Page 17 of Mutant Mine

I hurry back up the corridor and open the control panel, then scan Gregory’s card. Thankfully, the system lets me in without complaint.

It takes me a while to figure out where to find the option I need. I have to fish through a couple of different menus before I see ‘Deactivate force fields’. Breathing a sigh of relief, I press it, then select their three cell numbers.

“PLEASE STATE YOUR REASON FOR DEACTIVATING FORCE FIELDS,” says the computer. Its voice is bright — andloud.

“What?!” I hiss at it.

“THIS ACTION REQUIRES A REASON TO BE RECORDED, IN CASE OF LATER REVIEW.”

There’s a noise in the hallway.

Crap.

“The prisoners have escaped, crew members are trapped in the cells instead,” I whisper. “Please, you have to let them out.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO SEND OUT A SHIP-WIDE ALERT THAT A PRISONER HAS ESCAPED ON THIS DECK?” offers the computer helpfully.

“No no no no no! Please don’t do that!” I scramble, casting my brain back to what Reginald said. “Um… Scratch that, no escape. Medical emergency, there’s a medical emergency!”

“REASON RECORDED: MEDICAL EMERGENCY,” blasts the computer. “FORCE FIELDS 517-519 NOW DEACTIVATING.”

Someone not far away is shouting. Footsteps are pounding down the hallway.

At least the force fields are gone now. If the crew can just get out of the cells, maybe we can fight our way free?

“RUN!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “THERE’S NO BARRIER, RUN!”

But it’s too late. The prisoners are rounding the corner. They see me, then see the others stepping out of the cells.

Before they can react, I charge straight at the prisoners with a shriek of war, yanking out my stun-gun and firingit for the first time outside of a training exercise. It’s a wild volley of shots, some bouncing off the walls — but some of them land, men crying out and falling. Then something hits me hard in the stomach.

I fall onto my back, gasping for air. A man is standing over me. He’s raising a stun-gun, but not to fire it — raising it like a club, ready to bash me again with the blunt, heavy end.

I cover my face with my hands, shut my eyes, and brace for it all to go black.

“Wait,” someone shouts. “Wait, not that one!”

I keep my hands raised, but no blow comes. Cautiously, I open my eyes.

“That’s the Lunchlady,” says a shifty-eyed man.

I recognize him… He’s a prisoner from this block. The guy who tried to warn me that Roth had killed Hatha. Now he’s almost shielding me with his body, trying to stop the man standing above me with a stun-gun from beating me over the head with it.

I feel a brief flicker of hope. Is he a decent person? Is he helping me?

“Roth used to stare at him,” says the man. “I think he’d like it if we brought this one in alive.” He pauses, thinking. “And don’t ruin his pretty face.”

When he grins at me, it’s far too wide, and all teeth.

* * *

THEY’RE MARCHING MEthrough the ship, one man on either side of me. At first I was hissing and spitting at them like a cat, trying to wrench my arms out of their grip — but that earned me another punch to the belly. Now it’s all I can do to catch my breath as I limp along.

When my feet can’t keep up, they just drag me. And aswe wind our way through the hallways, I know where we’re going: the canteen.

This has become the place where the prisoners spend most of their time. Many of them even sleep in here, having pulled the foam padding and thin blankets off their old beds. If they weren’t so fucking scary, it would be kinda sweet — like a big slumber party. I guess after years locked up in cells, they just want to be in an open space.

The most dominant men have taken the crew’s bunks. Those never seemed luxurious to me, but after a night’s sleep in a frosty metal tunnel, my perspective has changed somewhat.

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