A Prison in the Sky

By Logan Judy

Liam dreams of returning to Earth, the planet his fellow humans left long ago. But the obstacles in front of him are extreme. The trip is long, dangerous, and requires a ship and a crew. Those cost money, and Liam has none of it. Bereft of resources, and facing a dwindling lifespan on a hostile planet, Liam seeks out his only remaining option: reward money for a radical terrorist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Logan Judy
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201870614

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COPYRIGHT © 2020 BY Logan Judy

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

www.loganjudy.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Editing by Tony Held, www.heldediting.com

Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design, www.derangeddoctordesign.com/

Book Layout © 2020 BookDesignTemplates.com

A Prison in the Sky / Logan Judy.—1st ed.

For a free e-book, exclusive deals, behind-the-scenes, and publication updates, go to loganjudy.com/newsletter.

Dedicated to Shiloh Judy.  Though your eyes never saw this world, I long to see them in the next one.

CONTENTS

TERROR

STRUGGLE

OPPORTUNITY

THREAT

INITIATIVE

SIMMER

VENGEANCE

FLIGHT

RISK

EXPOSED

VULNERABLE

IMMINENT

CONTINGENCY

PRECARIOUS

TRUST

CAGED

MASKS

DUPLICITOUS

INEVITABLE

EFFICIENCY

COMPULSION

DOUBT

SUBVERSION

LEGACY

GUILT

COMPLICATION

CAPTURE

AGENCY

COLONY

PERSPECTIVE

REUNION

ARMAMENT

EMPLOYMENT

LIBERATION

MISSION

STEWARDSHIP

FAITH

FURY

TERROR

The deplorables were always the problem.  Factory workers, homeless, invalid, the insane – the legacy of the homo sapiens.  They gathered on the outskirts of the cities, attracting vulgarity and bloodshed like moths to the flame.  And like vultures to the remains came the Enforcers.

When the flying cruiser landed on the gravel lot just outside of the metal sheet factory, the workers scattered, frightened by the disturbance to their hive.  The cruiser doors flipped up at a ninety-degree angle with a sharp hiss, blowing steam from beneath the craft, and two officers stepped out.  They looked at the industrial campus with distinct curls on their upper lips.  One of the four-armed Enforcers leaned against the cruiser with both pairs of arms folded, looking more like they’d stopped for a smoke break than to investigate a distress call. 

They sighted the ruddy terrorist out here? one Enforcer said.  Seems a bit low even for his type, don’t you think?

What did you expect, an intergalactic hotel?  It’s not like he has an ID to use.  You’d be surprised the kind of stuff I’ve seen out here.  Once I caught Sapiens breeding cats big as wolves as attack animals.  There’s lots they don’t teach you at the prep school.

The other scoffed.  When am I gonna earn out of the rookie status?  When I pass my tenth anniversary on the squad?

When you stop wearing that badge on your bare chest like a bloviating buffoon.

One of the workers came up to greet them.  He wiped the soot away from his eyes and clapped his hands twice, creating a miniature black dust cloud.  He extended his hand to the elder Enforcer.  Name’s Tre Rhakt, he said.  The Enforcer looked down at his hand in disgust, keeping his arms folded, but the rookie extended his hand and shook the sapien’s hand.  Tre shifted his gaze, blinking twice, and shifted his head back and forth like a glitching android.  The rookie saw a glazed look in his eyes, with all the intelligence of a lobotomized ostrich.  He had an urge to push past the sapien, or even shove him in the gravel.  This presumptuous meeting of the minds, as the sapiens undoubtedly saw it, was a waste of their time.  Time they couldn’t spare in a manhunt, and that was assuming the man’s report was accurate.  The rookie had his doubts.

He led the Enforcers toward the nearest of the towering factory buildings.  Black smoke billowed from the top, and a barely-visible gray mist covered them as they walked.

Where is he? the rookie asked.

No idea.  He bailed as soon as I saw him, Tre said.  But he was here, sure as the two suns in the sky.

If you could see them from here, the elder Enforcer said.

Come in, the coal worker said. I’ll show you where I saw ‘im last.  Think he was here under a fake name, though I can’t think for the life o’ me what he was doing here.

That’s our job, the elder Enforcer said.  Especially the thinking part.  You coming, rookie?

