The Lucky 13 chapter one

On the edge of the Jukau system, normal space rippled and budged, as a space faring vessel approached at great speed using a beam drive. A sudden flash of blighting light (all of which was a tiny spec when compared with the sun) and a once mighty tool of war appeared. Conventional engines flared on the stern of the sleek destroyer and the FMS Triumph glided towards the only inhabited planet, the third chuck of rock orbiting the small yellow star.

The lady was an old warrior, a near derelict of the vast fleet and almost forgotten like her sister ships. Her paint was faded, the number and name almost eligible. The armor plating covering the hull was much too thin compared with newer vessels of her rating, torpedo tubes too small for the modern munitions and the partial cannons she had mounted recharged much too slowly. Her insides weren’t much better. Rust and grim gathered in the corners, as a scruffy and unkempt crew when through motions of keeping the old girl in space. Her wiring was so spliced and bypassed that any san engineer officer would have condemned her.

On the bridge, Army Major Robert Rogers stared at the large, main screen, watching as Jukau Gamma grew closer. His lean face was creased into a frown, as his shoulders squared defensively. He could feel the rumored chill of the planet’s surface in his bones and desperately wanted to pull out one of the Carlia cigarillos he kept in a tin, in his pocket. However, he wanted the crewmen responsible for flying the old girl to be on their toes and didn’t have enough of the patches to combat the strange effects of the dung to share around. He’d need his whole supply on his mission (and more besides).

“Captain” said a bored sound naval rating at the comm. unit, “Jukau station acknowledges the orders we transmitted and reports that everything will be ready when we arrive.”

“Very good” drawled Captain Alaksei Titov, a grizzled and portly old fellow, whom most of the crew assumed was encrusted to his command seat, as he offered his hand to the Army Officer, “Well Rogers, we’ll be in orbit in twenty minutes. The troop transport will be ready to take you down to the surface of the shitball in nineteen.”

“Thank you Captain” replied Rogers, taking the offered hand and pumping it a few times. He had enjoyed the Captain’s company, taking meals, playing cards and smoking a little Carlia during the dogwatch in the older man cabin. It had been a refreshing change from the relations between officers he had known, always full of political strife and he hoped to enjoy it a little more during the second leg of this voyage.

With out a word more, the Major turned and strolled off the bridge. His boot-clad feet traveled the filthy metal passageways, until he reached his assigned cabin. In a well-oiled motion, he peeled off the light green utilities he was dressed, down to his skivvies and stretched out his lean body, joints popping like some old man, despite the fact he was almost over forty years away from retirement. A single kick sent the clothing flying over to the cramped cot he slept on.

Stepping over to a small sink and mirror, Robert peered at his own reflection before grabbing his razor. With quick hands, he shaved, washed his face and combed the graying hair that remained on his head. From a pile of personal positions, he pulled out his best service uniform and slipped into it. He needed to look impressive for the horde of filth he was to address this morning.

Polish black shoes covered his feet. Crisp light green trousers, black leather belt, pressed white turndown collar shirt, black tie and light green jacket trimmed in red. On top of his head went a light green beret, with a red badge, a white skull with a knife hilt sticking out of the top fielded on the badge. Lastly, he attached a holster Mark IX pulselaser pistol to his belt and grabbed the light green greatcoat he never thought he’d have to wear.

Feeling proud and rightly so, Rogers left his cabin and walked down to the launch bay, joined enroute by half a dozen black clad Provosts. Each was armed with an older Mark VII pulselaser pistol and a cudgel, with a few wearing coiled whips on their hips. As they boarded the transport, normally used to drop whole companies onto a planet, none of them spoke a word to each other. He had picked the men from a different prison unit, so that they would have no prior connections to any of the thirteen bastards he was pull off this rock, giving everyone a fair chance.



Down below them, a hundred or so Provosts drove the throngs of inmates into the large courtyard, pummeling those not moving fast enough with fist and cudgel. The early dawn light peeked out from over the far distant mountaintops and the buzz of confusion was like some horrid bird song to greet it.

Never before had the prisoners been assembled when there wasn’t an execution or a whipping, both of which were proudly proclaimed for hours or days before hand and never this early (for Commissar Baum likes to sleep late). Demands to know what was going on rippled through the mass of bodies, as they could see that the scaffolding that dominated the center of the courtyard was not dangling a rope but mounted with a podium and ringed with black uniformed guards.

Outside the great walls, on the landing platform, the Commissar himself waited in the cutting wind, which was just starting to pick up. The stubby man rubbed his fat fingers together, eager to please the visiting and outranking officer that was to inspect his facility and choose from of his charges for a classified mission.



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Hidden in the shadow of two larger men, Nora Sanders followed the crowed like a good little sheep. She could almost hear the bleating cries from her fellow inmates as the shouting Provost herded them into the frozen gallows. Between the heads of people around her, she could see the violent tactics of their shepherd. Men and women alike took the blows like pros, for the fist was not unknown to all of those still breathing in this desolate 'Ice Palace', as she called it. Picking her path carefully, Nora ventured deeper into the heart of the crowed. She felt it would be better to take on her neighbors than her task masters.

Nora had learned long ago that the only way to survive was to become useful; useful to her peers and masters alike. It didn't take her long to figure out how to get items, everyday luxuries, into the hands of those who were willing to pay with protection or other tradable goods. And the hound dogs that ruled this prison could easily be bought by what they called a 'simple personal favor'.

A small voice beside her brought her out of her thoughts. "Ya know what this is 'bout, Nora?"

"No." She replied evenly. Looking away from the podium, Nora turned her blue eyes to the small red headed girl next to her. Jhenna was one of Nora's girls. Once in the position of power (as she thought of it, for everyone came to her when they needed anything), Nora was able to gather the weakest women to use for her payment to the Provosts. In return, she offered them what they wanted... food, protection, and even drugs. She didn't feel sorry for them... they were stupid enough to go for it. Besides, she had performed these 'personal favors' many a time until she had gotten to where she was now.

