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“It’s a bleak place, isn’t it?” The voice spoke softly and came from over her shoulder. She started and rotated just in time to catch him rising from his seat. Uniformed, like all the other occupants of the transporter, but not in the style of the soldiers. The lines of his black uniform were smart and on his lapel was a golden badge, a symbol she didn’t recognize. Somebody of a senior rank? He slid along the row and sat in a seat, not quite next to her, but close enough for her to see the smooth outline of his chin and the narrow brows above his dark eyes. Unlike the short haircut of the soldiers, the newcomer had longer locks of hair, which licked around his cheekbones. He had the hefty build of a warrior—the broad shoulders and bulging biceps—but his hands had a delicacy to them—slender and trimmed about the nails.
Freya swallowed hard. This man had a presence and exuded a bold authority, a trait that had been reflected by both her father and the man who’d trained her to be a spy. She glanced over to where the soldiers laughed amongst themselves. They ignored Freya and her companion.
“Yes,” she replied belatedly. “Horrible.”
He laughed. “As it should be. It’s a prison, not a holiday camp. I must say, your Vendu is excellent. I expected I would be conversing to you in English.”
“I’m fluent. Can’t be part of a cultural exchange if you’re not fluent.” Her gift for languages stemmed from her upbringing. Her Swiss father had taught her French and German, her Swedish mother added English to her repertoire. However, the Vendu cared little for the old countries that once had bound people together. Humans had been bundled into one nation and according to the Vendu government, they were to speak one convenient language—English—the first language they’d heard over the airways as they shot down the air forces sent to battle them.
“Ah. The journalist, of course. My English is considered good. I spent four years on planet sixty-two—”
“You mean Earth. Please don’t refer to my home as a number.”
“Forgive me. Earth. We Vendu have explored so many planets it is easier to refer to them by number.” He pointed to the window. “See, we’re moving closer. Soon you’ll be on your new home.”
Freya grimaced. It would never be her home, even if she died there. She turned away from the man and peered through the porthole to the surface of the planet below. The fuzzy gold had taken the form of mountains and vast deserts, but no seas or rivers. The craft banked and followed the curvature of the planet, slowly descending.
“You know about me?” She spoke her thoughts aloud without facing him.
“You’re the only prisoner on board and yes, I’ve also followed your trial in the news. It was swift. Unusually so.
”
“It was a setup. They charged me with military espionage.” She whipped her head around. “I never confessed to stealing military secrets. They refused to believe it, even though they used a supposed truth serum on me.”
He tapped the armrest of his seat several times. “I’m not party to the detailed evidence given in your trial. However, you were sentenced and the punishment for espionage is life.”
“Whereas the one for unauthorized filming is lesser. I should be back on Earth serving my time in a prison, not sent halfway across the galaxy to a penal colony.”
He frowned. “The matter has been decided,” he said firmly. “It would be best if you accepted your fate.”
She scowled and returned to examining the landscape below. Something green caught her attention: a snake of verdant pastures running through a narrow canyon. At one end perched on a high plateau was a domed city, the buildings sheathed behind a glittering force field. Below, littered along the valley floor, numerous metallic buildings, and dotted amongst them, a few fields.
Terraforming—the technology the Vendu had stolen from a more advanced civilization and adapted to use on other planets. Whenever they colonized a planet, they recovered barren lands using the secrets of terraforming. Australia, once largely desert and sparsely populated outside of the coastal areas, was now a fertile land with many cities in the interior. The Vendu had thrived next to Ayers Rock in their green cities, beyond the protective shield that encompassed the continent and kept the native humans out. The rise in population had put pressure on the shrinking resources. Without the terraforming technology, which Earth’s leaders hoped would transform the Sahara, people would starve. Freya’s mission to take images of the terraforming plants had been short-lived.
“That is the prison?” She pointed at the dome.
He guffawed. “Oh, no. That is where I shall be living. That is the city of Tagra where we Vendu live. While you, the prisoners, are in the canyon.”
“But there are no fences. Barriers?”
He leaned over her shoulder. “See the desert. There is nowhere to go. That is why this planet is ideal. You have no place to escape to. The dome is to keep us in and safe. You will live freely amongst the others. You’ll work, be paid in food vouchers, and go to bed in a room, not a locked cell.”
“Then why the guards?” She gestured toward the soldiers.
“Why indeed? Traditionally the governors have allowed the prisoners to police themselves. Petty crimes and misdemeanors are for the jurisdiction of the colony police force. However, major crimes, uprising and insurrection, those are for us to deal with. And we do so, harshly. That is what makes Tagra appealing for a young soldier. They come for a few years, need only watch and listen from afar as the prisoners squabble amongst themselves. A remote location it might be, but there are many pleasures for a young Vendu soldier to have in Tagra city. You might remember that, Freya.”
What did he mean by that? She opened her mouth to ask, but he tapped his earpiece. “I’m on my way,” he barked into the mouthpiece clipped to his lapel. Without another word he left the cabin.
The transporter circled the colony, descending lower until ready to make its entry into the dock. By then Freya was nauseous and despondent. Her future was bleak and unknown.
No shackles or restraints were used on her, but the guard’s grip on her elbow as he escorted her off the ship was vise-like. He weaved her through the cheerful faces of the soldiers and into the building that housed the reception center for new prisoners.
Brought before a counter, being the sole arrival for that day, Freya eyed the long-faced man behind the desk. Initially, he merely glanced at her, then lifting his chin again, he peered down his nose and inspected her as if she was an exhibit in a zoo. “So, this is the Earthling. Prisoner number sixty-two, one.”
“Freya,” she snapped. “My name is Freya Caspari.”
“Planet sixty-two, prisoner number one. Although, I gather Earthlings were sent to other penal colonies during the conquest of planet sixty-two—”
