The chilly edge of the seat dug into Jean Lemoux’s back as gravity took hold of the prisoner transport once more. Their descent from the orbital watchtower was short, but it was always the worst part of traveling to and from the planets that served as their prison after the attack. If the politicians of days-gone-by had taken the potential threat to Earth seriously, they could’ve prepared. Instead, they were more concerned with gaining votes than gaining safety.

  But none of that mattered anymore. Those politicians were far away, and the humans taken from Earth on that fateful day only survived because of the supposed charity of their captors. Their leaders claimed benevolence and desire to free mankind of the Light that plagued the universe. Their actions said something completely different.

  A pocket of turbulence caused the shuttle to drop suddenly and resulted in mumbled curses from along either wall of the transport. Across the aisle, Jean watched in amused disinterest while illness violently overcame another prisoner. There was no way to help the man—shackles on his hands and feet prevented nearly all movement—but even if he could, he wouldn’t risk being seen as weak by his fellow inmates.

  At least the poor bastard could move his hands and cover his own mouth with the sick tube. The guards didn’t trust Jean nearly enough to allow him to scratch his own nose. They’d made that mistake once during the initial quarantine in the Stygiboran system, and paid for it with the lives of two guards before being able to restrain him. But that’s what happens when you take Sensation away from an addict, confine him to a containment unit swarming with alien overseers, and inform him he would pay for the crime of being born to the Light.

  Whatever that meant.

  The Scaladorian courts had decided his fate and had sent him into the mines. They pretended like his actions on Earth were the cause of his imprisonment, but why would an invading army care about crimes committed under the old government? Jean Lemoux was certainly guilty of eco-terrorism, but considering what the enemy army did to the planet, it was a moot point.

  Jean tried to drum his fingers against the inside of the specially designed restraints encasing his hands and chuckled to himself as he remembered how thoroughly they’d bound his hands.

  “What’s so funny, 87?” the Scaladorian guard demanded, stomping down the aisle to stand directly in front of Jean.

  The guard—like all the handlers the captured humans dealt with—was a black-shelled insect-like creature that reminded Jean of a beetle. His face was stiff, unable to show emotion because of the interlocking plates that covered his body.

  “Smoke and mirrors… smoke and mirrors,” Jean smirked, leaning his head back against his collar.

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  “What’s that supposed to mean?” his fingers tightened on the handle of the electric baton on his belt.

  “Your entire society is based on a lie. You don’t think the people of Earth understand that we are nothing but cattle to your Stygibora masters? I will be truly surprised if your government ever plans to treat the people of Earth fairly. You want us for cheap labor, yet openly despise our very existence.” He emphasized his rebuke by spitting on the guard's feet. It wasn’t much, but considering the state of his extremities, it was the most he could do.

  In a flash of movement, the baton was out and falling toward Jean’s shoulder at full force. The twisted rage in the guard's eyes confirmed Jean’s understanding of the social sentiment toward humans. They saw humanity as weak and impetuous and refused to see Earth’s apex predator as anything but cheap slaves.

  While there was nothing he could do to prevent the attack, the knowledge that he’d gotten under the guard’s shell with nothing but perceived truth gave him the strength to hold his glare while enduring the beating.

  As if he’d planned it, the shuttle hit another pocket of turbulence that knocked the guard off his feet and induced a round of laughter from every prisoner on the aisle. Embarrassed but unwilling to risk another fall, the Scaladorian guard clambered to his feet and returned to the cockpit.

  Jean’s shoulder throbbed with pain, but if he showed weakness in front of the other criminals, there was a high likelihood of waking up in his bunk, covered in blood, and waiting for his heart to give its last beat. To survive in this den of thieves, madmen and the unlucky, he would need to be sure they saw his strength for what it was.

  A distraction.

  The shuttle shook harder as they broke into the low atmosphere. Beside him, Jean’s partner glared at the other prisoner as the sounds of his illness echoed through the cabin. Her hands were also bound, but not encased in the same metallic restraints. Monique met his eyes and scratched her nose in a blatant attempt to mock him.

  Jean closed his eyes and smirked. He’d worked with Monique for a very long time and appreciated her barb for what it was. It wouldn’t be long now. The shuttle would stop shaking and the guards would lead them to their new home. At least here they weren’t lying about what the humans were; they were free labor that didn’t require being paid. Even if the greater United Human Republic found them, the chances of being rescued were slim. In the grand scheme of things, the humans brought here were comparatively few.

  Why risk an army for a few civilians that were already dead?

  Eventually, the shuttle stopped rattling and the familiar sensation of being taxied to the gate told the prisoners they were finally back on solid ground. For the less observant, they found this out when a guard stomped his way down the aisle, unlocking their bonds one at a time.

  Finally, having enough freedom of movement to do more than glance around. Jean looked out of the window at the dusky landscape. According to the orbital station, it was just after noon on a perfectly cloudless day. Instead, he found a world trapped in near constant darkness, the only light provided by thermal reactions of the gas giant in the near distance.

  “Welcome home,” the guard who struck Jean said. “You’ll never leave this place, despite what you think. Nobody escapes the jaws of Narax. Even if you had the right tools, you’ll never bribe one of the Black Guard to ignore their post.”