closest to me. Weve got to get out of here!
How? I yelled back. On our hands and knees? Wed be shot full of holes before we got more than a
couple of meters.

Think of something! Morgan unshouldered his rifle and turned it so that it was pointed diagonally
downward. The weapon barely fit that way in the duct. He squeezed the trigger and then let the recoil
draw it to the side while it was still spitting bullets. I heard screams from below and then return fire.
We were sitting ducks.
I needed to get us out of there, and fast. Once before, when Id been on the verge of getting caught with
smuggled goods, Id evacuated the tunnel, and Id done it by setting off the fire alarm.
There were bundles of wires running along the ceiling above us. I pulled a small knife out of the
spacesuits utility belt and stripped two of the wires, grateful that the suit was insulated. I touched them
together and was rewarded with nothing more than sparks. Quickly, I stripped another wire and
connected them. This time, lights began to flash and a siren sounded somewhere nearby.
The easiest way to put out a fire on a spaceship is to suffocate it in the cold vacuum of space. Metal
plates descended over the grates, sealing them as tight as possible, and at the far end of the tunnel a
tiny pinprick of light appeared as the exterior door was opened. Instantly the air howled around us and I
felt myself carried along with it, my spacesuit scraping against metal as I was buffeted against the walls
and ceiling.
I was in space.
A starscape spun around me and then the station came back into view. I could hear myself
hyperventilating as I realized that I was falling towards a planet thousands of kilometers away. A metal
antenna appeared in my peripheral vision and I caught it with my hand. My grip was so tight that it
nearly yanked my arm out of its socket.
A flash of blue appeared and I caught out at it blindly with my other hand. By some miracle I caught
Morgans hand and held on tight, swinging him to the antenna next to me. Morgan, more at home in
space than I was, used the momentum to land feet first, letting his magnetic boots clamp onto it.
Another body cartwheeled toward us and I could hear screaming over the radio. Morgan reached out,
but his hand hit Relics hip and spun him away from us. Without missing a beat, he shoved the end of his
rifle into my hand, kicked off my knee and spun around himself. His feet hit the spacesuit in the chest
and the magnetic boots clamped down on the metal-plastic synthetic. I felt a tremendous force on the
rifle and for a moment it stretched between us like an umbilical cord. Then it slackened and I was able to
pull them both in.
The next spacesuit was followed by a cloud of red and silver crystals, and when the chest spun into view
I could see several large holes that were no longer leaking air. It was too late for Pike.
Nylund, said Morgans voice over the radio, we have a problem.
Relic had been shot. The bullet had missed him, but it had carved a deep furrow in his suit that spilled
powdered air into the Void. I didnt have a patch and there wasnt time to use one anyways. Relics eyes
were wide and panicked as he tried desperately to scoop the escaping air crystals back into the suit to

no avail. Its temperature indicator plunged rapidly and the veins in his cheeks reddened in a criss-cross
pattern.
I wanted to say something to calm him, but I realized that the only thing I knew about him was that hed
nearly killed us with a patch gun in our first encounter. I could think of nothing better than to squeeze
his hand tightly and whisper that it was okay. Over and over. It was okay.
His cheeks and nose were black and his lungs heaved for air that wasnt there. His eyes found mine and
locked on for what felt like a long time. I didnt know exactly when the life left them. Im not sure you
ever do.
Morgan and I hid in the lee of the thrusters fuel tank as pirate vessels flew in close to the hull to search
for survivors. Two quick bursts of light signaled that theyd located the bodies of Relic and Pike. It was a
cremation of the most violent kind.
We waited for several hours before we signaled Konicek to bring the fighters and transport. Once they
left the safety of Cargo Hold C, we would only have a few minutes to refuel them before they were
picked up by pirate instruments.
After that, it was every man for himself.

