Death to the Imperium (Imperium Cicernus Book 2)

James McGovern

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Cover Blurb

In the far future, the galaxy is dominated by the Imperium, a galactic empire that encompasses a million planets. The Imperium has enjoyed relative peace for centuries, but now war is looming.

A massive, unidentified ship is orbiting a mysterious planet called Chaos in the outer reaches of the Paradonian Sector. Its purpose is unknown, but its actions can only be seen as hostile. The Imperial Navy fears the possibility of a rebellion.

Harlan Glitz, a convicted smuggler, is offered the chance of a full pardon. To earn his pardon, he must travel to the planet Chaos and find out the intentions of the alien ship. He is accompanied by his fellow convicts Tekka and Doland, as well as the beautiful but imperious Captain Alyce Wickham.

The unlikely crew travel to the Paradonian Sector in a ship salvaged from a scrapyard planet, seeking to discover the truth about the planet Chaos. But even a tough criminal like Harlan Glitz is unprepared for the terrible secret that the planet holds...

[This is a standalone novel in the Imperium Cicernus shared universe. Death to the Imperium is set approximately 300 years prior to On The Imperium’s Secret Service. Like all my books, it is DRM-Free.]

Author’s Note

As I am an author from the UK, what appear to be spelling or grammar errors may actually be British variations. If you enjoyed the book, feel free to join my Facebook page. Also, all reviews on Amazon are greatly appreciated.

I am indebted to Christopher Nuttall both for allowing me to write a novel in his Imperium Cicernus series, and for carefully editing the text to improve continuity.

If you aren’t already familiar with the idea, the Imperium Cicernus universe was originated in Chris’s book On The Imperium’s Secret Service, and authors are invited to submit proposals for further books in the series. These books are not collaborations; rather, they are simply set in the same universe. Death to the Imperium is a standalone adventure set roughly 300 years before the first book.

If you are a Kindle author interested in writing for the series, the best place to start would be the discussion forum on Chris’s website (www.chrishanger.net). 

Prologue

Badlands
Paradonian Sector

The young Lieutenant approached the Captain of the ship and saluted. “We’re approaching the planet Chaos now, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

The Captain stood up and approached the main scanner. The Churchill was an auxiliary warship, significantly smaller than the Imperial superdreadnoughts that he was used to. The ship was designed to supplement the larger Navy crafts, and it was chosen for this particular assignment because it was fast and inconspicuous. The brief was simple: the Navy had become aware of an unidentifiable ship in orbit around a planet called Chaos, which was located in the Paradonian Sector. Ten years previously, a scientist working for the Navy had invented a system called MARS, which stood for “Multiple Area Response System”. The system consisted of thousands of small drones, which roamed the entire galaxy systematically, detecting any unusual occurrences or possible signs of hostility. The discovery of the strange ship had alarmed the Navy—the planet Chaos was a known wasteland planet, with no desirable natural resources.

The Admiralty Board had come up with several possibilities for the ship’s presence. One option was that an unauthorised terraforming process was taking place on the planet. Another possibility was that a rebellion was forming. Admiral Blaize, one of the key commanders in the Navy, had argued that they should send a fleet of ships to neutralise the threat, but the rest of the Board had argued for more furtive tactics. Although the ship was unregistered, and of an unknown origin, there might be an innocent explanation. After all, it was not in the vicinity of any Imperial base or outpost. If the ship did contain rebels, the Navy wanted to gather as much information as possible before destroying it. In the end, it was decided that a Navy officer would take a single ship to the area to discover the truth, and make a full report to the Admiralty Board.

Now the ship was approaching the planet around which the ship was in orbit. Captain Blane walked over to the wide range scanner and looked at one of the display screens. The ship was almost the size of two Imperial superdreadnoughts. The planet of origin of the craft could not be determined.

“Possibly not human, then,” Captain Blane said, swallowing.

“Captain, you might want to take a look at this,” Lieutenant Ava said.

The ship was now in visual range. The Captain peered at the main scanner. It certainly wasn’t an Imperial or trade ship. The planet it was orbiting was dark and sinister-looking; a fiery seam ran through the centre. Captain Blane’s brief had suggested that there was nothing there of any importance. So why was the ship so interested in it? Before the Captain could begin to think properly about any of these questions, there was a loud crash, and the deck of the Churchill shuddered.

“Enemy fire!” the Lieutenant shouted.

“General quarters!” the Captain cried.

The crew jumped to battle stations, preparing to fire on the enemy ship. Captain Blane had been prepared for a fight—Naval commanders always had to be—but he hadn’t expected one. The mission was supposed to have been a peaceful one; they were to make contact with the mysterious ship and find out their intentions. It seemed it had been a foolish idea to send only one ship; in fact, he had argued against the idea originally. But most of the admirals had gotten their positions because of their aristocratic connections, and many of them didn’t have very sound judgement.

“Concentrate fire!” Captain Blane said. “Antimatter cannons and phase torpedoes—fire!”

One thing was clear in the Captain’s mind. The ship had malevolent intentions. Whatever it was doing orbiting the mysterious planet, it wasn’t something good. You didn’t just start shooting at an unknown ship unless you had something to hide. Another crash rocked the ship. The Captain glanced at one of the screens; they were too close to the planet to make a phase jump. The operator manning the antimatter cannons checked the console; the weapon was fully charged. He slammed his hand down—

—but it never touched the launch button. A white stream of… something shot out from the enemy ship, perhaps some kind of vastly improved plasma bolt. The last thing the crew saw was a blinding light. Captain Blane didn’t feel his life flash before his eyes, like the old cliché. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all.

The world simply stopped.

Chapter One

Interstellar Shipyard
Terminal Island
Varon

Harlan Glitz scowled at the guards as he was pushed forwards by the steady flow of prisoners. Glitz was a tall man of around forty, with a tangle of brown hair, a thick growth of stubble, and a muscular chest. The prisoners were all handcuffed, and he knew it was futile to attempt to escape. A single prod with a shocker, one of the guards’ electric cattle prods, was enough to make you comply. Glitz wondered vaguely why convicts always seemed to be men. In the group of criminals being led inside the ship, there wasn’t a single woman. Glitz nearly tripped on the entrance ramp as he went inside the ship. It was a standard Imperial prison ship, with conditions worse than those in a 4th class spaceliner.