Jhenna shifted her weight nervously. She was hardly over the age of eighteen and was dumb as dirt. Arrested for prostitution, she found her lot in the prison a lot easier to take than the other girls. "Ya think they're gunna get rid of us all in one massive execution? Lida told me that-"

"There are too many Provost here... new ones, too. Look," Nora said, pointing to the uniforms along the podium. "Those boys are fresh. The cold is eating away at them. Besides, I know every Provost on this whole damn ice cube, and I don't recognize a single one of 'em."

Only slightly relieved, the young girl pulled her thick, wool coat against her emaciated body, a hard earned prize from weeks of sexual acts and living on the brink of starvation. "What do ya think is gunna happen?"

Nora shrugged. "I'm not sure. But it don't feel right."

"Nora Sanders." A deep voice called from behind her as a large, black figure pushed his way past the sad bodies around her. Collin was as close to a personal body guard as she could get in this place. He came at a heavy cost, but in her mind, was worth it. "Have you heard any whispers of this oddness?"

Shaking her head, she turned away from him. "But I take it you have."

"Rumor has it that a visitor arrived not to long ago." The bitter winds seemed to almost take all the color out of his ebony skin. The seriousness of his large brown eyes told her he had heard it from a reliable source.

With a sigh, Nora put her hands deep into the fur-lined pockets of her leather coat, a movement that burned in her shoulder from a recent brawl injury. "This can't be good."

But then again, nothing ever is in the Ice Palace. she thought bitterly to herself.

Inali grinned as she held the cigar she'd pilfered off of a guard between her fingers. It wasn't a cigarette, and thus it's cancer causing acrid smoke was no where near as potent. However, it was still something. Winnings taken back from having slept with another sleaze bag in the jail. Sex wasn't something Inali put much thought into. The guy was half decent, and it helped her pass the time, not to mention it earned her certain rewards. And while even though she'd earned her cigar fair and square she still hid under the covers of her bed and dragged in a large sum of smoke. She didn't want another guard to attempt to take it away and then have to engage in some sex act again to kept it. No, she'd had enough for the time being, maybe again in another three hours but not quite yet.

Though, she usually rated how well her day was going by how good her catch was. The looks of the guy didn't matter, so much as his ranking in the prison did. She'd reached rather high levels before, and rightfully so. While Inali didn't like to brag (a blatant lie in her own thinking process for Inali loved to brag) she was quite a pretty little thing, still relatively unscathed from prison life. However, she'd yet to sleep with the man on top. Which was a good thing she supposed, she shouldn't aim so high so soon.

However, sex wasn't going to work past a certain age. The sinking feeling sagged in Inali's underfed stomach as she exhaled, smoke circling under her dirty blanket. She was going to get old, and without corrective surgery she couldn't remedy it. Despite the utter narcissism of the thought, Inali had already planned on suicide once she'd gotten too wrinkly. It had worked for her late husband, and thus it could work for her. Either that or get executed, which if done for the purpose of self destruction was essentially euthanasia.

Hissing in pain Inali recoiled as ash fell onto her exposed stomach, the jacket of her uniform unzipped due to the heat produced from the blanket. With a few choice words she brushed the debris off of her person, a scowl setting on her unpainted lips. Hopefully it wouldn't blister, for that would quite unattractive. The general routine of the day was broken by the rattling of the prison bars before her. Snapping into a sitting position and carefully hiding her cigar, the act of which was ridiculous for it still produced smoke, Inali peaked out from under the blanket to see a Provost before her cell with a rather impatient look on his face.

"Get up you whore." He grunted, causing Inali to smirk as she swung her legs off the bed and onto the dirty floor.

"Anything for you baby." She played the part, taking one final drag on her cigar before the man slapped the item out of her hand. She hadn't bothered to protest as he crushed it under his boot, it wasn't as if that would make him stop. Besides, getting a rise out of the prisoners was what the guards wanted. The jail was equally as boring to them, and getting in a tussle was one of the few forms entertainment. That went along with whipping and execution.

Inali wasn't too shocked to see that the other prisoners were being escorted to elsewhere also. Probably to witness some poor sap having his brains blown out and the like. Some people enjoyed the show, other abhorred it. Inali, well she was indifferent towards it. It certainly wasn't entertaining, but it let her stretch her legs so she couldn't complain. It was better than pacing around her cell like a caged animal for hours on end.

However, unlike the usual outing, there was no torture equipment or instruments for murder. No, this time there was a podium. Which unless they planned to use to have some man talk to them to death, Inali guessed that the usual drill was being changed up a bit. It was odd, but somewhat relieving. A little change was good, especially in that goddamn penitentiary. Folding her arms under her chest and running her tongue over her teeth as she tasted the aftertaste of tobacco Inali attempted to ignore the smell of sweat and ass while whomever was going to give them their little sermon began to speak.

Wind was sharp and noisy as Bill walked with the others at his side, and a cudgel in his back, they approached a courtyard, and Bill was ever so confused. He tried to turn once and ask one of the whip bearing brutes what was going on this early, the response would usually be a smack to the face and command to "WALK.", Bill was confused, and a bit paranoid that this would be some sort of mass execution day. His temper started to rise, he turned to one and grabbed his arm and asked of him "What the hell are we-" he was interrupted by a loud cracking sound, and as his back started to sting, as if the wind was cutting right into it, he released one mans hand and turned around, where a whip was coming back for a second taste, he grabbed it in mid air right as a smack to his big stubborn skull head came from behind from the man he had freed. It brought him to his knee's and a third man came over and clubbed him in the head. Bill was done resisting, and the men waited for a bit. After they realized that Bill had had enough, they got him up and poked him in the back with the cudgel until he was walking again. Bill always liked the quote, "don't bite the hand that feeds you", his rations were low anyways, he didn't have much to lose.