Ive piloted fighters before as theyre being refueled in the midst of combat. Youre a sitting duck,
parked for precious minutes next to a tanker that is, in reality, nothing more than a metal ball of
combustion ready to go off. No matter how intense the fighting gets, youre paralyzed as your fuel
gauge slowly fills. Your bird needs fuel. It is the one constant of combat.
It is the helplessness that hurts the most.
On the hull of the Orbital Supermax I was finding out the true meaning of the term sitting duck. We
werent just refueling a fighter. We were siphoning fuel from one of the stations positioning thrusters
and using it to fill two fighters and the tanker that Herschel Konicek had flown around the hull from
Cargo Hold C. And instead of a regular enemy, we were hiding from the Nova Dogs, a pack of pirates,
headed by Captain Martin Kilkenny, a cannibal whod threatened to eat every prisoner on the Supermax.
Wed filled the fighters first and Wes Morgan had taken the Hornet on a wide sweep in the hopes of
distracting the Nova Dogs from our refueling operation. I sat in the Cutlass. It had been a long time since
Id flown one, but it was coming back to me. Thrust, attitude, firing controls. Check.
One bogie, 12 oclock low, said Konicek from the tanker. I looked to my twelve oclock and then down.
Through pure bad luck, a single Nova Dog fighter had somehow gotten a profile on us, even though we
were against the station wall.
Ive got him, I said as I powered up the fighter. A pre-flight menu popped onto the HUD, but I
motioned past it and guided the Cutlass away from the station.

I need about twenty minutes, said Konicek over the radio. I sighed. Might as well ask for a day. I didnt
think we had either.
The Nova Dog didnt seem especially concerned as I guided my ship towards him and a hail came
through the comm. After Day 3 of their siege I could imagine them being confused at the appearance of
an unidentified fighter. The Flight Deck had been destroyed, and with it both of the Stations active
fighters. They had no idea wed managed to repair two mothballed fighters that had been put in storage
longer than I had been on station.
I wasnt going to give him a chance to raise the alarm.
I quickly shifted my shields forward and gunned it at maximum thrust. Inertia pushed me back in my
seat with enough force that my vision darkened at the edges. As soon as I heard the chirp of my scan on
the Nova Dog, I squeezed my trigger. Several bursts flashed out across the void, provoking small
explosions on the enemys wing and hull. The second burst hit in a bright shimmer. Hed been rationing
power, but now he raised his shields. His thrusters flared and he dove down towards the station, looking
for cover.
I jinked left, spinning my craft to pursue him and kept the heat up. Bolts of energy smashed into his
shields. He barrel rolled around an antenna, narrowly avoiding it and it came up fast in my vision. I
pulled the trigger, severing the antenna. My shields bloomed a sickly blue color as the metal flew up and
bounced roughly past me. By the time Id cleared it, nearly fifty percent of the power of my geriatric
craft was gone, just like that.
We were close to the hull now, so close that I could see the tiny squares of light that were the stations
viewports flying past. I hit my thrusters, launching myself away from the station and then coming in
again hard. Instinctively, my opponent veered and his shields scraped OSP-4, flaring brightly for a few
seconds before collapsing. My next shot turned him into a ball of fire that winked out almost as quickly
as it appeared.
I reduced thrust and came in close to the station. I was momentarily alone, but my radio still hissed with
organized static that almost sounded like words. Curious, I changed the band and caught the sounds of a
firefight. Screams were punctuated by the rapid tap of projectile weapons. The Nova Dogs were
attacking someone on the station nearby and they were getting hell for their trouble.
I couldnt imagine who could possibly offer that level of resistance after three days of siege. The
remaining guards were dead while anyone who could had fled in escape pods and been gunned down by
the pirates. Suddenly my heart dropped. There was in fact one group that was still armed and organized.
After all, theyd stolen our guns.
I tapped on the comm while maneuvering the fighter as close to the station as I dared, using increasing
and decreasing bouts of static to triangulate her position. I say her, for although the group I was
tracking was no doubt the Tevarin, I was in fact trying to locate their solitary guest. Cayla Wyrick. My
therapist.

