Chapter 1

Galactic Penal Colony 5
Planet Null, Beta Draconis System
4655 AWE (Allied Worlds Era)

     Inmate Ten Million Three pumped the handgrip of his weapon as he towered over his victim, indulging in the feel of clutching a hot laser gun again. It had been too long since he'd last held a guaranteed safety in a violent jungle.

     Through dreadlocks hanging like bars across his eyes, he peered down at his attacker's foot, gave it a kick to stir the stench of the kill as he refamiliarized himself with the charred-flesh-metallic-burn odor of a laser death. The smell would be everywhere in seconds, adding texture to the scene he created for the one hundred fellow convicts watching him.

     The crowd remained silent in their shock.

     Sweeping back the constant intrusion of sweat with a striped sleeve, he wished he'd tied his dreadlocks back. He hated them, looked forward to ridding himself of them. Then he cast his gaze down again at his victim, at the open gash staring back like a giant eye embedded in the torso of the corpse. The laser had burnt a hole through the dead man's body to reveal the floor beneath him.

     For the first time, Ten-Three took notice of the gaping chasm in his own soul where remorse should've been. Remorse had been the first thing he'd given up to be what he was. The remaining emotions had fled on their own. How odd a revelation of his vacant soul would dawn on him now, at this death, the harbinger of his freedom.

     Light shot through the courtyard windows onto the cells from above, exposing the execution to security cams and those who'd missed the fatal blast. Thanks to Evie's clever reprogramming of security spotlights, Ten-Three's cell glowed like the lit stage of a dark hall on opening night, and he despised his fellow prisoners' collective gaze.

     Cool and aware the upcoming evacuation would take a while, he sat on the concrete floor, his back against a wall of his corner cell. His audience and he watched one another. He could no longer make out the silhouettes of the mute witnesses to his crime, but he felt their eyes upon him, could feel their trust and disbelief all at once. He hardly heard a breath.

     All was going as planned. He hoped the dark and surprise of the kill prevented the spectators from realizing, in the last second before the shot, his victim and he had shared the same face. He'd had his back turned to most of them.

     Sirens ripped through the cellblock, honking a phobic sound. Ten-Three watched as the automatic door to each cell sprang open before the audience could come down from the high of the murder and react, and a wave of screams shuddered through the steel-girded prison structure built to house the human animals of the galaxy.

     Twenty thousand panicked men surged through the chain-link corridors above and below his floor, the metal-grate decks of chain-suspended halls shimmying from the footstomps, the sirens nearly deafening. Ten-Three held his ears, and the flight of striped uniforms made him imagine a stampeding herd of zebra escaping a lion.

     And he was the lion.

     Evacuation happened all too slowly for him, so he entertained himself with fantasies of tasting free air again. The only interruption came in that stench of death he'd long ago embraced when he'd been a part of the free worlds. Now, to his surprise, he discovered himself loathing the acrid smell of a laser kill with his every fiber. Instead, he longed to find a peaceful place where he'd never smell murder or justice or retribution again. Some place green, with life. Something beautiful to see.

     Still, he considered, serenaded by the fading thunder of slamming feet, he had loose ends to tie, more people to assassinate before he'd be truly free.

     Sirens whined to a quick death. Awaiting word, Ten-Three watched the red emergency light dance all around the disgorged cells, flashing forests of bars onto whitewashed walls, and then erasing themselves in their spin, leaving a crimson stain hanging in the eye. The panic ebbed with the flushing of the cells, and two men, a guard and a trustee, appeared at the cellblock door and joined him.

     Ten-Three picked up the whispered confirmation from his hidden earpiece, and he rose to his feet, tucking his weapon into his trousers.

     "Things are well in hand,” Evie reported through the earpiece. "The authorities wait in force, prepared for them."

     Ten-Three indicated the darkened window overlooking the center compound, directing his men to observe the maelstrom forming in the commons. Standing at the high window edge overlooking the rec field of the 50th level, they watched as a forty thousand feet hammered through the 150 story prison-tube superstructure, heard the footstomps booming like the overture of a drum symphony. The clangings of the grated floor panels almost overpowered the screams, and he wondered if the metal-grate-chain-link design of the place would hold the stampede.

     Hovercraft search beams shot through the cellblock windows, fired through the ventilation ducts to seek every corner of the high-rise penitentiary. His associates leaned away from the window, blocking their faces from the beam and preventing exposure of their identities. Unconcerned he himself might be spotted, Ten-Three stood at the edge of the window and watched the sea of heads crowding the commons around the central tower, ready to rumble, makeshift weapons in hand. A few souls less panicked than the others looked up to see their cellblock leader there. A shout or two from the knowing raised a salute to the executioner of a very special Imperial Marshal.

     "Worthless vermin," Ten-Three mumbled aloud.

