Escape From Redeem, Rise of an Emperor

Redeem: Class A Prison World

Caleb sat upon his bunk and thought back to better times at the Academy. He closed his eyes, and was once again before his father on top of the Academies roof terrace sparing floor. His photographic memory let him remember every detail of that perfect summer evening. The sun had just started to set, casting them both with an orange glow that made them look angelic, in its brilliance.

Caleb had almost beaten his father in the dance of swords. But just when he had thought he had him, Dorn would always manage to evade and counter to yet another victory. Although he would have to admit, were becoming harder and harder to achieve. They had been practicing with swords all afternoon, and both had enjoyed the contest as they had cut, thrust and parried. There were few warriors who could give Dorn a run for his money and Caleb had counted himself as one of them.

‘You nearly had me a couple of times today my son. You are improving. Don’t tell Master Thion though. To him flattery is the route to a student’s weakness.’

They had both laughed at that. Master Thion’s idea of a compliment was to tell the student, that they were slightly more than sufficient and Dorn aside was possibly the greatest of men with any kind of sword. ‘I will get you one day, you are not getting any younger, and I swear I could hear you short of breath in the last bout.’

He had smiled at that, and appraised Caleb with a look, not of an instructor but a proud father.

‘I have told you many times that you are special have I not young Lord.’ Dorn had reached over and jabbed him affectionately on the shoulder.’ He knew that he was gen hanced, like most aspirants at the Academy were. But even among Earths best genetically selected recruits, he had always been exceptional. It was hard for him not to notice his growing abilities.

‘You have Father, many times. I hope to become as mighty and reputable as you one day.’

A cool breeze blew over them both, cooling the heat they had worked up on the duelling matt. The smile had dropped away from Dorn’s face, to be replaced by a look of discomfort. An expression that was alien to him. He stood and bowed to Caleb.

‘Walk with me.’ They had made their way to the balconies edge and enjoyed the mountainous views that surrounded the Academy. In a panorama that had been truly beautiful to behold, after a tough afternoons sword play. Dorn wanted to tell his son, how Edward Black had personally seen to his genetic enhancements. He had not gone into too much detail over his creation in the past, because they wanted to make sure that the Presidents successor was worthy of the task.

‘How are you getting on with your other studies?’ Dorn had asked in fluent Japanese.

‘I enjoy my lessons father.’

He had replied in flawless German. Caleb could converse fluently in many different languages and also excelled in Mathematics, science, the arts and Political studies.

‘I take it you understand why you were made this way my son?’

The selection process for high offices was started before the person was even born. Parents who displayed good genetics for their field were chosen, and if they wished, their children would be genetically enhanced at the embryo stage. Not all agreed to this but most did, as the gift would guarantee their child received the best opportunities available to them.

Most children went in the direction that was set for them, but some had major character flaws that would inevitably prevent them from achieving the potential they had been destined for.

It had been an honour when the President had made the offer to Dorn. Since then Caleb had reached his potential and more. Others had marvelled at his abilities, especially in combat. Year after year he surprised his own creators. Truth be told, no one knew the limits of Caleb’s capabilities.

‘I know I am enhanced and I thank you for that father, I could not stand being as dim witted as Tristan. One day I will take your job as Captain, and Tristan, if he’s lucky will be my Lieutenant, I will need a man at my side with a sense of humour.’

Tristan was one at the Academy that had been selected without any Gen enhancement. To be selected on merit alone was rare. Dorn could include himself as another one of those, naturally exceptional individuals.

Later, like Dorn, Tristan would be given enhancements, to supplement his existing talents. The Presidents Science Guild was doing amazing things, especially with genetics. Some people said the President was long lived, because God had chosen Earth a leader that would stay until a Utopia was created. Dorn had known the truth of the matter and genetic manipulation on a cellular level was at play, when it came to many of Edward Blacks unnatural gifts.

‘You would make an excellent Captain Caleb, but have you not ever wished for more; to lead for example?’