At an angle, I saw one of the station viewports flashing irregularly. I wasnt reading any oxygen, which
meant this area had already been holed. Whoever they were, they were fighting in spacesuits.
I risked a transmission. Cayla?
The sounds of battle barely ebbed, but I thought I might have heard her voice in the far distance. That
hope, although probably a trick of the imagination, was good enough for me. I feathered the controls
and turned the nose of the fighter towards the station. I was so close now that I could see the battle
raging through the viewports. One side wore irregular spacesuits, smeared with tar-like paint. The other,
the red and blue of station staff. But they werent station staff. They were the Tevarin.
Dear Yusaf Asari, I called over the radio. I suggest you pull your men back. Love, The Kid Who
Wouldnt Shut Up.
Against all odds, I saw one of the men in the red spacesuits press his hand to his helmet, where his ear
would be, and then look out the viewport right at me. It must have been a heck of a sight. A massive
Cutlass, positioning jets firing sporadically all over the hull, not more than a couple of meters outside the
window. He turned and waved his men back. I let myself drift to the left. My targeting computer
wouldnt recognize Human, so I lined up on the black striped spacesuits by hand and pulled the trigger.
The first blast turned the hull white hot and the second splashed globs of molten metal into the crowd
of pirates. It took them several seconds to identify the source of this new attack, and by that time Id
blown a huge hole in the hull and mowed down nearly half their number. Some returned fire with
sporadic bursts of small arms fire that were absorbed harmlessly by my shields. I kicked my positioning
thrusts, turning the fighter slightly and continued the barrage of fire. It wasnt long before they were
running for their lives and the Tevarin were pumping their fists in the air.
But I wasnt done. I cut the shields and then feathered the control stick, turning the fighter around.
Using only maneuvering thrusters, I guided the fighter through the hole Id made in the hull. Collision
klaxons began to blare in my ears and I kept my eyes glued to the tiny readout, usually used during
landing, which showed where my ship was in relation to the deck. Soon, I was inside the station,
hovering in the middle of the bay where the battle between the Tevarin and the pirates had just
abruptly ended.
The nose of my fighter was incredibly hard to keep in position, but I bobbed it up and aimed my
weapons at Yusaf Asari and the rest of the red spacesuits.
You know what I want, Asari, I said over the radio. The Tevarin had lowered their fists in confusion.
Some had raised their rifles, but others knew the futility of that gesture and looked to their leader. I
nosed the fighter towards him. I told you before that I wasnt going to leave without her.
Long moments went by.
I began to sweat. The Tevarin werent pirates. They might have committed minor crimes, but everyone
knew that theyd been sent to OSP-4 instead of local prisons because they were the wrong species. Asari

