Chapter 6
The militia had taken their time, but when they eventually showed up, they took her to an old police station near the river. After running her slave registration number and realizing they had a Thorian in front of them, they gave her the welcome she'd expected weeks earlier, when she arrived on Besha. A few blows to the face, some kicks to the ribs as she lay on the floor of that damp, steel-barred basement cell. Predictable.
That sergeant, a vet, she guessed, finally intervened when they started to rip off her clothes. He removed the handcuffs and gave her a bottle of water -- a small kindness that she appreciated.
After the cell door slammed shut, she spat a few mouthfuls of blood into the dirty sink and lay down on the bare bunk. Breathing hurt, a few broken ribs, most likely, but nothing too serious.
I guess that's only the beginning.
She had saved Lucille from throwing away her life, but at what cost? Assaulting a guard would add years to her sentence, and at a higher security level, no doubt. Mary had been crying when they dragged her away, and the chances to see each other again were slim at best.
I should have killed that bastard. That would have been the only way to keep the girls safe.
Lying on her back, she stared at the moldy patches and the cracks in the ceiling, her head racing from one disastrous scenario to the next. The hours passed until the heavy steel door to the cell block opened and Renata Alvarez appeared outside. She must have been in bed already; she wore her gray hair open and looked exhausted.
"Gods, Ellen! What happened to you?"
Groaning, Ellen got up from the bunk and walked over to the steel bars. "Got a welcome from the militia."
"Did they... did they rape you?"
Ellen shook her head. "Broke my ribs, that's all. What about the girls? Are they safe?"
"I took them to headquarters, don't worry." She tapped her comlink. "I need to take some pictures to put a stop to this."
After documenting the split lip and the black eye, she had Ellen open the remaining buttons of her overalls, the ones that hadn't been ripped off, and winced when she saw the bruises.
"Push those panties down, please. I want to confirm something."
Alvarez took a closeup of her genital area, mumbling when she saw two red burns below Ellen's pubic tattoo. "Dammit, that matches what your squad mates told me. I'm so sorry."
"Wasn't you who zapped me."
"No, but I hired the guy." She sighed, checking the pictures she had taken. "Assaulting a guard, that's serious, no matter the circumstances. I'm gonna make some calls tomorrow morning, see what I can do. Maybe I can keep you with us, but no promises."
*
Ellen didn't sleep much that night. It was chilly in the cell, and she had no blanket, but at least the militia goons left her alone. Judging from her hunger, it had to be morning, but no breakfast was delivered, and the tap at the sink made a gurgling sound without producing any water. The toilet, of course, was clogged.
Her pain was manageable as long as she didn't move too much, and she waited in tense anticipation until Alvarez returned with the verdict. The woman looked stressed, and she probably hadn't slept much either.
"I talked to the prosecutor, explained the whole situation," she said, running her fingers through her disheveled hair. "Sunrise is the mayor's pet project, so they want to keep this quiet. There have been plenty of complaints about the militia, and them beating up prisoners isn't a good look either."
"Meaning what?"
Alvarez grimaced. "The offer's two dozen lashes. But no additional time, and the case is closed." She bit her lip. "You've had lashes before, I assume?"
"I have," said Ellen, a knot forming in her stomach. She had been wounded in battle and nearly died, but compared to that merciless, excruciating pain the neuro whip inflicted? It wasn't even close.
She looks really queasy, and it's me who's getting the lashes.
"You can take this to court," said Alvarez, "but a Thorian in front of a Beshan court? That could go either way. I wouldn't recommend it."
Ellen exhaled sharply. "I'll take it."
"Good. You can stay on your squad, and we'll take care of you at headquarters to get you back on your feet. Josh will take you, and I'll have a medic ready when you return."
Josh. Will be interesting to hear his explanation.
"Thank you. I appreciate your help, I really do. There's just one thing: what's gonna happen to Wilson?"
She sighed. "No real consequences, I'm afraid. If you were free women, he'd end up in a collar. But you're convicts, penal slaves, you don't have that kind of legal protection. He's fired, of course."
*
The militia goons got her from the cell in the afternoon, this time with more consideration than yesterday. Outside in the parking lot, she saw Josh's van, but it was Ed getting out of the driver's seat. He glared at them as they handed her over, but said nothing. It wouldn't have been smart, picking a fight with four guys carrying assault rifles.
Ellen stared at him. "What are you doing here, Ed? You're supposed to be with your family. With your grandkid."
