"In the penal colony, we go by our numbers. We're dead to the outside world, and they're dead to us. I'm 339."

The fodder looked miserable as he tried to recall his number. "I'm ... I think I'm 552."

"All right then, 552, you have a long walk ahead of you. If you miss evening rations, you're not eating until the new shift."

He helped the new inmate turn on his shoulder-mounted light, and guarded his eyes with his hands when the fodder shined the light at his face.

552 gave a start. "You look familiar. Have we met? What's your name?"

It wasn't a surprise to 339 that the man might have seen him before. After all, his face at one point was plastered on all the vids throughout the solar system. And though only six months had passed, it felt like a lifetime ago. Several of the inmates had mentioned it before, though none had ever identified him. He would prefer to keep it that way.

339 turned around and beckoned 552 to follow. "Let's go."

The elderly man hobbled after him, leaning against one of the walls for support. "No. Your face. Your voice. I remember now."

For a moment, 339 considered acknowledging it. It was a name he had not spoken since the day he stepped foot on Nereid. Maybe it would bring a little of his former self back, a little of his old life. It would be good to remember that he had not always been just a number.

No, the past was dead. This was who he was now.

He turned to face the elderly man. "My name is 339. Get moving."

FOURTEEN.

AGGRESSION.

At dawn, the Co-op massed their forces along the northern shore of the Harlem River. Six days ago, a hound pack had caught scent of the savages passing through a section called Richmond Hill during a random patrol. They had managed to obtain visual confirmation of the temporal anomaly's savages and followed them all the way west until they lost track of them in a densely populated area called Queens. Their last sighting indicated the savages were heading directly west into the Mist Isle.

At the time, Kuo did not have the resources to invade the island. With the nature of the EMP cloud, they would be without modern surveillance or communications, and would have to operate in low visibility. The bomb that was dropped on the city during the final days of the Core Conflicts had only been used once, and its lingering effects haunted the island to this day.

The heavy concentration of savages in this area was problematic as well. She had had insufficient manpower to deal with such a large force until recently. Now that Young had given her the five hundred monitors she requested and Valta had added an equal number of troopers, the Co-op was finally ready to conquer the island and root out the anomaly. Kuo stood on the roof of a mid-rise on the edge of shore and looked across the water at the mysterious and shrouded Mist Isle. She could just make out the faint outlines of the buildings as a bubble of thick gray fog enveloped the island. Her forces would have to move carefully. Manhattan was a three-dimensional maze of dense skyscrapers connected by stairs and bridges that spanned upward for hundreds of meters.

There were far too many nooks and crannies and holes for this temporal anomaly to hide in the isle. She intended to establish a foothold at the northern end of the isle and then sweep south, taking territory, floor by floor, building by building, block by block. Couple that with the Valkyrie fleet blockading the island, it should only be a matter of time before they flushed the temporal anomaly and her tribe out of hiding.

Kuo signaled to Ewa standing next to her. "Commence the attack."

That would be the last order her invading forces would receive until evening. With the EMP fog, all her units were autonomous, having coordinated tactical plans the night before. This meant there would be little room for making battlefield adjustments, but she doubted that would be necessary. They were fighting savages, after all.

A few minutes later, an attack force of three hundred leapt across the Harlem River while her ground forces moved across a bridge once known as the Broadway. Today's objective was to capture a foothold down to Dyckman Street. Once secured, supplies would be ferried in to establish a base of operations.

The first of her forces hit the northernmost skyscraper, a building with eighty floors and nine bridges connecting to adjacent structures. By her scouts' estimations, thirty tribes could be living in this building, and there could be as many as two thousand savages to root out. Her troopers and monitors would be constantly surrounded and outnumbered, especially the deeper they penetrated into this dense urban jungle. There was little room for finesse. The Co-op would have to come down on these savages like a hammer and flush them out of their holes.

Her vanguard had no sooner landed on the other side of the harbor than they came under attack. Small-arms fire peppered them from the building. The previously-black windows lit up with yellow bursts of light followed by the sounds of projectile and energy blasts. An explosion erupted off to the side, sending a plume of smoke into the air.