The soft roar of the transport’s engines faded away abruptly and was replaced by the heavy crash of the metal landing gear upon the stone platform. For a few moments, the box-like vessel seemed to shake, like a vast beast shivering in the cold, before the ramp on it’s backside came down with a heavy thud. The dozen Provosts quickly scampered out and joined up with the rest of the honor guard, made up of the local prison guards, a collective gasp from the cold running through their ranks.

Major Rogers stood at the top of the ramp, looking up at the great fortress. The bitter wind tore at his unbuttoned greatcoat, making the fabric flap about his legs and sending a tremor up the spine of the steamy jungle’s son. Oh, bronze man hated this place within a few seconds and he hadn’t even gotten his feet on the barren land yet. Shoving his hands into the overly large pockets of his coat, he descended from the aerial craft

“Welcome to Jukau station” said Commissar Baum, stepping foreword with a smile. His own greatcoat, blacker then night, with blood red embroidery forming the unit’s motto on the right breast, was buttoned tight.

“Is there anything I can…”

“Captain” said Rogers, interrupting the commander of the penal colony and denying his honorific title of Commissar, “I wish only to address the population of this place and leave as soon as possible. I have plenty of work to do as it is, without being entertained in whatever rustic ways you have here.”

“Oh course Herr Major Rogers” said Baum, not losing his smile in the slightest, “Perhaps there is a way to shorten your visit then?”

“Ten Troy Ounces of the platinum that your not mining” said the jungle fighter, his breath clouding around his head, “And this facility gets a perfect score on the evaluation.”

The stubby man bowed his head slightly and reached into his pocket. Inside rage was filling his heart, at being order about but it was swiftly taken over by greed. Should the inspecting officer report poor conditions (and there were), well he might be removed from power here in his own kingdom and cut off from the tightly retirement package he was putting together in platinum.

“Please state” said Baum, placing three small bars of silvery metal in the waiting hand of his superior, each weighing five ounces, “That we suffer from a shortage of food for the Provost detachment. We had to give up a good deal of the stores to make sure that the inmates had enough to eat over the passed few months.”

“Oh course” said Rogers, wanting to spit the words at the piggish man before him.

Wasting no more word, the duo walked into the prison, surround by black figures. Their footsteps echoed through the now empty hallways and rooms. Shadows seem to shimmer and shake in their wake, like the ghosts of inmates past awoken to watch the passage of a chooser of life and tormentor of the damned. The cold clawed at their warm bodies, like the talons of this icy world, attempting to snatch away their warm, life energy to fuel the misery. Before long, they reached a door that opened up behind the gallows.

A sudden and demanding craving for a drug-filled cigarillo hit Robert in the gut, like a professional boxer’s fist, as he and Commissar walked through a parting sea of black clad Provost soldiers(not that one could really count them among the ranks of the Federation's grand regiments) and mounted the scaffolding. Swallowing to force the feeling away, his face was drawn taunt, as he looked out over the sea of faces. A mixture of confusion and murderous hate being projected towards them with the burning intensity of a laser round.

“Attention” commanded Baum, taking the podium first, “We have a very important visitor here today. This is Major Robert Rogers of the honorable Ninth Regina Light Infantry and he is here to inspect this colony. I expect everything to go smoothly for him, so put on your happy, smiling faces. He also has something to speak with you about.”

“Thank you Commissar” said Rogers, stepping up to the podium, as the Provost leader stepped back, “Inmates of Jukau Gamma, as some of you might know, the Federation is at war. Even now, our glorious armies push into the territory of the alien Tarnakians. Any volunteers, willing to complete a mission behind enemy lines will be granted a full pardon. All records of your internment and crimes will be purged from official files.”

The entire courtyards exploded into pandemonium. Inmates rushed forwards, waving their arms high in the air, screaming variants of “Pick me!”. The Provosts surround the gallows responded with extreme violence. Whips crack, slicing into human skin, cudgels cracked skulls and crackle of a few laser rounds hung in the air, mingling with the small of burn hair or flesh, from where the rounds caught some damned soul's face. A ring of crumbled forms piled around the scaffolding.

Inali's attention wasn't granted fully to the man. She couldn't help it, it was the way she was. At the beginning of his speech Inali's attention had gone to her nails which she inspected in a bored fashion. It wasn't until the words full pardon were mentioned that her head did perk up. However, before she could even realize the meaning of the words did the crowd burst out in a raucous plea.

Of course when the whole crowd rushed forward little Inali was pushed forward, her feet coming off the ground for a moment. This was nothing new. However, it was always unsettling. Inali liked to walk, or run, to her own accord. She didn't need any pushy assistance. Thankfully after the first few whip cracks some of them slowed down enough to allow herself to regain her footing.

The sound of lazers rang through the air and the man behind Inal was hit, almost falling on top of her. However, she managed to stay grounded and shoulder him off. It wasn't pleasant, but she didn't know the man so no harm no foul. The whole situation was a bit crazed. There Inali stood, quite close to the stage due to the human wave caused by the rowdy bum rush. However, should she try to get the man's attention she'd probably be shot or whipped.

Inali wasn't a stranger to whipping, though it would be rather demeaning to have happen with a potential savior put before her. So she'd have to find a way to get out of that. Getting shot was out of the question. Inali didn't enjoy getting shot, ever. Then again, who did? It was about as pleasant as a kick to the ovaries.

A metaphorical light bulb went off in her head with a sudden snap as Inali's Grey eyes lit up. Quickly her hands went into bra, for her uniform hadn't any pocket. Within a month of Inali being in the prison the guards realized that Inali and pockets were a match made in hell. From her bra Inali produced a marker and a piece of stained paper. The material was ripped in several places. This was because when Inali wasn't using her stolen rubber band as a hair tie she was using it as a sling shot. Often times she'd send bits of paper flying at passing Provosts to entertain herself.