"It's okay," he said, opening the door for her. "There's the mom, two grandmas, and half a dozen cousins. I'm not getting anywhere near the baby. Have to wait until the dust settles."
"What about the squad? Have you seen the girls?"
"Not yet, " he said, plotting the course, "but they're gonna stay at headquarters until I'm back from vacation. Dr. Singh is taking care of them. Oh, and Wilson's a little worse for wear, if that's any consolation. Josh really went to town on the guy."
Ellen raised her eyebrow. "Did he now?"
"Aye. Wilson told him Trish didn't want to see him anymore. He really likes the girl. Didn't go over well when he found out it was a lie."
"Where did they even find a bastard like that?"
"Used to be a guard at the jail where we're going. Not sure how he got the gig with us. Anyway, we have to get that whipping out of the way. Then we'll patch you up, fix those cracked ribs. A few days of rest will do you good."
*
Port Lauren's central jail was located in the south of the city at the foot of a hill. The outer walls were riddled with holes ripped by artillery shells and partly collapsed, but the two rings of fences with razor wire seemed more than enough to prevent escape attempts.
Ed took her through long corridors with numerous security doors down to the second sub-basement -- a depressing place with concrete floors and cold, flickering fluorescent light. Ellen's stomach heaved, but she hadn't had anything to eat since dinner last night, so nothing came up.
In the waiting room outside the whipping chamber, Ed pressed a button on his comlink to unlock her leg irons and helped her strip out of her uniform. He winced when he saw the bruises, cursing under his breath, and turned around before she took off her underwear.
"I'll be right outside waiting for you," he said. "I can't watch this, I hope you understand."
She took a deep breath, too deep for her broken ribs. "It's fine. Wouldn't wanna watch it either."
Too bad I've got a front-row seat.
Two attendants, cold and jaded, took her into the chamber, and the first thing that hit her was the smell. A mix of sweat, fear, and a strong industrial disinfectant, lingering in the humid air.
She looked around; an almost empty circular room, surrounded by one-way mirrors. The whipping bot itself wasn't remarkable, just a tall cylinder on an antigrav platform with an arm that held the whip. Probably the same model that had executed her sentence on Zesta; fifty lashes a day for one full week, three hundred and fifty in total.
At least it's only two dozen.
Padded cuffs on steel cables were hanging from the ceiling, and similar ones were lying on the floor. The attendants fastened the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, and with the press of a button, winches pulled the cables taut, stretching her limbs wide and holding her in place. A pinch as the stimulant was injected into her buttock to prevent her from passing out, then they retreated from the chamber.
She looked into the mirror directly ahead and almost didn't recognize herself. An exhausted old woman in a heavy steel collar, naked and with bruises all over, her large breasts sagging. The worst thing, however, was the pubic tattoo -- her slave registration number in black nanite ink, next to impossible to remove. Even Cassidy with her considerable means still had hers, more than fifteen years after completing her sentence.
Weak in the knees, she clenched her fists as panic crept up on her. If Ed hadn't let her go to the bathroom, she would have voided her bladder on the spot.
Mary's safe, that's the most important thing. But Gods, let this be over quick.
A siren howled for five seconds, then a metallic click, and the bot whirred to life.
The first lash landed square between her shoulder blades with perfect precision, making her growl and shift her weight. It hurt, a nasty pain, but it was only the start.
Gods, here it comes.
What followed moments later was worse than any broken bone. Familiar waves of agony, like lightning spreading through her nerves, radiated from the point of impact, up into her fingertips and down into her toes. Her groan, more animal than human, turned into a scream as the neuro charge built up and traveled through her body, burning bright until it slowly dissipated.
One
.
*
Back in the waiting room, Ed was pacing up and down when the attendants dragged her through the door. Unable to walk, her nerves still tingling and drenched in sweat, they dumped her in a chair.
Ed sighed, shaking his head. "Gods, Ellen. So sorry you had to go through that."
She allowed herself to cry for a couple of minutes, leaning against Ed's broad shoulder, but decided to get dressed when two guards delivered the next delinquent, a handcuffed and shackled girl less than half her age. The girl was so terrified that not even the threat of the shock prod made her walk.
Gods Almighty. Cassidy was even younger when she got her first lashes.
She remembered her own time in jail, sitting alone in that cell on Zesta. The daily message through the intercom that she dreaded, polite and devoid of any emotion: "Convict Elenore Anderson, please prepare for the execution of your sentence."