White and blue fields lit the ground and air as Valta troopers engaged the enemy, her ground forces charging into the building through the lower level while those with flight capabilities entered through the windows higher up. Several new explosions signaled the Valkyries and collies joining to the fray. At the same time, several squads of monitors were dropped via collies onto the connecting bridges to secure proper choke points.

"Send second wave," Kuo ordered. "Tell the Valkyries to be careful with their incendiaries. I want all the structures intact. Detain all savage leaders for questioning at the 218th and Ninth facility."

"Yes, Senior." A field of white expanded around Ewa and she took off. Kuo followed suit, launching across the harbor and skimming the side of the building. Behind her, two other securitates followed closely. She barreled into one of the open windows and caught a group of savages while they were trying to fend off troopers coming up from the lower levels.

Three securitates-Valta's elite special ops in full combat exos-against a bunch of subhuman primitives was overkill, but Kuo never did believe in fair odds. A group of the stupid subhumans, some barefoot and dressed in dirty rags, charged her wielding sticks. Kuo stared in contempt as their primitive weapons bounced off her shield. She let a burly man through, dodged the club he swung, and cracked his knees with a well-placed kick. She let another with a sharpened stick charge in. This time, she plucked the weapon right out of his hands-the boy seemed hardly older than a teenager. She reversed the weapon and jammed it into his stomach.

The three of them continued cutting through the enemy's ranks with their thick trunks, smashing a dozen at a time, flinging them across the room, and sometimes through the walls and out of the building. Within a minute of their entry onto the floor, with the chaos they sowed, the savages broke rank and abandoned their positions to flee upstairs. Once the floor was fully secured, any remaining survivors they caught would be taken to the holding pen to await interrogation. Then her forces would repeat the carnage the next floor up, leveling any defense the inhabitants tried to erect.

By the end of the first day, all objectives had been achieved, and the Co-op had established two kilometers of inroads onto the island. The enemy's casualties numbered in the thousands, while the Co-op had lost thirteen. Not all of the savages had fled the captured territories yet. It would take several more hours before they could all be rooted out.

Reports from her hounds began to trickle in. Word of the attack had already reached the tribes to the south. Many were already in full retreat, panicked and fleeing deeper into the island. The chaos sown by just one day was already sending fear and upheaval ahead of their arrival.

Kuo stood on one of the large balconies of a recently captured building and studied the map of the island. There was so much area to cover and she had so few forces. She already predicted the Co-op would encounter containment issues. Still, she was loath to ask for more resources. She looked down at a large open space below where several of her troop pods were corralling a sizable tribe that had recently surrendered. An idea occurred to her.

She stepped off the balcony and plummeted thirty stories down to the ground below. Half of the street was drowning in water as the tide washed in. This area would be completely submerged by nightfall. She landed with a loud crash onto the cement, sending a ring of air and water outward. Dozens of savages near her pulled away, covering their faces as if fearful of meeting her gaze. She must seem like a god to these mud-dwellers.

Kuo sniffed at her surroundings and increased her atmos levels. During combat situations, she liked to keep those settings low. Atmos dulled many of the senses that were important during combat. She once saw a trainee suffer life-threatening injuries when he had his atmos on full and burned away all his levels because he did not realize he was standing in front of a plasma fire.

She walked into the building and entered a large room that spanned the length and width of the entire floor. It was filled with prisoners sitting on their knees lined up in rows. There must have been several hundred of these savages trussed up with their hands behind their backs, heads bowed and despondent. Many looked injured; others were lying prone on the floor, either dead or nearly so. Dozens of monitors patrolled their lines, making sure none of the savages acted up or tried to escape. On the far end, savages were being yanked from the lines and dragged upstairs to the interrogation rooms.

Kuo scowled. What a waste of resources. She saw Ewa directing the troopers and signaled for her to approach. "Find me the leader of this tribe and bring him to me."

Ewa nodded and relayed her orders, and soon, her troopers were barking her commands down the line for the terrified tribesmen to bring forth their leader. In short order, two of her troopers produced an older-looking savage with skin more ornately decorated than that of the others. His face was bloodied and lumpy, a mass of purple flesh dangling off his skull, and his body was gashed in a dozen places. He seemed hardly able to stay sitting up. His eyes were alert, though.