This time she decided to do something different. On the paper she quickly wrote "Pick Me" in a messy scrawl. Considering she was right in the view of the man at the podium he'd probably see her flinging the paper at him, it wasn't a long distance at all. Placing the rubber band on her middle and index finger and pulling them apart she placed the crumpled piece of paper on the band, pulled back and aimed.

Chewing hard on her lower lip Inali watched as the paper rose up in the air, and then made a somewhat slow decent down and flat onto the podium before rolling to the floor. Which was good, because it was a hell of a lot more graceful that having hit the man dead between the eyes or missing completely. The damn man better have appreciated the effort she put into that move. Especially considering both her rubber band and marker were surely going to be confiscated. That and she was anticipating getting punched in the back of her head for stepping out of line.

The words had barely escaped Roy’s mouth when Nora was suddenly plowed down by the sudden surge towards the podium. Nearly trampled to death, Nora was suddenly pulled to safety by two large hands. As she motioned to Collin to head in the opposite direction of the crowd, she thought about how the giant was the best investment she had ever even thought of. With Nora held tightly against his chest like a small babe, Collin set his gaze on the distant overhang of the west entryway of the prison house.

Once in the shadows of the overhang,the giant man dropped Nora. Quickly getting her footing, she turned towards her savior. “So you saved me only to toss me to the ground?" She spat sarcastically. "How thoughtful.”

“You should be relieved to be in one piece, Nora Sanders.” Collin replied dryly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Nora turned back to the prison gate. Wrapping thin, ungloved hands around the bars, she yanked as hard as she could at the half frozen hinges. The gate groaned, but didn’t budge. Cursing, she stepped to the side. “Do you mind?”

Stepping up to the door, Collin strategically grabbed the bars. The muscles in his arms tensed as he prepared to yank at the door with all of his might. Little did he know, all the might in the world would not free the bars from it’s reinforced locks. After several frustrated pulls, Collin took a step back.

“It was a nice notion, Nora Sanders.”

Nora leaned against the gate. “They don’t want us to escape, but then they lock us out of the damn prison when we leave!” Spitting on the ground, she began to pace, searching her many pockets for anything that would help. The bitter winter winds tugged at her loose braid, pulling several strands around her face free. Cursing again, she kicked the gate. "Shit! I have anything you want to from killing yourself to treating your cellmate to a nice dinner but I don't have nothin' to help me get into this-"

Collin put a hand on her shoulder. The large mitts easily covered the entire ball of her shoulder. "I think it would be unwise to speak so loudly, Nora Sanders."

Giving the large man a dirty look, Nora plopped down onto the snow covered ground just in front of the gate. "I guess we just sit and wait. Maybe I can bribe a guard to let us through here." Shrugging, she leaned her head back against the metal bars... waiting to be discovered.

Nora and her giant companion didn't have to wait long for someone to come along. Down from the kitchen, housed within the Provost quarters, came the head head cook and crafter of protein gruel, Adolfo De Luca. His small, squinty eyes and enormously fat, squat body made him look closer to a pig, then even the great king of Jukau prison, Commissar Baum himself. There were no uniforms big enough for him, so the greasy cook was forced to stitch a few of the them together and he was not skilled with a needle. As always, there was a stained apron stretched tight over his middle.

"Well well well" he croaked, licking his lips as he spotted the pair, "Finally come to your senses about my offer for a some real food and come rattlin my door?"

The old bastard cackled with laughter, as he walked closer enough to the bars, that his fat started to squeeze through. For the past four years, he had been trying to get the little woman into his room but she had always offered one of her whores in payment instead. That was not good enough, he wanted her. In the end, they always come crawling to him, humbled and willing. Now she wanted out and he could open the door, for a price of course, nothing was ever free in this frozen hell.



Rogers stared with a sneer of disgust as the raging sea of humanity, as they milled, trying to stay just out of the reach of cudgel or whip. His dark blue eyes found a smallish, dark skinned woman, just as she flung something at him. Nearly every instinct he had, demanded that he throw himself down, maybe even off the scaffolding, to avoid whatever was coming his way. He didn't move however, an iron will holding his muscles taunt and still. As what turned out to be a scrap of paper bounced off the podium, he lifted datapad from the pocket of his greatcoat and snapped a picture of the woman. She had good aim, if anything.

As the Commissar boiled with rage and missed the paper entirely, the Major bend over, picked up the paper and glanced over at the Commissar. The pig-like man's face was bright scarlet with rage and shame. It was disgraceful to see the inhabitants of his private kingdom acting in such a way and doubly so, when in front of an inspecting officer, recruiting for a behind the lines mission. Oh if the Major pulled it off, he'd be a hero of the Federation and his journey, from start to finish, would pass into legend. This would horrid account of HIS prison would be the start of that story. Oh they were going to pay for this embarrassment. He would hang twenty of the wretches as soon as the transport left and flog half of the remaining population.

"Now then" said Rogers, speaking into the podium's microphone again, "I know all of you are eager to leave your lovely home but I only need a few of you. The good Provosts will take you all back to your cell blocks and collect the names of all those willing to join up. I will then select those I want to speak with and we'll have a little chat. Commissar, if you will."

"Thank you Major" growled Baum, stepping back to the podium, "Take them back to the cells!"

And the whippings and beatings began again, as the convicts were herded back.

Inali's jaw clenched shut when she saw the man go into his pocket. He had a gun, she knew it, the bastard had a gun. It was a damn shame that she was going to be shot in the face for something so minuscule. The thought of running crossed her mind, but all in all were an utterly useless idea giving the circumstance. She'd probably be right hooked, whipped, and then shot. However, upon seeing the datapad in the man's hand the knot in her stomach relaxed. That was much better than a gun. Almost as fast as he went to snap the photo Inali blew a kiss at him, if he was going to take a picture he might as well have taken a good one. And she wasn't even hit yet. Well, I think this is going quite---

Thwack!