knew that I wasnt going to gun them down. But maybe he appreciated the risk Id taken. He was, after
all, a Tevarin whod been arrested for speaking out for his people. I was speaking out for mine.
Wes Morgan is a man who needs an incentive to keep his promises, said Asari at last. But you,
however, have shown that you keep your promises, even at great cost to yourself. With you, I need no
hostage. Take her, and keep your promise.
A small figure in a red spacesuit broke away from the Tevarin and crossed the distance between us at a
run. I popped the cargo door and she scrambled up into the hold. She took the navigators seat and I repressurized the hold so that she could remove her helmet.
Moments later I felt her hand on my shoulder. I knew youd come back for me.
For some reason I found I couldnt speak. I swallowed and took a deep breath, then reached up and
squeezed her hand. Okay, I said, after Id allowed myself a minute. Hang on. Its a bit of a tight
squeeze.
I tapped the controls and heard the hiss of maneuvering thrusters through the hull as the fighter slowly
began to drift sideways.
Avery, said Cayla. Her voice tight, as if she was struggling to sound calm.
What?
Avery!
What?!
I felt the hull lurch and damage indicators began to flash. I jerked the controls back, trying to
compensate for the sudden movement, but it was too late. Wed drifted forward. One of the turret guns
had caught on the hull and bent wildly. Sparks bled from the damaged joint between fighter and
weapon as it gave and then gave further before it snapped and twirled away from us.
The Nova Dogs are back and theyve got some kind of shoulder-mounted weapon, said Cayla. Theyre
going to fire again.
We hadnt yet cleared the hull and there was no room to dodge. I straight-armed one of the cockpit
struts and jammed my back into the seat and held on tight as we took the hit. The blast spun us around
and out of the hole in the station. I ignored everything else and punched the shields, and then guided us
back into the void.
I surveyed the damage as OSP-4 receded behind us. The hull was scarred and pockmarked in two
different locations and the engine had suffered some minor, cosmetic damage. The missing gun was the
most alarming thing. It was one of a pair of neutron guns that were linked together in the turret and I
was afraid to fire the remaining weapon for fear of a short or electrical malfunction. I would have to rely
on the wing-mounted cannon and the laser repeater mounted in the nose.

The radio chirped beside me. It was Morgan.

Cayla heard it too. Dont answer that.
I looked up. My hand hovered over the radio. Why?
Theres something you should know.

Words are powerful little creatures. Even by themselves, the right words, curse words for instance, carry
power. Leashed together in the form of sentences they can provoke a feeling of dread in the listener.
The sentence that always provokes the most dread in me is, Theres something you should know.
Cayla Wyrick uttered that exact phrase while we were rocketing away from the damaged remains of the
Orbital Supermax.
Can this wait? I asked. Wed finished refueling from the tanker and I was just about to answer a
transmission from Morgan. He was currently at the controls of the second fighter in our fleet of three
ships.
I dont think so, said Cayla. I know who Martin Browning is.
I slowly eased off on the thrust. Martin Browning was at the heart of everything that had happened to
us over the last few days. He was the reason the Nova Dogs had attacked the station in the first place.
The deaths of hundreds of people could be directly attributed to his presence on OSP-4. I was starting
to believe he doesnt exist.
He doesnt, said Cayla. Hes an alias. Thats why he didnt show up in your initial search.
That made no sense. Lots of prisoners, if not most, have aliases. I thought aliases were included in
searches by default.
They are. That was what threw me for a loop. But theres not much to do when youre a hostage, and
the Tevarin had a direct connect to the server room. His file was blacked out, but I was able to bypass
it.
Id tried to search his name earlier and Cayla had been dead set against it. What had changed?
I had a lot of time to think, she confessed when I asked. Kilkenny is risking a lot. With every hour the
chance that someone alerts the UEE to his little operation rises. But hes still here. Why? What makes
this Browning so special? I looked him up, but not because I wanted to turn him over to the Nova Dogs. I
thought he might be able to help us. And it turns out he has been.
Its Morgan isnt it? I asked, with cold certainty in my heart. Hed been one of the only two prisoners in
Maximum Security. If he was Browning, then hed stayed silent as hundreds of people had been killed.