Ewa led them upstairs two flights, turning down a long narrow hallway flanked by several smaller rooms. They entered a windowed corner office with a table and chair in the center. Her troopers grabbed the man by the arms and pushed him inside. The man fell onto his knees and rolled onto his back.

"You are this tribe's leader?" Kuo began, towering over him.

He struggled to his feet and bowed. "I can tell by your presence that you are a chief. I am Principal Holic of the Northwoods tribe occupying the Heights Block. Formerly." He said the last word without a hint of sarcasm. "These are my people you have captured and now call your own."

Kuo glanced at the tentacles of swirling haze poking into the window and then back at the principal. "You will be my mouth to your Northwoods. Tell them that we will generously provide food and shelter. In return, they will become productive members of our species by earning their keep. Their keep will be to perform duties and tasks as I see necessary. If your tribe does what is required, once I have what we need, they will be free to go. What do you say, Principal?"

Holic took a step back and spat. "You intend to use me to enslave my people."

"I intend to use you to provide the wisdom your people so desperately need right now," she said. "My generous offer is immediately rescinded if there is any insubordination. Disobeying an order is death. Striking one of my people is death. Understand?"

"Fed and sheltered with our building and our food." Holic shook his head. "I will not tell my people to bend the knee. The Northwoods are of no use to you. Please leave us in peace."

The insolence and arrogance of this savage. She wrapped a trunk around his neck and picked him up until his feet dangled off the floor. Holic's tattooed face turned red under the layer of grime on his body. His arms and legs flailed, overturning the chair as he pawed at the thick translucent strand of energy choking the life out of him. She lifted him higher until his head was almost touching the ceiling, and then she dissolved the trunk. He fell, splitting the table in half as he collapsed to the floor. A groan escaped his lips as his chest heaved.

Kuo was impressed at his resiliency. Most spaceborn with their long and brittle bones would have broken something at that high of a drop at this gravity. These savages were hardy, if anything. They would have to be to survive in this abyss-plagued environment. Maybe Valta could put them to better use than extermination. Cheap, sturdy labor was difficult to come by.

Kuo pulled the chair up and sat down in front of Holic. "I believe everything and everyone has value, Principal. Humanity is at a precipice, and as much as I am loathe to admit it, you and your people are still humans. Therefore, I give you an opportunity to help save our race. Help us, be productive, and your people will live. Otherwise, you are all just waste. What do you choose, Principal Holic?"

"Even if I give the command," he said, "my tribe will not follow my words."

"Be more convincing," she said. "Do you want your Northwoods to survive? They will listen to their principal, will they not?"

The principal hesitated, and then he gave her a tilt of his head. "We cannot speak more." Holic turned and sprinted toward the window. He leaped out, a foolish suicide attempt that was immediately stopped by Ewa as she wrapped a trunk around his waist.

"No," Kuo said. "He is a stubborn animal. If he wishes to serve his people no more, honor that request."

Kuo created her own trunk and cut Ewa's off. She leaned out the window and watched as the principal of the Northwoods plummeted to his death. She turned and walked out of the room. "Find the second in command of that tribe and tell him he's their new principal. Relay my orders for him to give to his tribe. If he refuses, send him the way of his predecessor and then find the third. Also, question these Northwoods about the temporal anomaly. It seems news travels fast on the Mist Isle. Someone is bound to have information about her or her tribe's whereabouts."

"How do we do that?" Ewa asked.

Kuo shrugged. "They're savages. Beat it out of them."

Ewa leaned in. "Senior, most of these savages have nothing to do with the temporal anomaly or those we hunt. Perhaps we could find an alternative way of retrieving the information we need, possibly some incentives: food, or offers for resettlement."

Kuo stared Ewa down. "You think I'm being cruel."

Ewa hesitated. "I'm just seeking options, Senior. Surely we can budget or at least request allocation from the corporation..."