Once the prisoners were all aboard the ship, the ramp was quickly raised, and the ship sealed. Prison ships in the Imperium had a somewhat unusual layout: the entrance led on to a large open space, almost like a warehouse, which was called the floor. The floor led on to several other parts of the ship, including the canteen, the living quarters, the flight deck and the officers’ lounge. Prisoners were generally confined to the floor, the canteen, and the living quarters. The floor was usually where prisoners would be forced to perform menial tasks. In this ship, however, the floor was filled with tables, vidscreens, and even a gravity-ball net. It was presumably some kind of cruel trick to give the prisoners a false sense of security.

“Next stop, hell,” Glitz muttered.

“Shut it!” one of the guards yelled. He was a thin man with pimples.

“You’re young for a guard,” Glitz said. “Shouldn’t you still be in school, kid?”

“How dare you!”

“That’s enough,” the Commander said, and Glitz continued to grin at the guard. The guard began to redden with annoyance.

“Sir,” the young guard protested, pointing at Glitz. “He’s still smiling at me. Can’t you make him stop?”

“Grow up, Narko,” the Commander said. He turned to face the assembled band of convicts. They were all dressed in regulation prisoner uniforms, which were grey bodysuits bearing a circular badge with the letters “P.I.” The letters stood for “Property of the Imperium”. Once someone was successfully convicted of a felony—unless they were an aristocrat, of course—they became legally owned by the Imperium until they had finished the period of their sentence.

“Now, my name is Commander Halland Rica. You will find that I am a fair and just man, but that I can also be ruthless if you get on the wrong side of me. If you all behave like civilised people, we can look forward to a pleasant journey. If not, you will spend the trip in irons.”

Yeah, Glitz thought. Pleasant, that’s funny. It was well known that prison ships were anything but pleasant. Often, prisoners were forced to work in the engine room, which could be extremely hazardous.

“Providing there is no trouble,” Commander Rica went on, “you will not be forced to do any kind of work, and you can simply relax during the flight. Space knows you will be worked to death once you finally reach the planet. You will notice that the floor has been laid out with several diversions, which are provided for your entertainment.”

Some of the men exchanged disbelieving glances. Glitz wondered if it was a trick. He knew that Imperial prison officers were often callous and cruel.

“That’s all,” Commander Rica said. “I’m going to deactivate your handcuffs now, and I expect you all to be on your best behaviour for the duration of the flight.” The Commander had the air of a schoolteacher addressing a class of wayward children. He activated a switch, and all of the handcuffs clicked open. The men stretched their arms and wrists gratefully.

“We make planetfall in approximately one hundred hours,” the Commander said. He turned to his guards, and nodded. “Good work. I suggest we retire to the officers’ lounge and get ourselves a large brandy.”

To Glitz’s astonishment, every single one of the guards filed out of the floor, following Commander Rica to the officers’ lounge. It had to be some sort of joke. It was a total contravention of Imperial regulations to leave a ship of prisoners unattended. Glitz knew this well, because he had once read the entire Imperial Military Handbook. When he was sixteen, he had been a cadet in the Imperial Army, before being unceremoniously discharged for a romantic liaison with an older female officer. Romantic relationships were strictly forbidden between members of the armed forces. It had completely ruined his life, but somehow he still didn’t regret it.

With the roar of engines, the ship began to rise into the air. Glitz glanced around at the occupants of the ship. Another man might have been intimidated by being in a room full of prisoners with no official authority present, but Glitz wasn’t the kind of man to be easily intimidated. He wasn’t particularly large, but he wasn’t weak either, and he had picked up a few tricks in his years of being a spice trader for the East Galaxy Company. Most people didn’t realize how tough it was to pilot a freighter, but there was always some bastard that wanted to steal your cargo.

The prisoners all seemed slightly dazed. It appeared that, now they had been given a measure of freedom, they didn’t really know what to do with it. A more inexperienced person in a position of authority—like the guard with the pimples, for example—would seek to harshly dominate the prisoners to quash any possible stirrings of mutiny. But Commander Rica had spent too many years of his life in the company of criminals, and he knew better. Discipline was important, but providing the men behaved themselves there was no need to grind them down. He had been in charge of prison runs from Varon to Malus for nearly five years, and he had turned down two promotions during that time. He had no pressing desire for more power. All Commander Rica wanted was an easy life, and a regular pay check.

On a longer journey, giving prisoners such a large amount of freedom might have been a bad idea. But the trips to Malus were so short it would have been senseless to expect a rebellion. As Rica had predicted, the prisoners did not use their surprising liberty to start any big fights or to attempt to take control of the ship. They knew escape was impossible, and so a revolt would only have the effect of bringing punishment upon themselves. As the guards sat with Rica, sipping brandy, the prisoners began to settle down and entertain themselves.

Glitz realised after a few minutes that Rica had actually been serious—they actually were going to be treated like guests. He was grateful, but at the same time he was conscious that it would make their time on Malus seem even more terrible. Conditions on the planet were reportedly atrocious.

“Want to play me?”

Glitz looked up. A skinny man was pointing towards a chess board. He nodded. “OK.”

The two men sat down at the table. It was a real chess board with metal pieces, and Glitz thought it looked quite old-fashioned. He wasn’t really a chess player anyway, but the last time he had played it was with a holographic board.

“I’ll be whites,” the man said.

The newcomer had white hair and small dark eyes, and a sort of nervous energy. Glitz guessed that he was in his early thirties.

“What’s your name?” Glitz said.

“Doland. Raja Doland.”

“You a Proteist, Doland?”