Inali received a rather painful blow to her back. She hissed, baring her teeth and balling her fists. Cracking her back she regained her posture, turning around to see a rather stony faced guard.

"Oh baby, lower." She grinned wolfishly. This only seemed to displease the guard further, and he cracked his whip just barely missing her arm. She wasn't sure if it was a lucky miss, or if it was on purpose. Either way she'd been rather happy that she hadn't been hit.

"Move dirtbag." He grunted. Inali ran her tongue over her teeth before shaking her head while walking away.

"Baby, you're no fun." She cooed in his direction. This seemed to raise the guard's eyebrows ever so slightly. They weren't used to being heckled in such a manner by a female inmate. The males? Most definitely. However, females were a different story. Though, so was Inali. Not a super special snowflake, not by far, but certainly a bit different in her approach. Inali most definitely would have been a horrible sex offender had she have been a man. She realized this, and monopolized ever minute of her gender advantages.

Going back to her cell was. . . Entertaining as usual. Entertaining in the sarcastic not-at-all-really manner. Once again manhandled back into her cell and once again she'd offered some cheeky sexual comment, and yet again she'd had the door to her cell slammed in her face. Didn't matter, they'd come back, eventually.

The current question on her mind was if she'd make the cut. She was crafty, and she could aim. Once Inali had fought off three men with just a can of hairspray and a lighter. Though, in their defense they were supposed doing certain things. Certain things of the not having their faces horribly burned persuasion. Though, she digressed, she wasn't sorry at all. It was damn entertaining, perhaps she was a sadist of sorts.

Damia was in the middle of trying to choke the life out of an inmate about the same size as she when a big hand caught the back of her coat. "Come on, kid, get yer coat later." A rather beefy man said. Damia reluctantly let go of the girl and started to run with Charles just as some guards came around the corner to usher them to join the others. Charles was the first person to beat her in a fight her. He was all muscle and even that was starting to deteriorate from lack of food. He used to be much bigger, stronger too, but they'd become some what friends during their time here. "Yeah fine, I'll just steal your coat later then." Damia said as she followed the inmates into the courtyard. Charles laughed his big brown beard shaking as he did so, then he shushed her as the Commissar began to speak. Damia wasn't paying attention she was still thinking of that coat she wanted, hers had worn thin and her skin always had a tinge of icy blue to it now.

Suddenly, Damia felt Charles lift her up onto his shoulders and she protested quickly, "Hey, put me down." She began to hit him on the head with her fists before he reached a hand up and grabbed one of her hands squeezing it painfully. "Oh shut up, I'm trying to get you out of here, now if you don't stop that I'll give you a lovely black eye to go with that OCD. Then you'll have to give yourself another one to make it even." Charles said gruffly, Damia stopped quickly, she didn't want a black eye. Beside her she heard a sort laughing and she turned her head to face Molly and said indignantly, "Oh shut up."

As the guards started to move the inmates back to their cells Charles put her down and said, "Ah well better luck next time." Then he started to walk back to his cell while Damia huffed and said, "Right like there will be a next time."
"Give your name then." Molly said with a slight shrug as she walked along beside Damia. Damia shrugged and that of course meant that she would. She always listened to Molly, she was the one person she could truly count on. Once back in her cell, Damia laid down on her bed, there was only one in her cell. The guards had quickly found that if Damia had a cellmate she would kill them quickly. So as a solution they gave her her own cell, she liked it that way, although she was starting to miss the extra clothes.

Tyler was wandering around durring the speech, only having heard it through the intercom units that seriously needed repair. It sounded like something he could do, at least.

He shook his head as he popped into the kitchen for a bite to steal. But, of course, this time a guard caught him with his hands in the stash. The first attack sent Tyler into the wall, the second raked a good sized slash across his forearms, and the final hit him in the gut so hard he lifted off the ground. Even so, he spat in the guard's face and growled, "You're mother slaps harder, bitch."

The guard reddened and started lashing out again, screaming something Tyler didn't care about as the blugeon came down again and again. It did hurt, it hurt like hell, but that hardly meant anything here. Pain was just an early warning system that was useless if life was not in danger, and for this guy it certainly wasn't. After about a minute of taking it silently, Tyler decided to try something.

When the guard pulled his hand back to strike again, Tyler rose up and lunged. He tackled the guard and bit down on his neck, then wretched back and forth, ripping half of it free.

Tyler backed up as he sputtered and died, spitting the peice of him out and falling in exhaustion. He didn't make an attempt to get the guard's laser pistol, that would be pointless if he couldn't move. When six more guards came in, Tyler held up his hands and waited for death. At least he went out with a bang.

But no, they didn't kill him. What appeared to be the leader ordered three to get him while the rest dealt with the body. After around two minutes of dragging, beating, and slashing at him with either a whip or knife, he couldn't tell, they shoved Tyler down in front of someone. Tyler struggled for a moment, then made himself roll over and smiled, putting a decent amount of feral rage into his blackened eyes, "Oh, Commissar, how's the ol' needle hangin?"

Tyler noticed another guy with the Commissar, but it didn't matter. He'd either be hung or executed in some other manner. Maybe he should have grabbed the laser pistol.

One of the guards kicked him and planted a foot on Tyler's chest to keep him still, "This one killed a guard, tore a whole chunk out of his neck with his freakin mouth. Look, his mouth's still bloody."

Rogers watched as the inmates were forced back into the imposing stone fortress. it wasn't long before his picked out a small group of persons moving against the tide of humanity. It turned out to be a number of Provosts escorting a rail thin boy, who looked positivity feral with a great mane of hair, that reached his feet. Of course the blood smeared mouth did little to take away from the sense that the youngster had been torn from the very birthing of humanity. Without evening thinking out it, he drew the Mark IV (which looked rather like a Mauser C96) from it's holster.