Kuo stared Ewa down. "Valta is fighting a multifront war against half a dozen corporations. At stake is not only market share and profits, but humanity's survival. Every day, we are all forced to make difficult decisions with dwindling resources. Do you really want to justify a large expense on a horde of nonproductive savages when those resources could be better used on the front line?"

Her second-in-command looked away. "Of course not. I just..."

Kuo shook her head. "You think I'm being cruel but the solar system is slowly starving, Ewa. I'm simply a realist. We need strong people to make the hard and difficult decisions. We are the only thing that stands between humanity and extinction. I have to be cruel because the alternative is worse. Now, do you have a problem with my order, Securitate?"

Ewa bowed. "No, Senior. It will be as you ordered."

FIFTEEN.

NEREID.

The heart of Penal Colony 3 on Nereid was the commune. It was where all the inmates gathered to socialize, where they had their meals, where the wardens provided instructions, and where most of the murders happened. Contrary to its name, there was never anything communal about it. The commune was probably the most dangerous place in the colony.

Considering how little oversight the prison had, 339 was surprised by how few murders actually occured. Part of it was because the inmates generally governed themselves, having naturally formed a social hierarchy for mutual protection and order. The other part was due to the Amazon Corporation's controversial use of poison as a form of punishment.

Punishments at the penal colony consisted of differing levels of poison. A minor infraction resulted in a mild poison that left the inmate weak and debilitated for a few days. Usually, if an inmate had friends and a gang to watch his back, he would come out of the punishment with just a few days of stomach pains and bad cramps. Without support, the inmate would suffer a few days of beatings in his weakened state. More severe crimes were punished with deadlier poisons, sometimes resulting in blindness or loss of limbs.

339 found it interesting that violence and murder weren't heavily penalized, the wardens caring little for human life. What usually led to minor punishments was failure to mine ore, process gas, or perform other work. Mid-level penalties were given for inconveniencing the guards. The most severe penalties were for insurrection, which led to the inmates' organs being harvested for sale on the organ market.

That evening, during their last few hours of freedom before all the lights shut off and the gates locked down, 339 and the rest of the inmates loyal to him gathered around the northwestern corner of the commune. It was a daily routine for all the inmates to come together for their only meal. There were slightly over four thousand inmates in Colony 3, and all of them were now crammed into a small space designed for no more than three thousand.

The inmates were divided by their loyalties and alliances, each gang falling into its natural hierarchal location with allied gangs sitting close to one another. Strength in numbers, especially when it came to mealtime. Hunger befell the new inmate who did not pledge his loyalty or make friends quickly.

The four corners of the commune were the most desirable, as they afforded any gang the most defensible positions. Currently, 339's People and 881's Apexes, the two largest gangs, were positioned in opposite corners.

The People's rise as one of the dominant gangs was unprecedented. By far the newest power in the ongoing gang wars, the People was only a few months old, and filled with the groupless, weak, and bullied. It was a merger of every single unwanted inmate previously deemed unworthy of a gang. Fortunately, there were many of them.

339 had gathered them all together shortly after his arrival. Within a few weeks, they had coalesced into a cohesive unit with enough numbers and discipline to protect themselves. Within two months, they were able to stake a corner. Now, all other gangs were allied with either the People or the Apexes.

339 watched as those near him ate their dinner, a combination of watery gruel and grainy seeds. 506, the unconscious prisoner he had found the other day, had indeed pulled through. True to his word, 339 had awarded the workers who had brought the man in a quarter ration out of his own meals. He would go hungry tonight, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. If he had to guess, in his six months here on Nereid, he had not eaten every one in five days.

He looked across the room at the Apexes. They were bigger men, better fighters, more savage, and their boss, 881, was a skilled and charismatic leader in his own right. However, the People had more numbers and allies, and new inmates flocked to them daily. 881 was aware that he was losing ground as the scales slowly tipped in the People's favor. 339 feared that war would break soon, one that he knew the People would lose.

As if by some mental connection, 881 glanced his way and their eyes locked. 339 saw the skin around his eyes wrinkle and clench. He felt the man's hatred, suffocating in its weight. His heart twisted in his chest, and he momentarily felt a deep sense of loss. He looked away. It shamed him, for no matter what he did, he would have to break a pledge to keep another.

