Completed: 2/23/2009

Word Count: 1760

Mal groaned as he struggled to sit up further, his bruised ribs protesting the movement. It had been just over four days since the medic, Andy, had brought him to the infirmary and patched him up. His ribs were still very tender, but the pain from his burns had pretty much gone away. Even his back felt much better.

Absently, Mal rubbed at the back of his hand. Since he was feeling better, able to sit up, if uncomfortably, was no longer dehydrated and the infection was gone, Andy had removed the IV's. He fretted about how Zoë was doing more so than about his own health. Andy had assured him that she was fine, but he wouldn't really believe it until he saw her. It had been several hours since he'd seen the other man and Mal hoped he hadn't gotten caught helping Zoë. He'd heard that the guards had been ordered to keep his friend on bread and water. Anyone caught trying to give her anything else was to be severely punished. This angered Mal, he knew Reggie was only doing it as another way to punish him.

During the time he'd been in the infirmary, he kept waiting for Reggie to come in and gloat over not releasing him. Kept waiting for the sanctimonious bastard to come in and start spouting more crap about the gloriousness of the Alliance and other such crap. Every time the bastard or one of his lackeys entered the room, Mal tensed and waiting to be dragged back to the "interrogation" room. Each time Reggie left the infirmary, he found himself breathing a small sigh of relief. Sometimes he wondered if Reggie did it just to get Mal going. He wondered if it was just another way of messing with his mind and trying to wear down his defenses. He certainly wouldn't put it past the bastard.

One of the nurses came over readjusted Mal's pillows. While not being as openly friendly as Andy, she wasn't hostile towards him either. She gave him a small smile as she checked his pulse and heart rate. That done she turned and left, returning a minute later with a glass of water and a small cup with a pill.

"Take that," she said. "Make sure you drink the whole glass of water." It was the same thing she said every time she brought him his pain medication.

When she didn't immediately turn and leave, Mal knew she meant for him to do it right then and there. Picking up the glass and pill cup, he popped the pill into his mouth and downed the water in one long swallow.

There was an odd look in her eyes as she gave him a small, sad smile then turned and left without another word. He wondered what could be wrong. She usually at least made pleasant small talk with him when she made her rounds. Today, however, she seemed tense and distant.

A commotion in the hall caught his attention and pulled him from his thoughts. He heard angry voices. A few seconds later, he could make out what was being said and knew who was involved in the argument. It was no surprise to him when an angry Andy came storming into the infirmary, a red-face Reggie right behind him.

"I don't give a good gorram what you want, Major, he is not ready to be moved yet!"

"And I don't care what you say, Sergeant," Reggie began, emphasizing the other man's rank over his field, "I have my orders and you now have yours. I want him ready to go in thirty minutes."

"Your orders, sir," Andy said, the word "sir" coming out more as a vile epithet than respectful, "were to release all of the prisoners. That includes the sergeant." Andy had turned and was standing barely three inches from his commanding officers face. Mal knew the man was treading on thin ice and was sure he knew it as well.

"Stand down, Sergeant! Do as you were ordered or I guarantee you you will be joining your new friend in chains and I will make good on my promise!"

For a split second, Mal was sure Andy was going to argue back. Instead, he seemed to deflate. The anger remained, but the fight left him. He stood erect and snapped off a sharp salute as he spat, "Yes, sir."

Still angry, but obviously satisfied the medic would obey his orders, Reggie returned the salute then turned and left the infirmary.

Mal watched him leave then turned towards Andy. "What was that fuss about?"

Andy ignored him and Mal was sure the medic was making a conscious effort not to look at him as he snatched the chart from the end of his bed. He muttered unintelligibly as he read it. Hanging it back on its hook, the medic turned and began opening and slamming doors. Mal wondered if he was actually searching for something, or just trying to work off some of his obvious frustration.

Trying again to get an answer, Mal repeated his question. The slamming stopped and Andy sighed heavily. After a minute, he finally answered. Mal noted how the medic refused to look at him as he did so.