Religion was frowned upon by the Imperium, as the Senate disliked any other organisation that could hold power over people. Religions could become a conflicting source of loyalty; this would be especially problematic if there was ever a disagreement between the Imperium and a church. The official religion of the galaxy was formerly Monarchism, a kind of emperor worship, but it no longer had a statutory place in society, and it was hardly ever practised—largely because the Senate discouraged it. The last thing they wanted was for the people to be loyally devoted to the Emperor. Inhabitants of several planets in the Imperium adhered to a religion called Proteism. It was a curious amalgamation of a few old religions, including Planetiatry and Hullism, and it boasted many celebrity members. It was perhaps most famous for its peculiar belief system, holding that the only way to attain salvation was to engage in sexual encounters with complete strangers.

“Why? Do I look like a Proteist?”

Glitz pointed at his hand. “Your ring.”

“Oh, right.” Doland glanced down at the ring on his index finger. Prisoners were allowed to keep one item of jewellery if it had sentimental value. It was engraved with a purple eye, which was one of the symbols of Proteism. “No, ha, this isn’t sentimental. I just told them that. I just found this in the street. I thought I could use it as a knuckleduster if someone attacked me in here.”

Looking around, Doland felt that depictions of convicts in popular vidfilms had been greatly exaggerated. When the guards had all left the floor, he had felt an overpowering wave of terror. But no one had tried to beat him up or do something worse… yet.

Glitz nodded at Doland. “Your move.”

Doland moved one of his pawns two spaces forward. He had never been very good at chess, but it was useful for passing the time. Doland was just grateful that he didn’t have to work in the engine room, and like the other prisoners he was determined to obey the rules so he could keep his surprising measure of liberty.

“So what you in for?” Glitz said, moving one of his pieces.

“Voting fraud.” Doland sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I live on Opus, and we use a computerised system for voting in our regional leaders. Each person of legal voting age is sent a transmitter with two buttons, one for each Regional Governor. The two candidates were Jog Rasputt and Charl Hens. Now Jog’s a nasty piece of work. He’s been involved in more scandals than a tabloid news feed. But for some reason the people of our region always vote him in. On voting day I was especially fed up, so I took my wife’s transmitter and voted for Charl.”

“So you had two votes?”

Doland nodded.

“How did they find out?”

“The bitch told them. She would have voted for Charl anyway, of course—she voted for him in the last election. But she’d been looking for an excuse to inform on me anyway. Got another man waiting in the wings, I reckon.”

Glitz felt a strange mixture of pity and amusement. He felt sorry for Doland, but at the same time he couldn’t help finding it slightly funny that his wife had managed to get him exiled to Malus.

“How long’s your sentence?” Glitz said.

Doland tapped his fingers on the table. “Five years. What about you?”

“Same. Five years.” Glitz nodded. “Five stinking years on the most miserable planet in the Universe…”

He stared at the board, formulating his next move. Eventually, he decided which piece to pick up.

“Bad idea.”

Glitz and Doland turned to face the man that had spoken. He had dark hair and his brown eyes were intense and cold. His pronounced nose gave him the aspect of watchful bird of prey.

“What’s a bad idea?” Glitz said.

“You were thinking about moving your bishop to D4. But look—” The man pointed at square F5. “—that would allow this man to take your bishop. He could then move his queen to D3, which would be checkmate.”

Glitz examined the board. The man was right; he hadn’t noticed the knight at F5. He turned to the newcomer. “How did you know I was going to move my bishop?”

The man shrugged. “I find most ordinary minds easy to predict.” Without another word, he walked away from the table in search of something more diverting than interfering with chess games.

When Glitz and Doland were nearing the end of their game, an electronic bell began to sound through the ship. They heard a voice over the intercom, explaining that it was mealtime. The metal canteen door slid open with the whirr of a motor, and the prisoners made their way eagerly through it. The canteen was very small, but large enough to seat all of the fifty or so prisoners. Unsurprisingly, the guards didn’t show up for the meal. Glitz guessed that they had their own dining area. A robot armed with a shocker was apparently in charge of the canteen. It was an old X-90 model—roughly humanoid in shape but with clearly robotic features and an immovable neck. 

“Form an orderly queue,” the robot ordered, its synthetic voice reverberating through the canteen. Glitz hated robots, especially when they were carrying weapons that could send over 1,000 volts at a current of 0.2 amps through your body.

Glitz lined up behind an obese prisoner, who was carrying two meal trays. The man pressed the button on the food machine twice, collecting two meals. He turned around with an angry face, as if daring someone to question his right to have twice as much food as everyone else.

“You on a diet?” Glitz said, who could never resist starting an argument.

“What?” the man said fiercely.

Glitz shrugged. “Just thought you must be on a diet, that’s all.”

The fat man glanced at his two trays, looking slightly confused. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“No,” Glitz said sincerely. “It’s just that I’d always thought whales ate a million calories a day. So I figured you must be on a diet.”

The robot’s fight detection circuits perceived the signs of a possible brawl and it edged closer, wielding the shocker eagerly. But, luckily for Glitz, the man didn’t understand the joke, and simply glared at him before walking away. Glitz stared at the choices on the machine, trying to decide which option to choose.

There were three buttons, which had changeable labels with pencil writing. Today’s choices read CHEESEBURGER, CURRY and VEGETARIAN. A decade of ferrying spices for the East Galaxy Company had made Glitz loath spicy food, and the third option sounded suspiciously vague. He wondered how many convicted criminals were vegetarians. Not many, he would guess. He opted for the cheeseburger. He pressed the switch and a burger appeared on a paper plate, along with a side of fries.

He glanced around the canteen, where the seats were filling up fast, looking for somewhere to sit. At the far end, the man who had interrupted his chess game was sitting alone at a table. Glitz made his way over to him and sat down.

“Hi,” Glitz said.

The man said nothing. He had also ordered a burger, and he was eating it slowly with an air of being deep in thought. Glitz frowned and started to eat his own meal, noticing that Tekka was wearing a large golden ring with a blue stone. The burger was, surprisingly, not bad. There was a good helping of meat inside it and the bread was fresh. Again, although Glitz was grateful for the humane treatment, he was conscious that conditions on Malus would seem even worse by comparison.

