Lucinda

 

“Keep up the pace, Lucky.” The guard gave her a hard push in the middle of her back.  Lucinda stumbled but she didn’t fall. Not for him. She wasn’t going to fall to the floor for his amusement.

She braced herself with one hand against the wall to stop her fall. The guard’s  high-pitched giggle inspired a new crop of goosebumps on her arms.

Creep. Not that she expected anything different. Halliday—she didn’t care to know his first name—had tormented her from the moment she stepped foot on the interstellar space prison ship Concord.

“Your hand’s not sterilized. Now I have to change.” Not that Lucie particularly cared about keeping the clean room germ free, but there was a real person on the table. Lydia, one of Concords prisoners and test subjects, didn’t deserve to get an infection because this creep smeared his disgusting bacteria all over her jumpsuit. Lydia didn’t deserve a lot of the things that happened to her in that lab, but keeping it germ-free was one of the few things Lucie actually had control over.

“What’s the matter, Lucky? Aren’t you a dirty girl?” Halliday smacked her on the butt, sharp and stinging. The thin fabric of the prison uniform was no barrier at all to his heavy blow and it hurt.

He grabbed her by the elbow and she froze in place. “Did that hurt?” he crooned in her ear, his hot breath fetid and foul on her face. “Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?”

Lucie turned her face away, eyes on the floor. She needed a full decontamination shower now.

Remember Antony. Images of her brother and his kids flashed through her mind, innocent pictures of his family eating breakfast or playing ball. Pictures the prison staff assured her were from drones capable of ending her brother’s life if she didn’t follow instructions.

“No,” she muttered.

“Answer me!” He gave a shake for emphasis.

“No,” she said clearly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said with another giggle and a shove. “Fortunately, your ass is the only good looking thing about you, Lucky. Nice and fat. Gives a man something to hold onto to.” Another laugh, high and almost hysterical. “Christ, if I actually had to fuck you, I’d put a bag over your head. You’re so utterly unfuckable.”

She knew she shouldn’t blush, and didn’t want to be embarrassed. She shouldn’t care if Halliday thought she was ugly. Unfuckable.

Fuck him. This was prison, not his personal whorehouse. Being pretty or a dick cozy for him wasn’t part of the deal.

Keep her head down, do her work and keep Antony and the kids safe. That was the deal and that was all she cared about.

The brief trip from her cell to the lab took her through a security check point, like she could smuggle anything beyond a bad attitude on board. A woman in an orange jumpsuit with short blonde hair sat on the floor, tools and electronic devices spread out among her. As if sensing Lucie’s gaze, Amber looked up and narrowed her eyes.

Lucie often wondered what deal the warden gave Amber for her skills but she didn’t dare to ask. Amber wouldn’t answer, just give her a rude “mind your own business” and maybe a few more choice words. The Concord was big on utilizing inmates as unpaid labor. Amber was a computer specialist and Lucie was a nurse but they were both blackmailed into their roles.

In the prep room, Lucie stripped out of the jumpsuit and instinctively pulled her hair over one shoulder to hide her scars until she covered up with scrubs. Paper booties went over her shoes. She tied back her hair, put on a cap and washed her hands before putting on gloves. Ready for the lab, Lucie knew she could have been anyone: a tech, a doctor, or a nurse. Anything would have been better than being a prisoner.

Halliday watched the entire process, unimpressed with her physical charms.

So what if Halliday said she was ugly? So what if he grabbed her ass and licked her face and cornered her away from witnesses and took a few liberties? So what if the warden dismissed her complaint and told her that she should be grateful anyone wanted to touch her at all? So what if Dr. Sobin made her participate in questionable research? So what if the other inmates look at her like she was a traitor?

She was. She was every horrible thing they said about her.

Fuck Halliday. Fuck the warden. Fuck Dr. Sobin. Fuck Lydia and her tears. Fuck Amber and her judgmental glares. Fuck the other inmates and their gossip. Fuck everyone on the Concord. They deserved exactly what they got.

The only thing that matter was her brother, Antony, and his kids.

A different guard brought in the test subject—Lydia, her mind unhelpfully supplied— wearing a collar attached to a pole, the kind used by animal catchers. Lucie kept her mouth shut as she prepped the inmate, trying not to look her directly in the eyes. She could live with the guilt of what she helped do to the other inmates as long as she didn’t have to look them in the eyes or think about their names.

Dr. Sobin had selected this inmate for her research based on genetic markers. Lucie only half-listened when the doctor rattled on about her research. The doctor believed the subject’s genes had the flexibility to adapt, become extraordinary and unlock new abilities. Dr. Sobin wanted to turn the subject into a human fireball, like an ancient comic book character, which was crazy.

Who would want to live like that? Constantly on fire?

Lucie hoped it never happened. All the serums and procedures expanded the subject’s abilities with frost and fire but she burned herself too badly to go full fireball. Dr. Sobin babbled about the regenerative properties of the new serum but Lucie tuned it out. The doctor was insane, pure and simple.

Then again, there was the poor woman who partially developed gills. They didn’t work as planned and she drew water out of the air. She drowned. The human fireball was as possible as a woman drowning from air.

“Lucky, if you would do the honors,” Dr. Sobin said.

Lucie’s back went rigid. She hated that name. She was the least lucky person on the planet. Or whatever it was called when you were in orbit around a planet.