Caleb had always wished to be like his heroic farther since he could first wield a toy sword.

‘I have considered a career in the army, because of the opportunity to travel the stars and path the way to new colonies. But Guardsmen normally get a few years detachment with the army anyway, so naturally I would choose to stay with my brother Guardsmen. That Golden armour of yours would do me no harm with the ladies as well.’

Dorn chuckled. He certainly would make an impression with women. His son was handsome with chiselled features and a charisma that was so irresistible it was hard not to be swept away by the remarkable young man. He was glad that no females were permitted at the Academy or a scandal might have already occurred.

’I mean leadership of worlds Caleb. The President will not be with us forever. Even if he is around for another thousand years; he will need some help to lead the human race throughout the Galaxy.

Caleb considered his Fathers words with an expression of utter confusion. All he had ever wanted was to follow in the footsteps of the greatest warrior the planet had ever known. He had to agree that others followed him and leadership sat well with him. But his ambitions were never as high as to rule a planet or even the new colonies.

‘I have no desire to rule, I’m happy enough with being the best Guardsmen I can be. I wouldn’t know the first thing about leading a world. Besides, are we not a democracy; I mean when President Black stands down would there not be elections? Or am I to be a successor that no one has elected? I cannot see the Senate or the People liking that.’

Dorn was glad his son had no desire for power. If he had he might have questioned his son’s character to rule. No leader should crave power for their own sake, but for the good of the people they lead. This was a trait that Black had and was the reason Dorn followed him with the utmost loyalty.

‘I am glad you do not crave the power to rule son. But you have, even if you don’t realise it yet, been groomed for great things. Of course there would be elections but who would not vote for the son of Dorn Bruce eh. I am not saying you must rule one day, far from it. But just consider how someone like you could usher in an even greater era on the foundation President Black has built. I’m telling you this now because we had to be sure you were worthy of the role, and you are more than worthy young Lord.’

Caleb always hated it when his father called him that. He knew it was just teasing, but now he realised there was probably a hidden meaning to that innocent title. He was sure he could rule, he just wasn’t sure if he had wanted to.

That day was just a pleasant thought now for Caleb as he snapped himself out of his daydream and into the harsh reality of the holding cell on Redeem.

He had been there all day awaiting his first fight in the pit for the entertainment of the guards. He had thought long and hard about what his father had said to him that day, and now none of it really mattered. All that mattered now was escape. But liberation would not come easily, even for him.

The cell he was in was closer to the surface than the one he had been sleeping in and it was noticeably colder this close to the extremes of the frozen world.

The cell had been carved out of the very rock of the planets more hospitable underworld. The jagged ceiling was covered in an array of sparkling icicles that dripped mercilessly onto him.

Caleb regulated his body temperature with a thought, keeping his core warm from the chill. Other fighters would not have the luxury of controlling their own body heat but then again Caleb could not be certain that all cells were as cold as his. Even with his body steaming, the drips were still a petty annoyance.

The guards had come for him a week after he had ascended out of his cell. He was glad that he had the time to recover from that energy draining experience. Fatigue was something new to him, having always been quickly refreshed from any excursion. But his first experience that far from his body had seemed to exhaust him to the bone. He had only been able to stand after two days lying in his bunk. He could not allow himself the luxury of another attempt at ascending from his own cell. Not if it could leave him so weak and vulnerable for so long

He was not released to the canteen either that week; probably to keep him safe from the reprisals of the gang that he had fought. Caleb was in no doubt though that his safety and welfare was being maintained to keep a potential fighter alive long enough to give the guards a show.

The grate in the door slid open with a rusty screech and he looked up to see Baz, the guard with the poor dental hygiene grinning one of his partially toothless smiles.

‘Good evening your worship. I hope your stay here so far has been to ya liking.’

He laughed at his own words while Caleb calmly rose and stood before the door.

‘I’ve heard you’re quite a fighter taking out some of those Latino Lads the other day. I must admit I’m looking forward to ya fight, if what they tell me of ya is true.’

