ICEHOUSE Read online

  treat him. I want him

  talking."

  "Sir?"

  "Korhal hasn't responded yet, and I'm tired of waiting for answers. That

  man does not belong

  here. I want to know who thought he did."

  * * *

  A thousand bruises fought for Gabriel's attention the moment he woke up,

  but the pain was far

  away, a mere silhouette on the horizon. He felt nice, even though he

  couldn't move. Straps held

  him tightly to a bed that was too clean to be his cell bunk.

  "Awake at last."

  Gabriel turned his head toward the source of the voice. Al he could see

  were pretty lights

  swimming around a vague shape. A vague, impossible shape that was

  changing with each

  heartbeat.13

  "Why are you an apple? It's rude for an apple to melt into ice

  cubes."Gabriel giggled.

  The voice barked a quick laugh. "Enjoy the painkil ers while they last,

  Feltz."Gabriel heard a

  machine hiss softly, and the feeling of peace evaporated in an instant. The

  sight of a thousand

  dancing ice cubes resolved into the view of a brightly lit medical room and

  Warden Kejora.

  "Feel better?"

  Gabriel's heart raced, and his mind spun around in circles. He felt alert, and

  the pain wasn't so

  distant anymore. "No. Very no."

  "Get used to it. It's the same cocktail they put in stimpacks, only watered down by a factor of

  six or so. Helps you focus even under unpleasant conditions." The warden

  took a seat next to

  his bed. "Inmates usually have to earn medical treatment through

  exceptional performance,

  Feltz. You haven't been here long enough to qualify. I'm breaking the rules

  just for you."

  "I'm flattered."

  "I'm flattered, sir," Kejora said.

  Gabriel briefly considered defiance. Very briefly. "Yes, sir."

  "My people have a dozen different theories on who you are, Feltz." Kejora's eyes never left his.

  "The only thing we can agree on is that you're not Icehouse material.

  Intelligent, focused,

  empathetic people don't belong here."

  “Never allow your enemiesto lull you with a false front. Look behind their

  deception, and the

  threat shall reveal itself to you”. —Icehouse Precept #614

  Gabriel couldn't keep sarcasm out of his voice. "Sorry to disappoint you,

  sir."

  "How did you end up here?"

  "Sir?"

  The warden leaned forward. "What crime did you commit? Why are you

  here?"

  "You don't know?"Gabriel said, hurriedly adding, "Sir?"

  "Pretend I don't."

  "Yes,sir."Gabriel gathered his thoughts. If ever his story needed to sound solid…

  "My brother and I were part of a new resettlement a year and a half ago.

  Turned out to be a

  bad decision."

  "Resettlement is a hard life."

  "It's an impossible life with the Dominion running the show. First the red

  tape, then the

  abolishment of personal supplies, and within two months they had to press-

  gang half the

  colony into the mines just to keep the malcontents contained underground

  for fourteen hours a

  day. My brother was forced along with them;then he went missing."

  The warden nodded. "So you did something about it."

  "I went to the magistrate to ask a couple questions. He didn't want to hear about it, so I asked

  louder. When he threw me out of his office, I managed to tip over a bottle of

  his scotch on his

  shirt. His grunts went to work on me, and I woke up on the shuttle to the

  Icehouse."15

  Warden Kejora stared in disbelief. "That's it?"

  "You don't believe me."

  "I believe that a colonial lackey would wantto send someone here just for

  messing up his suit. I

  just don't believe he could." Kejora seemed lost in thought. "It's not easy to land in the

  Icehouse, Feltz, and you don't fit in."

  "Sorry for lousing up the place, sir. What do you plan on doing about it?"

  Kejora smiled. "Nothing."

  "What?"

  "The Dominion needs reapers. That's enough for me."

  "That's… Sir…"Gabriel sputtered.

  "Cut the throttle, inmate," Kejora said. "We build reapers out of nothing.

  Most of your

  neighbors down in the cellblock aren't worth the transportation costs to get

  them out here, but

  we give them a chance anyway. Maybe ten or fifteen percent of them rise

  to the challenge. The

  rest don't. No big loss.

  "But you," Kejora continued, "you have more than half a brain. Until today, you backed down

  from the fights you couldn't win. Raw power isn't everything. If you can

  square up to this, you'l

  be one of the finest assets in the service. My reapers have received

  commendations from the

  most respected commanders in the Dominion. My reapers put the fear of

  the devil in our

  enemies every moment in combat, and do you know why?"16

  "We do what we must,"Gabriel whispered.

  "Damn right." Kejora stood up. "Take that to heart. If you want to live, train and fight like the

  others and get through my program."

  "That simple, huh?"

  Kejora ignored the absence of a "sir." "You'l be fit for training in two days. I suggest you start

  making friends who can fend off more beatings."

  Gabriel waited for Kejora to walk to the door. "I'l do what I must, sir."

  Something in his tone

  made the warden turn around.