"You little bastard" hissed Baum, savagely kicking Tyler in the teeth with an overly polished boot, "Its finally come time, to find out what wrong with your head. The only thing I have to decide is whether or not to let the doctors start cutting up your brain, before I hang your wretched corpse in front of the others."

"Hold on there Commissar" said Robert, tapping the piggish man's chest with the barrel of his pistol, "Lets not be hasty. So boy, you killed someone with your teeth did you? How do you feel about doin that to the enemies of the Federation?"

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After an interesting conversation on the Scaffolding, Rogers was shown to a conference room within the Provost quarters of Jukau station, where he dismissed Baum (who needed to go vent his anger anyways). His datapad was already showing nearly ninety percent of the population of the prison wanted to volunteer. Ignoring the very long list of names for a moment, he had the little computer compare the image of the woman that had flung a bit of paper at him. It came back with a name: Inali Vercona.

"Sergeant" he said, opening the door and looking at the local provost that was assigned to help him gather his recruits, "Get me Inali Vercona."

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After a few interviews, Robert had givin up trying to look for the right people for the job. It was a hopeless and all together futile process, along with being a great headache. He was going to switch to a simpler method, picking names at random. Scrolling through the list at random, as fast as he could, the Major placed closed his eyes and placed a finger on a name.

"Sergeant" he said, opening the door again and knowing that his helper was groaning inwardly, "Get me Damia Jones."

Having nothing much to do, Inali had taken it upon herself to take a nap. After all, she couldn't stay pretty with bags under her eyes could she? Inali's mind wandered across all different types of scenery just behind her eyelids. Currently she'd found herself snorting an-oldie-but-a-goodie(or baddie all things considered) drug, cocaine, off of one of her designer hand bags from back home.

Inali's illicit fantasy was quickly broken by the sound of her cell door opening once again. Groggily she sat up, quite miffed that her beauty rest had been interrupted. The nerve of people! First she'd had her smoke break utterly ruined and now her explicit dream infatuations had been dashed never to return just the same way again. Oh, and to top it all off she'd been whipped in the back, which when she thought about it was still quite sore. Rubbing her left eye Inali regarded the Provost while propping herself up on her free arm.

"I knew you'd be back." She smirked suggestively. Though, honestly, she couldn't tell whether she'd met the man before. Not as if it mattered to Inali. Even if she had there was a damn good chance she didn't even remember his name. Inali didn't remember names and faces. Well, she remembered faces but only the attractive ones, all others just kind of blurred into a sadly average and mundane amorphous blob of people.

"Inali, you've been called for." The man, who when she heard his voice didn't even sound old enough to legally drink, stated. Inali pouted her lips before her gray eyes looked over the bed. Resting was rather fun, she wasn't sure she wanted to get off the mattress no matter how dreadfully squeaky and lumpy it may have been.

"Who's looking to see me?" She asked, though the only reason she'd dared to was because he was a good enough distance away not to backhand her for sass. The guard looked up, as if the name of the man who'd sent for her was written inside of his cap and let out a dull sounding 'uh' of a noise.

"Roger Roberts--" He stammered, only to have Inali cut in immediately after.

"You mean Robert Rogers?" She inquired, her smirk turning into a Cheshire-Cat-like grin. This made the young man flustered, for he snapped at Inali shortly after her correction.

"It doesn't matter just get out of the goddamn cell!" The words were said in almost rapid succession, making them seem like one word as opposed to several. With a huff and a grunt Inali pushed herself up into a sitting position and then off the bed. Due to the fact that she was a single inmate being taken in by a single guard she was placed into a pair of handcuffs before being led off and away.

During her walk Inali had tried to make conversation. First about the weather, horribly cold as usual, but the young man didn't bother to respond. Then about sex, to which the guard still didn't respond. Which always annoyed Inali, no one should ignore a pretty woman when she goes into fun details. After that she'd inquired on his sexual preference, to which the Provost had taken it upon himself to elbow her. Shortly thereafter Inali made a vocal decision that the man was indeed gay, followed by getting elbowed harder. Inali was about to go into her brief story about her night with a mute transsexual whore when she'd come to find that she'd been taken to where she was supposed to be. Though, the general area of where she was, well, unfamiliar, she could only guess that was what the abrupt halt had meant.

"So we've gotten to where we were going then?" She asked, but the Provost was too busy unlocking her restraints. He did however, nod, before shoving her through the doors. Inali had let out a bit of a protest at this as she rubbed her wrists whilst looking rather offended. Couldn't he tell she was pretty and thus valuable cargo? The nerve of some people. Upon entering the room Inali could tell that save for some personnel she was the first inmate to arrive.

"So I was at the top of the list then?" Inali asked, directing her inquiry to Robert as she smiled a cheeky smile. "What an ego boost that is." She said happily to herself, though her tone and the look in her eyes clearly showed an undertone of self deprecation.

Tyler didn't know where he was. He'd fallen asleep a while ago, after the Commissar had kicked him. It hurt, but he was more tired than in pain. When he woke up, he did not open his eyes, but thought. Don't know what's going on, his mind started, but this sucks.

Tyler, conscious Tyler answered, 'Amen, this reeks to high heaven.'

Oh come on, you know heaven don't exist.

'Point taken. What do you think they'll do to us?'

Probably kill you, or force you to fight and get killed anyway. That pardon crap was just that, crap.

'So I'm gonna die?'

No shit, shirlock. But what will you do? Die like a bitch, or go out with a bang like you planned to when you ripped that guard's throat out?

'If I die, I'm takin someone with me.'

Thought so, now get the hell up so we can kill somethin.

Tyler stirred, then sat up slowly, spitting out a coagulated ball of mushy red, "Well that didn't taste good. Any of you dumbasses got a drink?"

Rogers looked up from where he was sitting at the short table, which commanded the room. There was the woman from the picture on his datapad and he suddenly had a twinge of regret. Maybe it was that cheeky or the happiness in her voice or something else but the gloom of this damn assignment came down hard on his shoulders. Unable to fight the urge any longer, he reached onto the left pocket of his slacks and pulled out a patch. It looked like a square band-aid, skin colored and was applied to a half-dollar side darker patch of skin on the back of his neck.