“Tekka,” the man said finally, after finishing his burger.

“Glitz.” He paused. “What did you do to end up here?”

“I committed a crime,” Tekka said simply.

“Yeah, but what crime?”

Tekka didn’t reply; he just stared darkly into space. Glitz shrugged and continued to eat his food. Doland sat down at the table, carrying  a plate of curry.

“It was fraud,” Doland said, grinning. He pointed to a bearded man standing at the food vendor. “I’ve just been talking to your friend Marc.”

“He’s not my friend. I only told him what I did so he would leave me alone.”

“Yeah, well… anyway, he told me about your little plan, you know, the one to steal five billion credits from Central.”

According to old, unverifiable documents, digital cryptography-based currencies had existed as early as eight thousand years ago, including the mythical Bitcoin. During the early years of the Imperium, many similar currencies had come into general use, such as the stupidly-named Coincoin, which used a proof-of-work mechanism to generate coins. The currency fell into disrepute when it was discovered that the processing power used to “mine” the coins had been used to crack the security of several key Imperial computer systems. Around two thousand years ago, the Imperium had switched from using paper-based fiat currencies to a universal centralised cryptocurrency system, the “coin” of which was known simply as the credit. Some people still used secret alternative currencies for illegal transactions and money laundering, but the only official currency was the credit, regulated by the Imperial Central Bank.

“Five billion credits?” Glitz said, impressed. That amount would be enough to buy a small island on the planet Eden.

Tekka nodded, but did not reply.

“He’s a mathematical genius, so Marc says,” Doland went on. “Graduated from Homeworld University, too.”

Glitz stared into Tekka’s cold eyes. Homeworld University? He was obviously no ordinary criminal. What made a man like him turn rogue? Why would someone with brains—and all the opportunities in life—turn to crime?

“Can you two be trusted?” Tekka said suddenly.

Doland looked up from his plate of curry, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said. Can I trust you?”

“Trust us for what?”

Tekka placed his fingertips together, and lowered his voice. “I assume that neither of you wants to go to Malus. We have all heard the stories. I for one am not at all keen on going. I believe I may have a viable escape plan, but I need to know whether I can trust you.”

Doland and Glitz glanced at each other, and nodded at Tekka.

“Excellent,” Tekka said. “Like Doland said, I have considerable expertise when it comes to—”

“Hang on,” Doland said. “How do you know my name?”

“I made a point of memorising the flight manifest,” Tekka said, pulling out a folded piece of paper. It was a print-out of all of the convicts’ names, along with thumbnail snapshots of their faces.

“A manifest?” Glitz said. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Tekka smiled coldly. “All of the vidscreens on the floor are connected to computers. Of course, all of their functions are locked down except video playback. But I asked the computer very nicely.”

“So what’s your plan?” Glitz said quietly.

Chapter Two

Tekka glanced around to make sure they were not being overheard. Then he began to explain his plan in a quiet voice. When he had finished, both Doland and Glitz were a little in awe of the man. Doland was right. He was a genius. But Glitz found one element of the plan troubling.

“Not this ship.”

“What?” Tekka said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Not this ship. The Commander has been good to us. It wouldn’t be right to do it to him.”

“Oh, come on,” Doland said. “We’re being taken to the worst planet in the galaxy. We’re going to be slaves for five years. This isn’t the time for caring about other people.”

Glitz wouldn’t be persuaded. He turned to Tekka. “Look, there’s no reason why your plan couldn’t work with another ship, right? When will the next prison ship arrive on Malus?”

“In about a month, I expect.”

“A month!” Doland said. “You want us to be stuck on Malus for a month?”

“It’s better than five years,” Glitz replied.

Tekka paused, stroking his left palm with the fingertips of his right hand. “If the plan is to work, it requires three people. If Glitz is determined not to harm the commander of this ship, it seems we have no choice but to make planetfall and wait for the next ship.”

Doland grimaced, but he knew that Tekka was right. Without all three of them, the plan would be much more likely to fail. “All right,” he said. “I’m in.”

“Why us?” Glitz said. “I mean, your plan needs three people, but why choose me and Doland?”

“Truthfully, there is no particular reason. I need two people to help me escape. I don’t care who those two people are. You were the two people that happened to sit down next to me.”

Glitz nodded slowly. In that case, he was very glad that he had chosen to sit with Tekka. The rest of the journey to Malus went by quite uneventfully. A few prisoners became restless and started to fight, but these confrontations were quickly broken apart by the other convicts. Nobody wanted to have stricter measures imposed upon them. They ate five more meals in the canteen, and slept twice in the prisoners’ quarters. The guards only appeared occasionally to check that everything was running smoothly, and no one even saw the Commander again until they finally reached the planet. Around forty-eight hours into the flight, he appeared on the floor with a small group of guards.

“We’ll be arriving on Malus shortly, gentlemen,” Commander Rica said. “Thank you for conducting yourselves so graciously, and I hope that your stay on Malus won’t be overly unpleasant.” He knew there wasn’t much hope of that. The Commander was a man of dangerous tastes, and there were many illegal pleasures that he denied himself, purely so that he would never end up on Malus.

“It’s been nice,” Glitz said loudly. “I’ll fly with you again some time.”

The prisoners all laughed, and the Commander smiled and left the floor. Glitz had, of course, been joking, but the journey had actually given him a deep respect for the man. So many weak-minded people tried to gain respect through violence and anger. It was refreshing to see someone who expressed their authority in a reasonable way.

The ship touched down on the planet Malus.

Narko, the pimpled guard, smiled nastily at Glitz as the ship’s main door slid open. The guards escorted the prisoners off the ship, where they were taken into custody by another lot of guards. They were wearing their handcuffs again, which they had been made to reattach before the ship’s landing.