  "We'l see."

  Gabrielfelt the cameras and sensors tracking him at all times. He managed

  to avoid any more

  confrontations with Polek, and the Lisk helped scare off attacks from

  others.

  After three months the adjutant ushered them to a room they had never

  entered before. It was

  the closest thing to a treat they'd had in the Icehouse. The long, narrow

  room waslined with a

  series of armored suits. Smaller and leaner than a marine CMC, each bore

  a large jetpack on its

  shoulders. The suits, inert as they were, looked ready to leap. The Lisk

  smiled at the sight.

  When the adjutant ordered the inmatesinto the suits,there were no

  jokes.Just eagerness.

  Within minutes, the next phase of training began, and the Icehouse

  managed to get worse.17

  The first challenge was the jetpack. The inmates initially had no control

  over the boosters; it al

  belonged to the adjutant, which seemed to delight in igniting the things at

  the worst moments,

  launchingmen into ceilings and walls until they learned to steer.

  Concussions were common.

  Two recruits died from skull fractures.

  They began training with new weapons. The "Scythe" P-45 gauss pistol

  was a small spitting

  monster, the suit barely compensating forthe recoil. The shooting range

  was torn to shreds.

  Several men were cut down by fellow inmates.

  When they finally reached seventy-five percent accuracy,the adjutant

  congratulated them.

  Then it asked them to use two at once.

  Last there was the D-8 explosiv
e charge, designed to blow apart structures.

  It had more than

  enough power to plaster the less attentive against the wall. Bomb prep and

  disposal were the

  objectives, but the conditions were extreme and relentless: loud noises,

  total darkness or

  blinding light, rooms where gravity wassuspended. Injuries and fatalities

  stacked up quickly.

  The inmates battled on. Some died in action; others were found dead like

  Henisall; a few were

  suicides. Gabriel kept going. There wasn't a choice.

  Kejora had a new addition to his routine. Before lights out, he would review

  the training

  footage of Gabriel Feltz. He couldn't explain why. Well, he could, but he

  wasn't ready to admit

  it.

  These last two years in the Torus system had been productive and

  satisfying. Once out of the

  Icehouse,the reapers went where they were needed, safeguarding

  Dominion interests with fire 18

  and death. Medals and accolades, many of them posthumous and

  classified, trickled back to the

  Icehouse, the names of the receivers joining a growing list of success

  stories.

  But never before had an innocent man been subjected to the Icehouse, so

  Kejora watched and

  worried. It was a threat, a very simple one. What if someone found out?

  What if the story of

  Gabriel Feltz, the colony boy with a streak of incredibly bad luck, hit the

  nightly news on UNN?

  Even those talking heads would risk wrath from up the ladder for a lead that

  good.

  The notion of a leak wasn't unlikely. Somebody had already violated

  protocol: Feltz should

  never have been sent here. Kejora stil hadn't tracked down the person

  responsible. The

  magistrate hadn't returned his calls, and the computer logs suggested that

  nobody had actually

  given the order to have Feltz transferred.

  The notes from the techs weren't helping, either. Feltz's character was the

  center of plenty of

  debate.His behavior had changed. The loner attitude was gone. Instead

  he'd established some

  bonds with others, especially Lords—the one who called himself the Lisk.

  The two ate together

  at every meal and teamed up during exercises and sparring matches. To

  most observers, they

  had become fast friends.

  Kejora let the technicians speculate; he hadn't told them about the advice

  he had offered to the

  recruit. Feltz knew getting close to the scariest man in the Icehouse kept

  less friendly attention

  off him.

  Stil … Feltz was improving. Dramatically. Moreover, he was showing an

  unusual aptitude for

  tactics and strategy. Leadership potential. What if he joined the ranks of the

  reapers?

  He would be a successful test case, Kejora realized. Feltz would be living

  proof that the reaper

  programneeded skil ed, intelligent recruits, instead of just squeezing the

  last few drops of value

  from the defective dregs of humanity. The reapers were already widely

  sought for frontline 19

  action, but if they could be even better, every commander in the Dominion

  would demand that

  Kejora receive a better class of recruit.

  In short, if Feltz was victorious, he'd usher in a new age of Dominion

  warfare.

  Kejora made his final notes and closed Feltz's file. The last phase of

  training for the current

  group of inmates would begin today. "Graduation day," he said with a thin smile.

  He gave the command to the Icehouse staff.

  "Final exams approved. Spike the next food batch and activate all

  predators in two hours. Time

  to cook the Icehouse."

  "Something's off, man."

  Gabriel smiled at the Lisk. "You've been saying that the last two days."

  The Lisk spooned another beige lump into his mouth. "You know what I'm

  talking about."

  Gabriel had to admit that the Lisk was probably right. Their training had

  plateaued. They'd even

  had enough free time to get a decent amount of sleep for two days in a row.

  That couldn't be

  good.