As soon as the patched touched him, the army officer felt a terrible burn spread through his neck and back. His finger trembled sightly, as he pulled out a cigarillo of Carlia and a lighter. He placed the tip of the little cigar between his teeth and clicked the lighter. A bright blue flame leaped up and licked the other end of cigarillo, making the thing smolder. A look of relief washed over his face, as he sucked in a mouth full of thick smoke, which tasted little like sweet apples that were just starting to rot. The pain melted away.

"You are first" Rogers said, in a flat voice, the smoke billowing out of his mouth, "But that means little then your luck. So tell me, why should I pick you from the hundred of other volunteers?"

"Never said I was lucky." Inali scoffed, taking a seat at the table in which Roberts sat. Her gray eyes inspected the cigarillo he smoked with a harsh longing. However, she managed to tear her gaze away and direct it at the ceiling for a moment. "If I was lucky, I wouldn't be here." She added, tapping her fingernails on the table in rhythmic motion for a moment before stopping and looking back at the man. Her head tilted slightly to the side as she listened to his question.

"So tell me, why should I pick you from the hundred of other volunteers?"

Was she worried about the sudden inquiry? Oddly, no. She had a feeling that even if she did make the cut there was going to be a catch. There was always a catch. And if she didn't? Well, she'd be spending the rest of her days in prison. Maybe if she was lucky she'd make some grand escape, but that was debatable. She'd probably just blow her brains like her old hubby Landon.

"I'd be damned if I had a legitimate reason hun." Inali shrugged while leaning back in her seat. "You can check my files, you can see what I've done. I can spew a lot of bullshit your way about how I should be at the tippy top of that list of yours." She paused, pressing her fingers together and leaning away, thinking of a way to sum things up. "But at the end of the day it's you who's doing the picking. How about you tell me why you brought me here and we'll start from that?" Inali settled back into her seat, propping her face up on her hands and looking over at the man. He was older, probably around the same age Landon would be had he been alive. Maybe she'd try to 'warm up' to him. Later though, after she'd been picked. Military men seemed so stiff in the Jukau system, she didn't want to play her cards wrong.

"Is it because I'm pretty?" She went on to ask, testing the waters with yet another self deprecating undertone. In honesty Inali didn't take herself quite as seriously as she pretended to, though people often thought she did. Though, on the other hand she was usually only half joking most of the time. Meaning that the other half of her was quite serious. "Or because I'm a pretty good shot?"

Damia was still lying on her bed when the guard came to get her. "Hey you, somebody would like to see. Come with me." The guard said, and Damia cocked an eyebrow as she looked up at him, rather trusting wasn't he? Sitting up she gave the man a rather confused look and said, "You think I'm just going to get up and go with you just because you say so?" The guard then unlocked the cell and pointed his gun at her.
"You will if you know what's good for you." He said in what he must have thought was a threatening tone.
"Scary." Damia said rolling her eyes before looking to Molly to see what she thought. Molly motioned for her to leave. "Thanks, great to know I'm wanted." She said sarcastically as she left the cell with the guard.
"Well it's not like I'm going to leave you or anything." Molly said as they walked, the guard eyed Damia warily, he should have known before she was crazy. What sort of sane person would be charged with 52 accounts of murder?

Reaching a hall way with chairs and a couple doors the guard forced her into a chair and said, "Stay there and wait until it's your turn." Damia rolled her eyes and clasped her hands together before realizing the guard had forgotten to cuff her. Wow, he really was trusting wasn't he? It certainly was tempting to take the guard down while she had the chance, but what would that get her anyway? She was sure that if another guard caught her wearing a guard's coat he would take it away. She supposed it would just have to be for fun, but she was sure someone would come to stop her before she managed to choke the life out of him.

Noticing that Damia was staring at him, the guard said, "What're you looking at?"
"Oh nothing just another piece of meat wasting life as it stands." Damia said with a shrug, this seemed to make the guard angry since he struck her with the butt of his gun across the face. Damia wiggled around her jaw then turned the other cheek and said, "Ah thanks now would you mind getting the other side too?" The guard simply gawked at her before remembering he was angry at her in which case he glared at her. "No seriously, get the other side." Damia said pointing to her cheek. The guard still seemed to refuse so Damia said, "Fine I'll do it myself."

At this point she pulled her chair away from the wall and slammed her other cheek straight into the edge of the chair. Quite painful if I do say so myself, but Damia couldn't resist, she had to have it even. The guard quickly jerked her back out of the chair and exclaimed in utter shock, "What the hell are you doing?!"
"Well you wouldn't help so I had to do it myself." Damia said with a shrug, happy that both sides of her face were throbbing. She was sure bruises were starting to form but so long as they were even she didn't care. "Are you crazy?!" The guard exclaimed again.
"Why yes I am." Damia said in a matter of fact tone.

"Damn bugger" muttered Rogers, taking note that the boy had passed out and his question would go unanswered.

'Well" said the Commissar, "Looks like he wasn't be talking for a while now. Maybe you would go talk with some of the other inmate, Herr Major? Leave this scrap of filth to me, I know who to deal with his kind."

"No" said Robert, looking down, thoughtful, "Drag him down to the infirmary and have the doctor patch him up. If I can break the little savage, he'll make a fine tool for the Federation."

"You don't mean to pardon him" asked Baum, his piggish eyes squinting at the jungle fighter.

"No" said the Major, "Not him. I will use him and at the end of the mission, I'll put a round in the back of his head."

"I see" said the Commissar with a smile, "Corporal, get him down to the infirmary."