On the other hand, without his help, we would never have made it off the station and there was no way
we were going to be able to run the Nova Dogs blockade without him.
What do we do? she asked.
I had no clue. What was he arrested for?
It didnt say. That part of his file was locked up so tight I couldnt access it even with the codes I was
assigned when Kilkenny destroyed the Command Deck, Wyrick confessed.
I heard Morgans voice hiss over the comm. Everything okay, Nylund?
I looked to her, but Caylas face had no expression. I tapped on the comm. Everythings fine. Koniceks
with us. Hows your fuel?
Half mast, he said. Good news/bad news. Scratch two bogies. On the other hand, Ive got three in
tow and that freighter is sitting between us and the jump gate. Care to assist?
I hesitated for only a moment. I could see Morgans rocket exhaust and three fast-moving stars breaking
away from the starscape to follow. The targeting computer highlighted all three, plotting vectors and
analyzing them for weaknesses.
Konicek, were uncoupling. The fueling umbilical retracted from somewhere above me and spooled
back into the tanker.
This is Corporal Smythe, sir. Mr. Konicek has been staring into space for the last twenty minutes. Im
afraid to wake him, came the reply over the comm. Smythe was one of the techs whod helped Konicek
fix the tanker. I felt some pity for him and the others. Stay away from the fireworks. Morgans coming
in to refuel. When hes done get your ass out of here.
The dark shadow that was the fuel tanker lifted up and then rolled over like a breeching whale and
disappeared beneath us.
All buckled up? I asked.
Are you sure about this, Avery? asked Cayla. All wed have to do is tell Kilkenny that Morgan is Martin
Browning and hed let us go.
We dont have a choice. We need Morgan to run the blockade. Well deal with this Browning thing on
the other side of the jump point. I couldnt help muttering if we make it under my breath. The bulk of
the Nova Dogs were far behind us, but two antiquated fighters against three modern craft and an
armored freighter were not good odds. Added to that, there were a few suspicious smudges on the
long-range radar that I didnt like thinking about.
I gunned the Cutlasss engines. Our fighters had been configured to run down escaping prisoners and I
knew Id have to keep an eye on my power consumption, but the extra speed gave me a huge advantage
in a dogfight. I swung wide, hoping the three fighters were so intent on Morgan that they wouldnt

notice me coming up on their six. When it looked like I had escaped attention, I maxed out my thrust
and unloaded on them. One of the fighters went up after only a few pulses and the other two scattered.
I jinked left to track one and spotted Morgan chasing after the other bogie. After we finished them off,
he rendezvoused with the tanker and began to refuel.
I was about to radio him when I realized the comm was still open. I tried to remember the last
transmission Id sent. No one had said anything during the battle. I felt the blood drain out of my cheeks.
It had been with Corporal Smythe. That meant that Morgan and everyone on the tanker had heard Cayla
identify him as Martin Browning.
My hand hovered over the comm button. We had enough fuel to disappear into remote space before
Morgan could start after us. We could outrun him if we left now. I closed the comm and hit the throttle.
Uh, Avery? Cayla asked from the back seat. Shouldnt we wait for Morgan and Konicek?
I kept my hand where it was. I set my shields forward. It would be difficult to get past Kilkennys
armored freighter on my own, but we didnt have a choice. There was no way Morgan would let us live
now that he knew that we were in on his little secret. He knows we know.
Oh, she said. I could hear her slump back in her seat. Shed always been bright. Im sure she figured
out what had happened.
The freighter loomed large in my vision. The HUD brought up its specs, and highlighted the wicked
looking particle weapon Id seen on the Flight Deck. She wasnt very maneuverable, but she was sitting
right between us and the jump point and had enough weaponry on her to pose a serious problem to
anyone trying to get by. This is going to get rough, I warned, checking the shields.
Suddenly the freighter lurched into motion and blasted away from the jump point. But not towards us.
Greetings my old friend, my old nemesis, said a voice on the public channel that I recognized as
belonging to Captain Martin Kilkenny of the Nova Dogs. Are you surprised that I know you for who you
are, Martin Browning? You wear the skin of a pirate king, but the man beneath belongs to the UEE. I
have come to eat your flesh and wear your skin and I will rule the pirate kingdoms in your stead.
Hes a live one isnt he? asked Cayla.
The livest, I replied. Corporal Smythe must have sold Morgan out to Kilkenny. But the good news is
that we appear to have a clear shot at the jump point.
Instead of gunning it, I cut the throttle and let us drift. The freighter dwindled behind us. It was clearly
too powerful for one fighter to handle on its own. My hand moved towards the throttle and then
dropped again. I tapped on the controls. Looked over my shoulder. Looked back at the construct that
was the jump point.
Cayla said nothing, not questioning why wed stopped.