     "Each one of 'em, sir," replied the guard with the thick Alcoric accent that sounded like he sucked on rocks when he spoke. "I'm sure you've no love for 'em, Sir."

     "None at all."

     "Give'em ten minutes." The other, more venom-voiced agent dressed in trustee orange spat. “Inmates'll spread the news throughout the compound you just fried Jack Luminous. Oughtta be a month-long party here. I don't know whom they hated worse, Luminous...or you, Ten-Three?"

     Ten-Three turned his attention from the riot to see the smirk splitting the guard's pock-marked face. "They hated the cop more. At least I was one of them."

     "It'll break their hearts when they learn their eyes deceived 'em," the trustee snarled. "Good many of 'em been put there by Luminous, aye, sir? But then, how many of these animals did you put to sleep?"

     "Not a one undeserving."

     Ten-Three pressed his finger against the tiny receiver to hear that voice better, eager to get beyond this Hell-world.

     "The population is approaching the recreation yard, as expected," whispered the silky feminine voice of Central Control. "Control expects them to charge the tower. Electrified fences are engaged for a Lockdown-Four attack. You have fifteen minutes before the warden-general's extraction team reaches your level. I will suppress the space port computers for two hours. Good luck, Inmate Ten Million Three."

     "Take care, Evie, darling," he said into the microphone sewn into his collar, and his lips rose into a smile, his cold heart lifting him from the tension for just a moment. Evie's voice had been his haven in this place of misery.

     "Hey, Evie, just in case I don't get to hear from you, it's been better than good with you. Thanks for everything, lovely lady."

     A discreet titter tickled his ear. "Take care, Inmate Ten Million Three. I hope to hear from you soon."

     He visualized the sizzling smile and hot green eyes he always put with her steamy voice. "Likewise, Evie darling, I'll miss you. Don't let the warden byte you."

     Evie giggled again. "The man cannot make a move without me."

     The communication link broke as he burst into a decadent grin, knowing that fact well. She'd helped him run the warden all over this planet for the last five years. There was no better accomplice than Evie.

     Returning to the sober scene before him, Ten-Three regarded the dead man. "Okay, boys, let's feed Luminous a justice sandwich."

     Under the vermillion strobe of emergency lights, the guard kept watch on the hallway as the trustee descended on the briefcase clutched in the dead man's hand. Ignoring Jack Luminous's shining face, Ten-Three knelt at the body and appraised the hole blasted in the impostor's chest. The nauseating smell of the kill was already dissipated into the resident stench of sweat.

     "You're a dead one alright, Xerxes. I caught up with you, told you I would. You should've known I'd keep my promise."

     His hand swept the dead man's neck for the Gemini device, finding the rascal attached to the hairline like a tick on a hound. When he removed it, the holographic mask projecting I-Marshal Jack Luminous's bright face--and concealed the dead man's true identity--blinked off.

     An ugly alien face stretched wide open with the surprise and horror of the burning death. The orange-colored eyes of a Saurian stared back. This man hadn't stood near Jack Luminous's height of exactly 192 centimeters. He chuckled, figuring Xerxes wouldn't have gotten far disguised as the I-Marshal himself.

     Which was why the little beetle sold the Gemini tick to him.

     "You're dead, alright. One man down." Ten-Three wrapped the little deceit machine in a wad of foil he'd stolen from the kitchens, and he pocketed the tick that granted a seamless identity swap. "More to come."

     The trustee whistled a lingering victorious note behind Ten-Three's back, and he turned to see the object of his comrade's esteem. "Here's the gravy, sir. Came from his case."

     The trustee passed several articles to him, among them a yellow gate pass only an Imperial Marshal should possess, a crumpled space freighter ticket, and a forged port authorization. Xerxes had been thorough in his portrayal of an I-Marshal, at least documents-wise.

     A familiar black wallet passed the inmate's peripheral sight and, losing all other thought, he snapped it up, ripped into it, hoping on hope to find--

     Yes! He released a breath half-held, tension penned up for five years. What he wanted most was now in his hands. Ten-Three removed from its shell the eight-pointed sunburst shield representing the Draco Alliance Imperial Marshals. He palmed the gilded star, the feel of it against his hand like the union of lightning and thunder. He'd coveted that star for five years that felt more like fifty.

     "Here's your clothes and ID, sir," he heard from the burly voice, and he turned to see the guard pass to him a package. "The laser scalpel's on top."

     Solemn, Ten-Three stood and addressed the men in his command, "Good work, gentlemen....”

     Which was a joke among them. No one on this forsaken space rock was a gentleman.

     “Inmate Ten Million Three lives no longer. It's my turn to be Luminous now, and galactic supercop Jack Luminous is catching a space freighter out of this hellhole. Xerxes's crime family is about to lose the Gemini ticks to a bigger rival."

     The two other men laughed, but Ten-Three stood silent, regretting his coming assassination of the man who'd sent him behind bars. A man he loved and respected.

***