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Rogers inhaled another mouthful of sweet smoke and released it, barely containing a happy sigh. He had seen the look she'd given his smoke, seen the hunger he had felt only a few minutes before and almost felt a little pity. It was very hard to go without one's choice of intoxicants (although his wasn't a choice made by him). Maybe he'd let her have a few puffs, once they were down talking, even if she failed to meet the conditions he would require his chosen to have. Above them, a small fan started to turn, trying to suck of the heavy smoke and run the tainted air through a filter.

"You managed to stand out from the crowd" said the Major, standing up and walking towards Inali, "And stayed alive. Most of those that got there cries of pick me to my ears, are going to be buried soon or are now too damaged to be of use to me. You also didn't nail me with the bit of paper, by design or luck I don't know, which worked on your favor. I've also read your profile or what was left of it, after the courts were done with it. Your a whore and a druggie. I can think of a few reasons to keep the first of the two around, if anything to keep the headcases I'm taking out of here entertained but theres something I need to know."

Robert suddenly lunged forwards and grabbed Inali by the throat. With a single smooth motion, he lifted her from the chair and held her one-handed off to his left side, to protect his groin against a sudden attack on that weak point of the male body. His head was tilted back, she she couldn't claw his face. His eyes stared down at her like brands, as the cigarillo burned in the corner of his mouth.

"Will you stand with me" he whispered, "When the fighting is thick. We will be going alone against a terrible foe, with no chance of escape. I can not risk a coward, who will run in attempt to save their own skin and leave the rest to die. So I'll ask again, will you stand with me, no matter the end?"

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"Sergeant" came Rogers voice from a slightly open door, "Have you collected Damia Jones yet or not?"

Damia grinned up at the guard as she heard a voice call through the door. "Aw look slab of meat's gonna get in trouble." She said, speaking in a voice that your crazy grandma might use on a baby. The guard caught her by the back of her coat and hauled her into the room saying, "Ah, yes, sorry sir, she's... um, right here." He had to speak over Damia who was complaining about how he'd tear more holes in her coat and was fighting to get out of his grip. Then the guard shoved her into a chair and Damia straightened out her coat and turned to face the military man with a rather wolfish grin. With that the guard left, relieved to get away from the mental case.

"So Major, how does this all work? You ask me a couple questions like "Why you?" or "What makes you so special?" or something like that?" Damia asked tipping her chair back before looking to Molly and saying, "Talk about immediate results, I knew you couldn't steer me wrong but seriously, that was just cool." Molly just shrugged with a slight air of pride, the Damia looked back to the military man and said with a small laugh, "You should have read my file, oh wait they don't keep files here. They should I'm sure anyone would find it more then interesting. A bit creepy I'm sure but hey, it was fun." Damia was in a talkative mood it seemed, the guard must have gotten her riled up or something. Maybe it was the fact that she didn't get to kill her like she wanted to. It could have been the throbbing in both cheeks with were dark red, starting to turn purple, except for the self-mutilation side which had a bright blue L-shape in the center.

Inali tensed as Rogers walked towards her. Usually when anything walked too near to her there was either going to be some aggressive. . . getting to know one another. Or, there was some aggressive brawling. While Inali wasn't exactly one for getting by on brute strength she was no stranger to the latter. After all, she wouldn't have survived as long as she did if she knew jack shit about fighting. Her fingernails dug into the arm of what looked and felt like an office chair, save for the wheels. Being away from domestic life for so long sitting in anything that wasn't completely metal or completely plastic was odd to her. That and benches, oh cafeteria benches. She wouldn't miss those.

She listened as he explained why he'd picked her. They were legitimate reasons. More importantly, they were a form of praise. Even if he didn't realize it. Intentional or not he was feeding her Pac Man like ego, which took as much sustenance as it could. Being in prison didn't exactly make for the best self confidence rise. People didn't walk across the room to tell her how beautiful she was, or how gorgeous her hair was, or anything that really mattered. Sure, there were the aggressive sexual advances and the occasional cat call, but that wasn't enough to keep a woman like Inali happy.

The mention of whore and druggie made her mouth pull into a bit of a pout. Obviously he'd read nothing on her amazing renovation of her late husbands work ethic. Not about the crafty manners in which she'd escaped the cops, nothing about her shoot outs. None, zip, nada. All he'd pulled from it was that she was a whore and a druggie. She'd sold more drugs than she did! Drugs didn't exactly make for the best physique after all, and she didn't become an actual whore until prison! As far as she was concerned she was a pimp. . . A pimpette? Was there even a feminine form of that word? Perhaps it was mistress.

Well, I am a bit of a whore now. . . She'd mentally shrugged. However, before she could go off on a mental tangent a sudden movement caught her attention. Before she could react Inali found herself in the grip of Robert. Not just any grip. No, he'd gone for the throat.The surprising thing was, she wasn't surprised. For a moment Inali had to rethink her life and figure out why she was so damn used to having hands around her neck. Where had she gone wrong? There were too many wrongs to count when she thought about it. To answer Robert's question Inali opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a croak.

In a frustrated manner Inali swung her legs back. This may have been misinterpreted as a warm up for some powerful(but oh so slow) kick had she actually made such a faux pas. No, her foot instead hooked around the arm of the chair, pulling it underneath her. Standing, or rather crouching, on the seat Inali looked Rogers in the eye with a bit of a laugh in her gaze. Speaking was easier without the weight.

"Darlin' I ain't got nothing going for me here." Her voice came out sounding quite Yankee accented for a minute. Darling sounding like 'dah-lin' and here sounding like 'heyah'. It was an accent Inali worked to get rid of, but came up in little bursts every now and then. "Do you think I want to be some prison cum dumpster for the rest of my life? I'm not going to lie and say I won't go back to doing what what I used to be doing, but I certainly won't leave you high and dry. If I'm anything I'm not a tease." She paused, staring Rogers dead in the eye. "But if it's of any consolation, the event I feel like quitting I'll blow myself up and several of the fuckers we're fighting with me with the rest of the lot safe and sound far away. Might as well die pretty and young."