Dammit, I said as I turned us around and hit the throttle at full burn.
Youre doing the right thing, she said.
Thats great. Im glad my therapy is progressing so well, I shot back and then immediately regretted it.
Cayla had become far more than my therapist. I respected her. No, it went deeper than that. I didnt
know the word for it exactly. Or at least I wouldnt admit that I did.
Morgan was still refueling. Smythe must have slowed down the process to entrap him.
My console lit up with dozens of signals from the direction of OSP-4. Kilkenny had found his man and
was collapsing the net around him. Things were about to get very hot, very quickly.
Suddenly I heard a shot over the comm system and then some fumbling. Youre all clear, boss, said
Herschel Konicek. The madman had come back to life at just the right moment.
I knew I could count on you, Herby, said Morgan. My gauge is filling fast. There was a pause. You
get lost on the way to the jump point, Nylund?
Yeah, but while Im here, we might as well clean up a little, I said, locking on to the freighter. I fired at
it, but it didnt even try to evade. Instead, rear-mounted cannon returned fire and we were the ones
who were forced to jink. We were fast, but without missiles I couldnt direct enough firepower on the
freighter to bring down its shields.
Luckily, Morgan detached from the fueling umbilical and pulled away from Konicek. With a burst of
thrust he was back in the fight.
Suddenly I was thrown violently against the canopy. The starscape swung wildly around me and I
realized that wed been hit with the massive particle beam cannon on the front of the freighter. While
Id been watching Morgan shed swung around and fired. My controls were unresponsive and my
instruments dead. A terrible thought occurred to me. Cayla?
Im fine, she said. A little shook up, but fine.
I did a quick survey. Our shields were down and there was a wicked dent in the hull, but we werent
leaking air and the plant, while powered down, appeared to be undamaged. Could it be a main
controller? I had no idea.
What can I do to help? asked Cayla.
I dont know, I cursed. My fist pounded down on the instrument panel.
Kilkennys freighter turned away from us, focusing on Morgans fighter. Gunfire flew back and forth
between them. The freighter was all fight and no flight. Instead of evading Morgans blasts it sat there
and took them, unworried. It began to drift towards us.

I rebooted the system and, after it cycled, my instruments flashed and came up. Weapons and shields
were still offline, except for one gun that flickered on and off. It was the mate of the turret gun that had
been damaged in my encounter with the station.
We were so close to Kilkennys freighter that we couldnt miss.
Let it fire, I prayed and then mashed the trigger. Energy pounded the freighter and there was a bright
explosion of light. We were jerked back in our seats and then everything went dark as the canopy
polarized. When it returned to normal, we saw the punctured hull of the freighter spinning away from
us.
I thought we were dead, said Cayla breathlessly.
Not. Quite. Yet. I said as I punched thrust and followed Morgan towards the jump point. As we neared,
twin lasers leapt from the Hornet, and we were suddenly without a jump drive.
Then his voice came through the comm. Now, dont panic, but you and the good doctor are going to
have to stay in-system while we leave, Nylund. Dont worry, the Nova Dogs have nothing else they can
send after you.
Why are you doing this? I asked.
Nothing personal. I just cant have you following me. There should be a UEE team on the way to the
Supermax right now. Theyll find you before you run out of air. So sit tight. Im sure you two lovebirds
can think of some way to pass the time.
And then he left us. We watched the bright streak of his exhaust flash into Interspace.
He called us lovebirds, said Cayla with a hint of curiosity. You dont ?
Isnt there a thing about dating your patients? I asked, looking back at her.
Yeah, she said, a little crestfallen. I guess there is.
I unhooked my flight harness and inspected the cockpit. There wasnt much room, but after everything
wed been through, I was sure we could make this work. I raised an eyebrow and smiled broadly. In
that case, youre fired.

The End