The lights on the ceiling dimmed twice and the inmates began to disperse. Lockdown came fifteen minutes later. The guards in Colony 3 did not bother making sure inmates were in their cells. Once lockdown occurred, everyone was trapped in whatever room they were in. All heat and oxygen generators in the common areas were shut off. Those caught outside of living quarters would be forced to endure a night of freezing cold or thin air, or both.

The gangs broke up into smaller packs as everyone made their way to their individual blocks and cells. Since the guards didn't bother to check who stayed where, inmates were allowed to switch rooms. Most of the People had taken to Block San, though they would need to expand to Block Si soon.

339 did a quick head count as his people filed through the tight corridors, keeping an eye on members of the more unfriendly gangs that passed too close. Scuffles could break out from the slightest nudges, and the walk back to the cells was treacherous, often leading to shanks in the back. Sometimes, careless inmates would suddenly find themselves alone and cut off from allies. 339 had already survived three such attempts.

An Apex approached. Both 630 and 461, standing guard nearby, intercepted him. The unfriendly raised his hands and sleeves, and did a slow spin as they searched him for hidden weapons. 630 nodded to 339, and he nodded back.

"You owe us for three, Peeps," the Apex whispered. "881 wants you to know we're going to carve it out of your flock. You can't be everywhere, query?"

339 ignored the threat. "You just tell 881 to remember that the fodders are now under my protection. Every single soul that comes through Hell's Gate. Understand?"

The Apex leaned in. "881 knows you won't fight him. He knows if he starts, he'll finish. Says you're a little bitch. We all know, coward."

630 lunged for the Apex, but 339 held up a hand. "If you're finished, dog, go back to your master."

It wasn't news; everyone in Colony 3 knew it, though only 339 and 881 knew why. The three times the two had come face-to-face during full-scale brawls, he had refused to engage the other boss. Emboldened, 881 had simply become more aggressive, crueler. In every one of those fights, the People had lost ground and had to retreat. One day, 339 would not be given the option to retreat, and he would probably die for it.

He watched as the Apex wandered back to his side of the room, then he turned to 461. "Call all the captains to my cell. We need to meet."

Thirteen minutes later, eleven other men huddled inside 339's four-bunk room, sitting elbow-to-elbow on the beds and taking up every inch on the sides as he stood in the center.

"The Apexes are baiting us now. War will soon follow," he said, pacing up and down the narrow aisle. I want riot training for every member once every three nights. We're not going to win one-on-ones, but we'll win in gang fights. 630, organize a rotation of standing heavies ready to move during the day."

630 scribbled on a piece of cloth with charcoal. "Arm them from the stockpiles?"

339 shook his head. "Not yet. We want the guards on our side."

"Our boys will be at a disadvantage," 461 said.

"The guards have mostly been neutral so far," 339 said. "We don't arm up until they pick a side."

"Still sounds risky, boss." 630 frowned.

339 tapped his finger on his chin as he paced. Men would die from this decision. Still, he wanted to win wars, not battles. "We go with numbers for now. I want minimum six gang chains fifty meters apart during digs in the dungeon. Closest gang to the commune allocates one man to alert the rest of the People. No fodders go unattended from now on. Get three for one at all times."

Two hours into their planning, a loud crack of metal clanged through the otherwise silent block. 339 put a hand to his lips and stilled his men. There were too many to hide, so why bother? It was unusual for the guards to come at this hour. Either something was wrong or someone was getting punished. No good news ever came in the dead of night.

The gang sat quietly as another banging on the gate echoed across the expanse of the outer hallway. The sound of approaching footsteps added to the chorus. 339 closed his eyes and listened, though something inside him already knew that whoever it was, was coming straight to this cell.

A moment later, a shadowy figure in a guard uniform appeared outside his gate. His shoulder-mounted light turned on and he scanned the dozen souls inside the cell. 339 recognized the guard, one of the more dangerous ones who usually allied with the Apexes. A small wave of worry washed over him.