Go ahead, Ark.  I’ll stay back and scour the grounds.

Suit yourself.

The rookie walked back to the cruiser, gravel crunching underneath his feet like cereal.  He pulled out a jay from his pocket and lit up the white package with a wristband lighter, closed his eyes and inhaled, then exhaled through his nostrils.  His shoulders relaxed and he leaned his whole weight against the cruiser.  A few dozen yards away, the factory door opened and slammed shut. 

Then he was on his back, one hundred feet from the building, pain searing through his back, cuts in his arms, his face, his legs.  His hearing was nothing but a deafening ring, his vision a grayscale blur.  He coughed, the ground now a glistening red, and forced himself to his knees, despite the sensation of a hundred knives stabbing through them.  He sat up and turned around, then his already gasping breath caught in his throat.  In the place of the factory was a smoking crater.  And his partner was nowhere to be seen. 

He stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping twice, and limped forward to get closer to the scene of the blast.  Some voice in the back of his head told him to wait, that there could be other bombs waiting to go off, but ignored it, instead limped closer to the blast with increasing urgency.  His head darted frantically from side to side, looking for any sign of a body beneath the rubble—a hand, a head, a foot, a pile of bricks that was lopsided, anything that hinted at a body.  He hoped beyond hope he would find that body still breathing. 

A couple dozen yards away, he spotted his partner’s body, his blue skin coated in a layer of gray dust.  He tried to run to him, then his legs collapsed underneath him.  He stood, stumbled again, then stood a third time, limping on his right leg as fast as he could, his knee half-buckling with each unsteady step.  When he reached Ark, his legs collapsed again, and he fell on top of his partner, then moved his trembling fingers underneath Ark’s jaw.  Just as he’d been taught, he formed two elongated fingers, still trembling, and pressed them firmly into the space where there should be a pulse.  There was nothing.  With his eyes full of tears, he flipped his partner over onto his back and placed both of his own hands on the Enforcer’s chest.  He pressed, counting off the rhythm in his head, gasping from pain with each compression.  Still nothing.  He pressed and pressed until there was no strength in him to press anymore and collapsed once again, next to Ark’s body in a fit of alternate sobs and gasping breaths.  Then he reached for his earpiece.

Triad has delivered another terror strike.  I repeat.  The terrorist Triad has attacked again.  Sending coordinates now, requesting immediate medical assistance.

STRUGGLE

Liam Henderson squinted into the wind, looking up at Grahl’s rust-colored sky, resisting the magnetic pull to look down.  He stood on the edge of a building that towered above the ashen clouds, sounds of the city bouncing back and forth in his ears—the buzzing of flying cars, the hum of power plants, the government notices blaring from loudspeakers in the city square.  His breath was shaky as he tightened the leather straps to secure the metal harness around his chest.  He could feel the cold metal digging into his back through the fabric of his shirt.  The muscles twitched as he shifted the equipment, bracing himself for the discomfort of the flight.  He shook his head as though to physically cast off the thought, pulled the flight goggles down over his eyes and knelt into a starting crouch.  For that moment, waiting for the sound of a blaster, all other sensations ceased and he closed his eyes, listening for the sound of his own breathing. 

Next to him, a short and stubby Grahlik braced himself with his four muscular arms on the half-wall of the building’s roof.  He looked straight ahead, never blinking as Liam fidgeted, shifting his feet into a half-dozen different stances.  A crowd had gathered behind them to watch the launch, and mobile stands, bleacher seats powered by jet engines underneath, now rose to greet them.  The illegality of the match was little hindrance—there were perhaps three hundred attendees that Liam could see now, not including those waiting at the finish line.  The announcer beamed as he lifting the microphone to his lips, a gesture with an air of sensuality.  The Grahlik man, who had adorned himself with the moniker Game Master, stood on top of a stage on the building’s roof, flourishing a bright red cape with an exaggerated bow.

Gather round, gather round, he said with the cadence of a circus master, for today’s sensational test of will and courage!  At a total of seven wins and zero losses, bearing the insignia of none other than the great Karn himself, we have on my right, our very own Thrall!  The crowd roared enthusiastically.  Spectators clanged metal rods against sheets of copper tied to their forearms with nylon rope.  Once the noise died down, the Game Master then turned his eyes to Liam, his upper lip twitching.  And the challenger, at three wins and three losses, hailing from the lower city district of Sien, it is the ‘Sapien Sensation,’ Liam Henderson!