  The Lisk slammed his palm flat on the table, making his half-empty bowl

  bounce off the surface.

  "I can't take much more of this."

  Gabriel flinched. "I know."20

  "You don't know!" The Lisk jumped up, snarling. "None of you do.

  Especially you! I'l kil you

  first, right now!"

  Gabriel stumbled to his feet and backed away. This wasn't the normal Lisk.

  If he didn't shut his

  mouth, Gabriel might have to kick him in his teeth and rip his head off and

  then get to work

  tearing apart every other one of the recruits until he, and only he, stood

  alive...

  What? Gabriel was jolted back to lucidity.

  Madness swept over the entire mess hall. Fists clenched; faces contorted

  in anger. It started

  with shoving, then grappling, and in seconds punches were being thrown.

  The Lisk seemed to

  have lost focus, searching wildly for someone to fight and grinding his teeth

  loudly.

  Gabriel looked down at his bowl. The food.Of course. This had to be

  Kejora's game. Fury burned

  like acid in his chest, and his lips pulled back in an involuntary grimace.

  Kejora would pay. In

  blood. For everything:for the training and the dead and especially for

  Dennis—

  Stop it!Gabriel forced the rage down by sheer wil . "Lisk! Back off the

  throttle; it's the food! It's

  just the food!"

  The Lisk didn't hear him. He was walking in a small circle as if he were in a

  cage. Gabriel

  grabbed him by the arms.

  "They've put something in the food!" The Lisk was shaking his head, but Gabriel pressed on.

  "There's no zerg here, right? Nothing's worse than the zerg! That's what

  you told me!"

  The Lisk's eyes focused on him. "Yeah," he managed. "Nothing worse than the zerg..."21

  Gabriel almost fainted with relief. So, Kejora wanted them spooked and

  angry but able to

  control themselves. This had to be part of a new test. What would come

  next?

  The mess hall was emptying as inmates made for the exits, shouting and

  flailing. Several

  prisonerslingered, Polek among them. Gabriel dragged the Lisk over to

  him, resisting the red

  voice in his veins. "We've got to get going too."

  Polek sneered. "In what universe do we listen to you, runt?"

  Gabriel jerked a thumb behind him. "You wanna end up like them?"

  Seven of the inmates had reacted very, very badly. Four of them were

  already dead from

  repeated blows to the head; another was clutching his ruined face. The last

  two were trying to

  crush each other's throat. Even Polek looked sick.

  "Come on; we gotta get out of here." Gabriel led them away.

  They left the frenzy of the canteen to find the corridors flashing. The

  adjutant's voice boomed

  through the complex. "Al trainees, proceed to armory bays 1 through 8 and


  prepare for

  combat. This is not a dril . I repeat—"

  "We're riot police now?" someone asked.

  Gabriel kept his head on a swivel, searching for new threats. "This is stil training. Stay alert."

  "Hey! You hear that?"

  Steel claws clacked on the ground.22

  Something was crouching farther down the hall. It looked and moved like a

  cat, but it was a

  machine the size of a vulture bike. It turned its bullet-shaped head toward

  the inmates and

  opened its metallic maw. A bloodcurdling shriek assaulted their ears.

  "Run!"

  They bolted through the corridors, the galloping stamp of metal feet not far

  behind. One man

  was dumb enough to look back. The mechanical beast had him a moment

  later, jaws snapping

  around his torso.

  “Dictate the battle to your enemies. Leave them no option but to face you in

  the manner of

  your choosing.” —Icehouse Precept #7

  The others kept their heads and ran on until the open doors of an armory

  loomed ahead of

  them. They hurled themselves through the opening as if it were the path to

  heaven.

  "Shut the doors!"

  The doorsstarted to close, too slowly. The machine slammed into the gap,

  unable to force itself

  all the way in, yet its blood-flecked head squeezed through, snapping its

  terrible mouth. At last

  Polek freed a gun from the racks and emptied it into the robot, shredding

  itlike paper.

  Before he could brag,Gabriel pointed past him. "More of 'em!" Sure

  enough, an entire pack of

  the things was rushing down toward them. Gabriel shoved the battered

  remnants of the

  robotic cat away, and the doorsshut tight. There was a crash against the

  other side, swiftly

  followed by the sound of metal scraping through metal. A cacophony of

  roars reminiscent of

  every beast imaginable came muffled through the doors.

  "What now?" asked the Lisk. 23

  Gabriel looked across the armory at the reaper suits, the pistols, the D-8s,

  even a set of

  specialized stimpack delivery systems.

  "What now? We'l do what we must."

  Kejora glanced over the figures the techs were relaying. Four trainees dead

  within the first

  minute. Twelve dead by the end of the first ten. There had been worse

  starts.

  The spiked food had done its work. He had suspected Gabriel Feltz would

  be an early casualty,

  and was surprised to see the other survivors so readily accepting him as a

  leader. The data from

  this exam would be interesting.