Glitz glanced up at the sky. It was permanently dark on Malus, because it was a planet on the edge of the Talos system. The light from the central sun barely reached Malus; it was only warm enough to sustain life because of thermoactive rocks close to the planet’s surface. Volcanoes were one of the main causes of death on Malus, next to overwork. The Imperium was notoriously tough on all prisoners—again, unless they were from the aristocracy—holding the view that the worse the prison, the stronger the deterrent. Glitz didn’t think that prisoners should get off without punishment, but five years of hard labour seemed a little extreme for his crime.

The guards began to lead them towards the main prison site, which was where the convicts would be sleeping and eating for the duration of their sentences.

“You didn’t tell me what you did,” Doland said, who was standing behind Glitz.

“Smuggling.” Glitz frowned at the imposing volcanoes. He could swear that some of them were spewing black smoke. “I was in charge of a freighter for the East Galaxy Company, but the pay was bad. I boosted my salary by smuggling weapons in a secret compartment inside the ship.”

Doland looked impressed. “Yeah? How’d you get caught?”

“Just a routine inspection, or so I thought.” Glitz grinned. Although he hated the fact that he had been caught, he couldn’t deny that it made a good story. “I was carrying an official load of turmeric and moonspice, as well as a few kilos of black market tobacco that I picked up from a guy on Zita-4. I was taking the leaf to Paradise to sell. When I was boarded by Imperial troops, I figured it was nothing to worry about. I’d been boarded before, but they hadn’t found anything. But it turns out the  leaf wasn’t just duty-free—it was stolen. Even worse, the stupid bastard had robbed an Interstellar Courier to get it.”

“So they found the stuff?”

Glitz nodded. “They went all out. Practically took the ship apart. I got five years, but the other guy was executed.”

Doland breathed out slowly. “You were lucky then, in a way.”

“Lucky?” Glitz poked his finger into Doland’s chest. “I’m stuck on a prison planet for five years with nobody for company but you and that guy—” Glitz pointed to Tekka, who was standing nearby. “—and he doesn’t even like me.”

“Don’t be too heartbroken,” Tekka said. “I don’t like anyone.”

“Yeah, well…” Doland lowered his voice. “We still have our plan…”

Glitz glanced around at the forbidding planet, at the rocks and strange-looking birds wheeling through the sky. Now that he was actually there, Tekka’s plan didn’t seem quite so likely. He knew that no one had ever escaped from Malus before.

The prisoners walked, handcuffed, towards the main prison, with uniformed guards marching in front of and behind them. The air was filled with noxious smoke, and the ground was covered in black dust—the prisoners’ feet kicked up dirt clouds that blackened their convict uniforms.

Eventually, they reached the main prison. It was a large silver dome that was composed of triangular shapes arranged in a tessellated pattern. Glitz entered with the other prisoners, flanked by Doland and Tekka. He wanted to make sure that he stayed close to Tekka over the next few weeks; the man was his only chance of getting off the stinking rock.

“My name is Mr. Quex,” a bald man said, stepping in front of the prisoners. He was carrying a large black staff with a tapered handle. Although it was black, it looked suspiciously like a shocker. “I’m the officer in charge of this prison. Let me be very clear. I don’t tolerate bad behaviour. If any one of you jokers steps out of line, they’ll be treated with the greatest serevity.”

“You mean ‘severity’, right?” one of the prisoners said. He was a thin man with a permanent grin.

The officer’s face reddened, and he stepped over to the man, his pig-like eyes bulging from his head. “Silence!” he said.

“That’s better,” the prisoner said. “Maybe you should just stick to two-syllable words in future.”

The prisoners laughed, and Mr. Quex looked like he was about to explode. He touched the man with the end of his staff, who felt an excruciating pain surge through his limbs. The prisoner cried out in agony, and Mr. Quex withdrew the staff. The pain ceased.

“Let that be a lesson to you all,” Mr. Quex said. “Like I said, I don’t tolerate insol… insolence.”

All of the prisoners were weary and ill-tempered; they had last slept nearly twelve hours ago, and they were all ready to go to bed.

“You will be sent to your cells in alphabetical order,” the prison officer said. “As soon as I read your name, two of the prison guards will escort you to your cell.” He brought up a list on his tablet. “Alph, Tonek.”

Tonek Alph, a tough-looking man virtually covered in tattoos, stepped forward. Two even tougher-looking prison guards escorted him out towards his cell.

“Bane, Rog.”

Rog Bane was next to be taken to his cell, followed by Bergson, Cap, Christoph, Doland, Edgewood, Fhali and Haaj.

“Glitz, Harlan.”

Glitz strolled forwards and peered at the two guards. “You sure these guys know where they’re going?”

Mr. Quex showed his teeth. “Follow!”

Grinning, Glitz followed the guards; they led him through the prison, opened a metal sliding door using a wall panel, and pushed him into his cell. The room was tiny and grey. It had no windows, and no furniture except a bed. And a toilet, if that counts as furniture. At least it was clean. The whole room smelled comfortingly sterile, like a hospital room. The room was cramped and unpleasant, and would certainly be a nightmare come true for anyone suffering from claustrophobia. But at least it was safe. You didn’t have to spend every night looking behind your back. Glitz knocked on the metal cell wall, and someone knocked back. The sound was very muffled.

“Attention all prisoners.” Glitz frowned. The tinny, metallic voice was coming from a hidden speaker somewhere in the cell. “The time is 6:48. Work will begin in twelve minutes. Please make sure you are dressed in your work clothes. New convicts will find their work suits beneath their beds.”

“For the love of space!” Glitz shouted. “I haven’t slept for twelve hours!”

The message began to repeat again. “Attention all prisoners. The time is 6:49…”

Scowling, Glitz reached under his hard bed and felt around for his work suit. His fingers brushed against a clear plasthyne bag, and he pulled it out. Inside there was an orange bodysuit that was made of some sort of tough artificial material, probably PalTex. He stripped to his underwear and stowed his prison uniform under the bed, struggling into the orange suit. The material was rough and scratchy, like tarpaulin, against his skin, and his shoulders and neck began to ache.