There was little applause for Liam.  What little there was had not yet finished when the Game Master held his blaster aloft for the final countdown.  He began his countdown from ten and Liam gripped the front half-wall with his own hands, his grip so tight that his knuckles turned white.  He felt the muscles in his back twist in on themselves in involuntary anticipation.  Thrall’s leathery, navy skin showed no signs of discomfort. 

The blaster fired.  Liam launched himself off of the ledge and kicked his boots together as the wind rushed into his face.  The thrusters on the underside of his boots ignited, and he shot upward, then spread his wings to fall in right behind Thrall.  He felt the heat of his opponent’s exhaust like the licking tongues of a campfire, and the smoke scratched his throat, threatening a coughing fit.  He angled upward, but Thrall went with him, doing the same as he tried to edge left and right.  While focusing on keeping his body straight, he turned his head to the side, trying to avoid the smoke and heat.  With his head turned aside, he saw something that made his heart sink—green and yellow lights flashing through the ashen clouds.

Risking a technical infraction, Liam flew downward fifty meters early, surprising Thrall, who was the only racer in sight of the cruiser when it emerged above the clouds.  The Grahlik racer reacted quickly, also dipping beneath the clouds, but staying on the race route.  Liam flew below him, dodging flying cars and the spires of commercial buildings, blinking heavily as he pierced through columns of smoke emerging from industrial plants.  One blinded him to a car rising its altitude to his level.  The car clipped his foot, and he screamed in pain, swerving wildly and requiring a full ten seconds to get back on course.  He clicked his boots together again, risking greater burns to his feet, but regaining the air he had lost in the collision. 

He looked up and saw Thrall flying above and in front of him, but with no cruiser behind him.  He soared back up to the flight path, still behind Thrall, and saw the finish line in front of them, surrounded by flashing yellow lights on the skyscraper rooftop.  Still ahead was another drop parallel with the city’s municipal building.  The building was held up by pillars that stretched the equivalent of two floors, patrons entering on the third.  The official track guide required racers to fly around the building. But Liam had another idea.

Thrall curved smoothly into a downward arc as he met the municipal building, a full four seconds ahead of his opponent.  Liam, his heart skipping a beat, grabbed the handles on his wings and yanked forward.  The sliding mechanism activated, and the wings contracted, sealed inside a metal cylinder on his back.  Liam pinned his arms against his sides and held his legs together, then clicked his boots three times.  The thrusters in his boots, and at the bottom of the metal cylinder that held his wings, activated and he flew at the ground like a human-sized bullet, soaring past Thrall.  Then, near the bottom, he released his arms and yanked the handles again, releasing the wings as he pulled into a horizontal streak underneath the building, then arced up to the finish line, a quarter mile ahead of the stunned Thrall.

Liam kicked his feet out as he came to the rooftop, slowing his speed.  He clicked his boots four times and the thrust ended.  He did a front flip into a kneel, landing on the rooftop with a satisfying metal clang, just as his wings contracted again.  His smile faded as he looked at the digital monitor to see that the clock time was still running.  Thrall landed too, and when he did, the clock stopped. 

Meet your victor, Thrall of Grahl!

The crowd erupted into cheers.  Liam walked up to the announcer, the Game Master’s assistant, and said, I came through first!  Didn’t you see me?

I did, he said.  But you did so contrary to the rules.  Even if you hadn’t broken from the trail, as I could see from our camera footage here, you tampered with your equipment.  That’s two infractions, and as such, you were disqualified before ever reaching the finish line.

There are no rules on equipment!  I checked when I signed up for this race!

There were, said the assistant, for you.  Not another word on this or you will be banned.  Good day, Sapien Sensation.

Rage welled up inside Liam in a tangible heat, flushing his face, and sending prickling sensations all over his skin.  His fists clenched, his jaw clenched, and he inhaled sharply, a slew of curse words forming just behind the barrier of his lips.  Then he nodded, shrugged off his gear, placed it in a carrying case he’d placed at the finish line earlier that day, and he walked away.