"The Major has received orders to his new duty station. It's a mining colony called Tartarus, controlled by the Alliance Army and manned by some of the Alliance's most dangerous and reviled prisoners. I've also been ordered there to replace the existing medic. The Major has ordered me to prepare you to be moved. He's taking you and your friend with him. I don't know if the Alliance brass is aware of that fact and I doubt they'll really care even if anyone does tells them." The medic snorted then added, "Which I seriously doubt they will."

Mal cringed. He'd heard of the prison-mining colony the medic was speaking about. Only the worst of what the Alliance considered "war criminals" and the most dangerous prisoners from Alliance prisons on various worlds were sent there. Conditions at the colony were horrific. The planet was nearly unlivable. The attempts to terra-form the planet had failed leaving the much of the planet's surface a scorching hot desert. It had very little natural water. The only good thing that had come of it was the creation of a mineral the Alliance found made an excellent fuel source, especially for the Alliance military ships and vehicles. Mining the mineral was extremely difficult and hazardous, which was why only convicts and even then only the worst of them, where used to mine it. More than three-quarters of the prisoners died in their first four months. None lasted more than a year. Just the thought of him and Zoë being sent there scared the hell out of him. More so than anything he'd seen or done during the war.

"You have to help us," Mal pleaded, hating how much it sounded like a whine.

"I can't," came the medic's tight reply.

"Can't or won't?" Mal countered.

"I've done all I can. I can't help you anymore," the medic snapped then added, "Don't ask me again. I can't help you." There was an almost pleading look in the medic's eyes that stopped Mal from pushing the issue further. It was clear that this was tearing the other man up inside.

Changing the subject he asked, "How's Zoë?"

Andy took a deep breath, exhaled then answered, "She's fine. A little thin yet and very anxious to see you."

"Does she know?"

"I'm sure the Major has made it a point to tell her." He paused then added, "If he hasn't, it won't be long before he does."

Mal shuddered involuntarily. Just the thought of Zoë in a place like that made him angry and frightened him. As far as he knew, there were no women on the colony other than the Alliance soldiers. And they were heavily armed.

Trying not to think about what was coming, Mal watched as them medic prepared to leave.

Zoë paced around the small cell. She couldn't believe what she'd just been told. That bastard couldn't really be taking them there. She'd heard of Tartarus on several occassions. It was a hell hold of a world, a place of suffering and torture. No one was ever released from there, no one ever escaped. Except in a body bag. Scared as she was, she'd refused to let her fear show as the callous bastard had gleefully told her that he was taking them there. While he'd obviously been less than thrilled that he'd been ordered there, he'd taken great pleasure in rubbing it in to Zoë that she and Mal would be going along with him.

She's been pleased when the medic, Andy, had visited earlier and told her how well the sarge was healing. Now, it made her even more glad. He would need his strength to deal with what lie ahead of them. It concerned her though, that she had not been allowed to see her friend and that he had not yet been returned to the cell. What if the medic was lying to her? What if the major was torturing him again. In a weakened state such as he'd been in a few days ago, she knew the sergeant would not last long on that planet.

The speed of her pacing increased. She played out several scenarios in her head, trying to come up with a plan to rescue her friend and escape. All ended with being recaptured or killed. She wondered if dying while trying to escape there current confines wouldn't be preferable to going to that God forsaken place. Briefly, she toyed with the idea taking the easy way out. Of waiting until she and the sergeant were reunited then taking their own lives. Just as quickly as the thought came, she pushed it aside. The sarge would never even consider it and would be pissed as all hell if she even hinted at it. Besides, it just wasn't her way. When she went, it would be on her feet with a gun in her hand and defiance on her face.

Knowing she would likely not have real food again in the near future, Zoë went back to the corner where she'd hidden the food the medic had brought her just before the major had arrived. Uncovering the plate, she began to eat and tried to focus her thoughts on anything but the hell that awaited her and her friend.

TBC