“Work will begin in eight minutes.”

Glitz sat on his bed and waited. He didn’t know how the whole thing worked. Obviously, there was no way out of his cell, so all he could do was sit and wait. He wouldn’t have got dressed at all in protest, but he didn’t want to be taken outside wearing non-protective clothing.

“Work will begin in four minutes.”

He sat and waited, wondering vaguely what kind of work the prisoners were made to do. Of course, he had heard several different stories from the other convicts while on the ship. Some said they would be forced to dig holes in the rock, while others claimed that the prisoners had to dive into the volcanoes using special equipment, looking for precious stones in the lava. On balance, Glitz felt that the first story was more plausible.

The cell door slid open again, and a voice ordered him to leave the cell. He was taken with a dozen other prisoners towards a guarded prison exit, and they stepped back out onto the dark planet. Glitz and the other prisoners were led by prison guards in one direction, and he noticed other small groups being led in other directions. Presumably, different prisoners were assigned different jobs. With irritation, Glitz realised that the arrangement might make it more difficult for him talk confidentially to Doland and Tekka.

The prisoners were led into a small all-terrain wagon, and were thrown around roughly as they were sped to their destination, which they reached in just over five minutes. Glitz glanced down at the quarry as they stepped off the truck. It was a pit surrounded on all sides by volcanic mountains. The soil was like black ash, and the hole was filled with huge boulders. The men were all carrying large pickaxes and sledgehammers. A man got off a second wagon which had followed the first. He was wearing a grey suit and brown boots. It was Mr. Quex, the prison officer.

“Good morning, Work Group Eight,” Mr. Quex said. “You may be aware that you have a new member.” He pointed at Glitz. “Harlan Glitz.”

Glitz grinned at the prisoners, but the other members of the work camp glowered at him. He had a distinct feeling that he wouldn’t be getting along very well with his new “colleagues”. He also felt a great sense of disappointment. He had assumed that he would be working alongside Tekka and Doland.

“Sir,” Glitz said. “Will I always be in the same Work Group?”

Mr. Quex nodded. “In future, you will only speak when spoken to, but yes. You will be working with these twelve men for the duration of your sentence. You will also eat with them in your own section of the refectory.”

Glitz cursed inwardly. So it seemed he wouldn’t even get a chance to talk to Tekka and Doland again. In that case, the chance of implementing their plan successfully seemed small. In fact, what was to stop Tekka and Doland simply finding a new third member for their group? Tekka had said himself that he didn’t care which two people escaped alongside him.

“Sir,” Glitz said again.

“If you want to speak to me, put your hand up,” Mr. Quex said.

Glitz frowned at the man’s pettiness, and raised his hand.

“Yes, Glitz?”

“What sort of work is it we do here?” he asked.

Mr. Quex turned to the largest member of the group, who had a bald head and a tattoo of a bald eagle across his forehead. “Pieterson’s in charge here.” He nodded to the man. “Why don’t you tell Glitz all about your work? I might be checking up on you later.”

The prison officer got back into the second wagon and it drove away, leaving a cloud of dark dust. The first truck, which was carrying the prison guards, followed it. When he had followed the other prisoners as they scrambled down into the quarry, Glitz turned to Pieterson and saluted, half-sarcastically.

“I’m Piet,” the man said. “And you obey me without question.”

Glitz nodded with mock solemnity. “So what kind of work do we do, Piet?”

“We break rocks,” Piet said simply.

To provide a demonstration, he raised his tool and swung it from above his shoulder, smashing it into the boulder. A tiny crack appeared in the centre of the rock. Piet swung his pickaxe again, hitting the rock in the same place. The crack became slightly larger. Glitz watched the mundane exercise, and then raised an eyebrow.

“So that’s it?”

One of the other men laughed. “That’s it, brother.”

“But what’s the point of it?” Glitz persisted. “We break rocks, right, but what for? What does it accomplish?”

“Look,” Piet said. “There don’t need to be a point. We break rocks.”

“Right,” Glitz said, looking up at the blackened sky. “That sounds fair.”

The men began to drift apart. The quarry was about the size of a gravity-ball stadium, and they spread out across it. Glitz grabbed one of the pickaxes and approached one of the smaller boulders. He swung his pickaxe into the rock, and felt a vibration from the rock jolt his arm. 

Annoyed, Glitz inspected the surface of the stone. He hadn’t even made the tiniest mark on the surface. He raised the pickaxe again and smashed it into the rock. This time, a tiny fracture appeared. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Glitz exhaled loudly.

“What are these things made of?” he muttered.

“Hey, no slacking! Get back to work!” Piet shouted.

Sighing, Glitz swung the tool into the rock again…

Chapter Three

The rest of the day passed in the same way. It took him almost an hour to finally break apart the first boulder, and he wasn’t allowed even a small break before he moved on to the next. It was exhausting work, made even more tiring because he was in desperate need of sleep. Also, he was convinced of the futility of the job. Why were they breaking rocks? It didn’t make any sense. If the prison officer was so intent on making the prisoners work, why not make them do something useful that could actually raise revenue for the prison? Glitz was thankful, however, that they had free access to water. There was a pump in the quarry, which provided an unlimited supply of hydration. True, the liquid that spouted from it tasted vaguely of metal, but it was very satisfying after a few hours of rock smashing. The work day was ten hours long with only a couple of water breaks, and by 17:00 Glitz felt like he was going to collapse from hunger and overwork.

“Is every day like this?” Glitz muttered to one of the prisoners, after they had started putting away their pickaxes.

“We work seven out of eight days in a week,” the man said, who had watery blue eyes and a crooked nose. “Usual schedule is breakfast at 6:00, followed by work at 7:00. Each work day is ten hours, followed by another meal hour, and then a ten hour rest period. Obviously, transport time eats into our leisure hours, rather than work hours. On the ninth day every week we have a shower, followed by a day of rest in our cells.”