She pressed the hypodermic needle to the port at the subject’s elbow, injecting her with a fiery red serum. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

The floor shuddered and rolled, throwing Lucie forward. The needle jerked and went deep into her own forearm. Shit. The ship shook again, throwing her flat on her stomach. She threw her arm up to catch her fall, driving the needle in deeper. Yellow serum spilled out, burning her skin like acid. Fire flooded her veins. The wail of tearing metal filled the air, amplified by her own screams.

 

***

 

The fire had Lucie again.

As if it had ever left her. Part of her suspected—feared—that the fire that took her family was only biding its time before it finished claiming her family. The thought was crazy, but there she was, on the floor, surrounded by flames. Fire licked up the walls. Glass containers boiled and exploded.

In her mind, old memories blurred with present horror. She was at once a prisoner and a scared little girl huddled in the closet with her brother, helpless to do anything as their mother screamed and greasy smoke filled the house. That moment lived on and on in her heart.

Lucie rolled to her side and slowly rose to her knees. The air was thick with smoke even down on the floor. She had to get out of there before the fire suppression system locked the door and trapped her in the lab.

She crawled forward, hands raking across broken glass. The sharp pricks of pain brought her mind to focus and realized that she hurt. All over. Like she was a pair of dice rattled around inside a box. Cuts and bruises covered her body and her lungs ached to get fresh air. The only thing that didn’t hurt was the fire. The lab was currently an inferno but she sat in the only non-flaming area. Lucky.

She remained unburned, miraculously.

The table was empty. Hopefully the test subject—Lydia—had already freed herself. Dr. Sobin lay motionless, skin charred and soot-covered. Lucie kicked the woman’s feet. No response.

Good. She shouldn’t be glad the monstrous woman was dead, but she was. If that made her a monster, too, so be it. She’d just have to learn to live with it.

Lucie crawled her way across the broken glass to the door. Smoke filled the air, hanging heavy in the room. Even hugging the floor as she was, Lucie choked and coughed. Her eyes stung and she struggled for breath. The sharp sting of glass cutting into her palms kept her focused.

Move forward. Breathe.

Smoke blinded her, thick and greasy with melting plastic and bitter burnt hair. Forward.

She fell to her side, coughing. Her back rested against a wall. Lucie pulled herself up to her knees and slapped at the keypad.

No response.

The never-ending hunger of the fire filled the silence, crackling and rolling. Where were the alarms? The fire suppression system?

She slapped at the door again, desperate. Only a prisoner, she didn’t have the clearance to open a damn door. She was trapped.

Sliding to the floor, Lucie stared at the smoldering form of Dr. Sobin. Maybe the doctor’s hand would satisfy the lock, but Lucie would have to go all the way back across the room and she barely had enough strength to breathe, let alone drag Dr. Sobin to the door.

Lucie crawled back to the doctor, each shuffle forward more difficult than the last. Blood, her blood, smeared across the floor.

Finally at her target, Lucie rolled the doctor over. The woman’s skin was blistered and cracked; her hair gone. If she didn’t die on impact, she burned alive.

Fury at being locked in this despicable lab filled Lucie’s heart. The doctor did this to her, made her participate in hurting the other women in the prison, made Lucie choose between hurting strangers or saving her family, and had made Lucie hate herself.

She wasn’t sad Dr. Sobin was dead. She was only sad that she was trapped in this lab.

No, correction. She wasn’t sad. She was angry.

So very angry.

Feverish, her skin burned hot and her mouth was dry. The fire in her needed out and this lab needed to burn. The prison needed to burn.

Flames surrounded her, consuming the air and only leaving bitter ash. She needed out but there was no escape. The fire took her.

 

Sarsen

 

Ertale was the first to see the star fall. His eyes tracked it across the night sky but the large male said nothing. He had not uttered a word since the Before.

No. Sarsen frowned at his fuzzy memories. That was not entirely accurate. Ertale had not spoken since their heartstones were removed.

Asche, of course, had plenty to say. “The Creators return.”

“We do not know that,” Sarsen said.

“They came from the sky on a tail of fire.”

“Do you remember that? From Before?” Sarsen himself remembered bits and pieces. Between his and Asche’s fractured memory, they pieced together the narrative of how the Creators came to Sonhadra and took their people from their homes, changed them, made them other; forever burning.

Ertale turned, his sharp eyes following the conversation. If he had his own memories to add, he said nothing.

“We are compelled to serve the Creators,” Asche said. “If they return, we need to seek them out.”

“We are compelled to follow the instructions of our mistress, Sheenika, above all others. She commands us to return to the Forge for renewal.”

Sarsen tipped his head back to gaze into the night sky. The Forge opened directly to the sky, hot steam curling into the cool air.

The Creators had awe-inspiring abilities. To his primitive people, the Creators had appeared as gods. Sarsen knew he had been filled with reverence and wonder at the tall, elegant beings, but all of his emotions were distant and locked away. If the Creators did return to Sonhadra, they would seek out their tools. The surviving valos would be enslaved soon enough. Until then, he and his brothers were compelled to follow Sheenika’s last instructions. “It is a falling star, nothing else.”

“We should go to it,” Asche said.

“It was a falling star. Nothing else,” Sarsen replied.

“The Creators came from the stars.”

“Yet they do not control the stars. We remain in the Forge.”