JHARIK, THE CAPITAL city of Grahl, built its residential districts according to altitude rather than latitude.  Apartment buildings towered for hundreds of stories, and rafters connected a series of levels with marketplaces, entertainment venues, and other aspects of city living.  Lower blocks of the residential quarters were typically aligned with lower class in an unofficial but clearly delineated apartheid.  Liam’s apartment was on the ground floor.

It was a long walk from the race’s finish line, but he walked it anyway, eager to avoid the askew glances of Grahlik passengers on public transit.  He frequently used his gear to fly home, but the burns on his back and legs from the combustion were painful already, and he hoped to avoid further aggravating them.  And so he walked, stepping over clogged water drains and trying his best to ignore the smell of the sewage pipes that ran just underneath the thin sidewalk. 

After an hour of walking, he arrived at his white door, which had a fresh pair of epithets carved into it.  He unlocked the door and walked inside.  The apartment comprised two rooms, a bedroom and a bathroom.  The bedroom had a small brown cot in the corner surrounded by a pile of books, with a kitchen sink and single cupboard next to the room’s only window to the left of the front door.  His bathroom, which only contained a rusty toilet and shower, had barely enough room for him to enter and use.  There was no bathroom vanity—he used the bedroom sink to brush his teeth.  Were he to gain ten pounds, he might be forced to walk down the street in search of a public bathhouse. 

Once inside, he placed his bag on the floor and opened his cupboard to pull out salve for the burns and a pain medicine injection that he administered himself.  Then he crawled into his cot and pulled out the book he’d been reading that morning—Inferno by Dante Aligheri.  As he picked up the book, a photograph fell out and landed on the floor next to his cot.  He picked it up and started to put it back, but resisted the urge, taking the time to look into his father’s youthful face, holding a six-year-old Liam on his shoulders, both with beaming smiles.

I wish I could remember you like this, Dad, he said in a soft voice.  And I wish you could tell me what I’m supposed to do.

He flipped the photograph over, looking at the dates, knowing he’d regret it.  His dad was twenty-four at the time of the photograph, just a year older than Liam was now.  Ten years after the photograph, his father had died from smoke inhalation.  It was always a threat to humans on Grahl–the air was full of filth, and the natives had a second pair of lungs, plus a second liver that filtered the air before inhalation by the second lungs.  Liam’s father, Davey Henderson, had hastened the degradation by taking a job at one of the coal plants to help take care of Liam after his wife died.  Death at thirty-four was tragic, but only slightly—most humans didn’t make it past fifty on Grahl.

Liam already felt as though time was running out for him.  And as he picked up the white envelope underneath his cot and thumbed through the bills, he noted that it was becoming increasingly difficult to break even.  His chances of obtaining passage off Grahl and heading for the reportedly vacant planet Earth seemed increasingly unlikely.  And yet, as he gave up on reading and slid beneath his single sheet, he still thought, I have got to get off this planet.

OPPORTUNITY

Liam rose early the next morning, sticking the envelope in his pocket and walking with his carrying case to the elevator around the corner from his apartment. He took it up to the third block of the residential district, then walked on the platform for a few miles until he reached the production sector.  Once there, he took a few more turns until he reached the transportation repair shop named Arikh al Griben, in the energy and transportation subdivision. 

The shop’s name translated imperfectly into English as The Leashed Dog.  Grahlik dogs were monstrous things compared to those of Earth, over five feet tall on all six feet, with two mouths vertically stacked and a pair of ram’s horns emerging from their scalps.  If the dog walked, as the Grahlik saying went, other animals died.  Malfunctioning cars or ships were referred to as walking dogs due to the danger of hurting others.

Liam let himself in with the keycard that was kept under the mat, and slipped through the office into the garage itself.  Teinken didn’t even look up as he entered, but muttered, You are early this morning. His speech was slow, methodical.

Bad day yesterday.  Didn’t want to run into more trouble.

Teinken lifted his gaze.  Was it a bad race?  Did my wing capsule not work?

It worked.  But they refused to pay me.  Apparently, there are secret equipment rules for humans who want to race. And I went off track.

You went off track? Why?

Somebody tipped off the Enforcers.  They were waiting for us at the first drop.

Teinken shook his head.  Liam, you must stop losing your courage at their every appearance.  You are giving them an excuse to take advantage of you.

"I’m a human, Teinken.  You know