Glitz nodded. It seemed the planet Malus had a nine-day week. And each day was twenty-two hours long. Of course, few planets colonised by the human race had the same orbit and rotation as Homeworld. However, many planets tried to adjust their time zones to ensure compatibility with Galactic Standard Time. It was a good idea in theory, but it practice it caused many problems. For example, the planet Velatia, despite making a full rotation every twelve hours, still followed G.S.T. Thus, the planet would go dark in the middle of every day, and the first half of every night would be bright. The humans were constantly searching for a “perfect world”—or trying to engineer one—but all of the current colonised worlds had some kind of fault or deficiency. Several even had different oxygen or gravity levels, which could be very surprising for tourists. A particularly undernourished visitor to Phoros B might find himself floating off into the air like a children’s hydrogen pod.

When their wagon arrived, the men stowed away their pickaxes in a small cave cut into the side of the quarry. They were driven back to the prison compound, and led into the refectory. Glitz noticed that there were dozens of doors leading into the cafeteria, which seemed odd. They entered; it was a plain looking room with no windows. Then again, any windows in Malus would only look out onto the unpleasant volcanic landscape, so Glitz was quite glad that there weren’t any. The tables were made of cheap plasthyne and coated with a waterproof vinyl cover. With dismay, Glitz realised that the canteen was demarcated by translucent plasthyne sheets. That was the idea of the separate doors, then. The section for Work Group Eight was totally separated from the rest of the refectory.

“Can’t we talk to the other prisoners?” Glitz said.

Piet snorted, and replied, “Course not.”

That explains everything, thanks, Glitz thought. It’s all so clear to me now. Later, Glitz learned that their refectory was only one out of about two-dozen across the prison site, and that each Work Group was kept in a separate compartment in every cafeteria. The policy was intended to prevent large groups of prisoners from planning a rebellion. 

A small hatch built into the dividing wall opened, and a large pot was pushed through, along with thirteen tin plates and thirteen tin spoons. Piet took the pot and carried it to the table, and one of the other men—Glitz thought his name might be Raal—put down a plate and spoon in front of each table seat. The men all sat down, and Glitz joined them. The pot was pushed politely from person to person. He watched, astonished, as each man poured himself exactly the same amount of the pale goo, said “thank you”, and pushed the pot along to the person next to him. Piet certainly did keep a well-behaved Work Group. When it was Glitz’s turn, he scooped out some of the mixture and dropped it into his bowl. It didn’t have any noticeable odour, and it had the consistency of thick porridge. None of the men started to eat; they were waiting for everyone to take their helping.

Finally, the pot reached Piet, and he scooped out the rest of the food into his bowl. There were barely more than two spoonfuls left for him. Glitz couldn’t help but be impressed by the man’s humility. As leader of the Work Group, he would surely be entitled to a larger helping than anyone else. Who would dare to challenge him if he did so? But Piet obviously thought so highly of his men that he was prepared to be served last, at the risk of ending up with a smaller portion.

“Look,” Glitz said, moving the meal around with his metal spoon. “I’m not really hungry. Think I picked up an infection on the ship. Why don’t you eat this?”

Glitz pushed his bowl across the table towards Piet. The table fell silent, and Glitz wondered for a second if he had done something wrong. But Piet simply smiled, nodded, and began to eat. It had been a lie, of course. Glitz was starving. But he had felt sorry for Piet. Also, it couldn’t hurt to get on the good side of their leader.

He still hadn’t quite given up on the idea of escaping from Malus, even if it seemed unlikely that his plan with Tekka and Doland would go ahead. But if the worst came to the worst, and he really was stuck on Malus for five years, he wanted to make it as easy on himself as possible.

After everyone except Glitz had eaten, they were escorted back into their cells. He had no way of telling the time, but he assumed that it was 18:00. That gave him ten hours to sleep before breakfast the next morning. Glitz took off his work clothes and changed into his normal prison clothes, before climbing into bed. The sheets were made of polycotton, and the mattress wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had expected. Glitz banged on the metal wall, and someone banged back. Glitz laughed and banged again, trying to irritate whoever was in the next cell. But the other man didn’t knock again. He felt his eyes begin to close and he laid back. In a few seconds he was asleep.

The next few weeks passed in much the same way, and each day the work outside seemed a little easier. He still thought it was pointless labour, but he tried not to complain too much. Their group leader, although not very bright, was a decent man. As soon as he realised that Glitz was prepared to work hard without supervision he began to treat him a little more kindly.

They were served the same food at breakfast and dinner each day. The prisoners called it “manna”, a sarcastic reference to the miraculous food the god of Proteism had supposedly provided for the planet Israel during a time of famine. It tasted a little like marchgrain porridge—that is to say, it tasted like nothing at all. There was no flavour, no seasoning. But apparently it was artificially constituted to contain all of the essential nutrients, and it seemed to keep all the men in good health.

One evening, after a particularly hard day, Glitz collapsed onto his bed while still wearing his work clothes, not caring that he was covering his sheets in rock dust. He was drifting off to sleep when a voice suddenly made his eyes snap open.

“Harlan Glitz. Harlan Glitz. Can you hear me, Harlan Glitz?”

Glitz jumped out of bed. I recognize that voice! “Tekka?” he said, hardly able to believe it. “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” Tekka said coldly, and added, insincerely, “I hope you are well.”

“Could be worse,” Glitz replied. “How are you speaking to me?”

“I have hacked into the main communications server. The software allows me to speak to the occupant of any cell. I have already spoken to Doland.”

“So what do you want?”

Tekka sighed. “You know perfectly well what I want. Do you not remember our escape plan?”

Glitz grinned. “Yeah, I remember. So it’s still on?”

“Of course it’s still on,” came Tekka’s tinny voice. “The next prison ship will be arriving on the planet in two days. I think it would be advantageous to go over every point of the plan.”

“Fine,” Glitz said.

Tekka began to go over the plan with Glitz, reminding him of the key points. Glitz listened carefully to the man.

“But how are you going to get us out?” Glitz said.

The plan seemed to depend on the three men somehow escaping from their cells. But that didn’t seem very likely. The only way to break free from a cell was to operate the door mechanism, which could only be operated from outside the cell.

“You leave that to me,” Tekka said. “I will take care of everything. Just make sure that you are ready at 6:00 sharp the day after tomorrow.”

“I will be,” Glitz said.

Now that he had heard Tekka’s plan again, he found his confidence in the man renewed. Glitz still didn’t know how Tekka planned to break them out of their cells, but somehow he believed that he would manage it.

“One thing, before you go,” Glitz said.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you just choose two different people? I mean, why stick with me and Doland, even though we aren’t in your Work Group?”

“I always keep my word unless I have a strong reason for doing otherwise,” Tekka said simply. “In any case, it would have been illogical to choose anyone else. You two already know the plan, and the comms system is the only safe way to communicate anyway.”

“All right,” Glitz said. “See you in two days.”

Glitz took off his work clothes, put on his prison suit, and brushed the dust from his bed. He began to wonder if he had simply imagined Tekka’s voice. Maybe the hard daily labour was screwing with his brain. But the prospect of possible escape made him feel very excited. The next morning, Glitz had an extra spring in his step when he was taken down to the refectory for breakfast. The other prisoners noticed that he seemed to be in a good mood.

“You’re happy,” Tonek said, stroking his goatee.

“I am,” Glitz said, helping himself to a portion of manna. “I’m getting the hell out of here tomorrow.”

“No way,” Roper said. “How do you plan to do that?”

Glitz tapped his nose mysteriously. “Wait and see. The last time you’ll ever see me is at dinner this evening.”

He knew he shouldn’t be telling the rest of the Work Group about his imminent escape attempt, but he couldn’t resist showing off a little bit. Anyway, all of the prisoners and guards believed escape to be impossible, so they would simply think his comments to be the idle boasts of a very bored man. Glitz glanced at Pieterson; the man looked slightly uncomfortable. He was stirring his manna with a strange look on his face. Glitz frowned and ate the rest of the meal.

When the group was driven to the quarry, Glitz picked up a pickaxe enthusiastically. The prospect of leaving Malus so soon had put the work into a whole different perspective, and he put a great deal of energy into his morning labour. He had developed a method that he found to be very effective for breaking the rocks. First he would create a small crack in the stone using the pickaxe. Then he would hit the rock with the sledgehammer, which had the effect of using the weakness created by the crack to split open the rock. Once the rock had split into several pieces, he would then use the sledgehammer to crush the fragments into pebbles.

When the men had stopped for a water break, Piet beckoned Glitz over. Glitz put down his sledgehammer.

“What’s up?”

Piet spoke in a low voice. “You said you were leavin’.”

Glitz sighed. He should have known better than to boast about his plans. “Just a joke,” he replied.

“Then why’re you so cheerful today?”

He shrugged. “Just a nice day. Fresh air. The sun’s out. Well, the sun’s not out, but…”

“You think I’m an idiot?” Piet said. He sounded more upset than threatening.

“No,” Glitz said, shaking his head.

“Well,” Piet said. “If you’re gonna leave, I ain’t gonna stop you. And I won’t tell nobody about your plan. I won’t tell Quex or the guards. But I don’t want anythin’ to do with it. And don’t go dragging none of my men into it, neither. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Glitz said. That was one promise he could definitely keep. Even if he had wanted to help anyone else escape, he doubted Tekka would want to proceed with the plan if there were any unknown elements involved.

“Fine,” Piet said. “Now get a drink and get back to work.”

Glitz began to walk towards the water pump, but then he turned back. “Thanks, Piet.”

“What for?”

“For not informing.”

Piet simply nodded, and Glitz went to the pump to take a drink of water. The jet of cool liquid from the pump moistened his cracked mouth, and he gratefully drank several gulps before returning to work.

When their shift had finished, and the men had eaten their dinner, Glitz smiled at them all. “It’s been fun,” he said. “Nice knowing you all.”

Roper scoffed. “You’ll be here tomorrow just like the rest of us.”

“Maybe,” Glitz admitted, nodding. “But I damn well hope not.”

The men were taken back into their cells, but Glitz was too excited to sleep. He had resolved to stay awake anyway. Tekka was planning to send an wake-up alarm signal to his room at 5:30, but he wasn’t going to risk it. He would stay awake all night to be ready to leave at 6:00 sharp. He still didn’t know how Tekka planned to let the three of them out of their cells; he was trapped as well. But Glitz could do nothing but wait, and hope Tekka was as clever as he claimed. The night passed slowly, and Glitz couldn’t relax. He had no way of finding out the time, and as the night dragged on, he worried that it was past 6:00, and that Tekka hadn’t managed to do as he’d promised.

But suddenly a tinny ringing sound filled his cell. It sounded insanely loud after the deathly quiet of the last few hours. He hoped that none of the guards would hear the noise, and he took a little comfort in knowing just how thick the cell walls were.

“Harlan Glitz, can you hear me?” came Tekka’s voice.

“Am I glad to hear your voice.”

“So you can hear me. Good.” Tekka’s voice had its usual cold quality, but there was a nervous edge to it that Glitz hadn’t heard before. “Please ensure you are wearing your normal prison clothes. Prepare for release in exactly thirty minutes. It would be beneficial for you to go over the main points of the plan in your mind to refresh your memory.”

Glitz was already wearing his prison clothes, so he did not get up. He would usually object to being ordered around, but when his freedom was at stake he was more willing to take commands. He ran through Tekka’s plan in his mind. The whole thing was actually quite simple—at least, his and Doland’s roles were simple. Tekka had all the complicated work.

He sat in his cell, waiting for another message from Tekka. But none came. Glitz began to feel slightly worried. Maybe Tekka had decided that the plan was a bad idea. Or perhaps the prison ship wasn’t due to arrive at 6:30 after all…

But, just when he had been almost ready to give up hope, there was a whirring sound, and his door slid open.