‘Who will I be fighting?’

Caleb was confident he could best most opponents; he still did not know what he would do in the pit yet. But soon, one way or the other he would find out.

‘Seems a bit harsh; their facing you against three fighters today. All volunteers who fight regular, coz there either mad or stupid. They have to fight another inmate before you though, so this might ware em out a bit. But a strapping lad like you should be fine.’

Baz was beaming as he opened the door to let Caleb out of his cell.

‘Follow me your worship.’

Baz led him down a very dimly lit corridor that was mainly rock with a few reinforced beams here and there. There was a damp smell that Caleb found most unpleasant but would welcomed it compared to the foul breath that lingered from the man leading him to the pit.

They slowly began to rise and eventually came out at a holding area where many corridors converged to a place the fighters would wait before going into the pit itself.

Caleb could see and hear the crowds of jeering men, through a set of large bar doors. On the opposite side of the pit was another set of bar doors that he noticed housed more prisoners. The fighters surrounding Caleb wore white silk collars around their necks and from the opposite side his enhanced eyes picked out that the other inmates wore black collars around theirs. Baz confirmed what Caleb had instantly assumed.

‘Those blokes over there are the ones you’ll be fighting. Now wait ere for a bit and your number will come up on that screen when it’s ya turn.’

As he finished instructing him two numbers flashed up onto the screen and the prisoner that were called to fight moved very slowly to the pits entrance but stopped just short of crossing. Baz walked over and pushed the man in the back and into the sinister arena.

There was hundreds of men in the crowed that all stood in the tiered spectator stands. They were all guards and they all found the newcomers entrance most amusing and rewarded Baz’es efforts with applause. The fighter was clearly not a volunteer and shook uncontrollably as he stood and faced his opponent, who was a regular to the pit. He carried the scars to prove it. To remain alive long enough to show off his scars was reason enough to fear him. Bouts were not always to the death. The official rule was the winner was the one left standing. Death was always welcomed by the blood thirsty crowed though and the volunteers, would enjoy a better time at the prison for a kill, so were more than obliging to please their masters at Redeem.

The volunteer fighter was hairless save for a Mohawk style haircut. He prowled the pit like a predator about to devour its prey.

The man that Baz had pushed brought up his fists but continued to shake in front of the savage visage of his opponent that spat in his direction. The Warden who was surrounded by an entourage of guards, including Wellin signalled for the fight to begin and the two combatants came together in violence.

The volunteer absorbed a few wild punches from the white collard fighter and suddenly he moved inside his guard and wrapped his hands around the back of the man’s neck. He then delivered a head butt to his nose that exploded in a shower of blood and the white collard fighters head snapped back from the impact.

To his credit he took the blow well and came back to bring the volunteer into a grapple that may have been his only chance against the pit veteran.

But the black collard fighter made short work of him, and eventually put the blood soaked man into an arm bar move that eventually dislocated his shoulder. The screams of pain were rewarded with more applause and laughter from the excited guards.

He stood and awaited the Wardens signal to finish his opponent off. This seemed to Caleb like something from the old Roman stories he had learned in his history lessons.

The Warden raised his thumb and the fight was over. The victor walked back from where he had entered and was hailed from the stands as he left. The screaming man was practically dragged away in what looked like agony, but would live to fight another day.

After that, the bouts went on, with some victories from both sides. Only one man that had fought so far had sustained critical injuries and would not wake after a tirade of blows he had taken to the head. No one had spoken to Caleb throughout the fighting and suddenly Baz whispered into his ear.

‘Your three Lads are up next your worship. You might learn something if ya pay attention.’

The men that came out, from the black collard side of the pit, were all very big Latin men that were covered in tattoos. The first fighter that faced them appeared to be strong and confident and looked the match of the three brutish men with tattoos if they fought alone. Alas, fair play was not something common in the pit.

As expected, the fight did not last long, and the white collard man was beaten nearly senseless by the three Latino men that now stood waiting, for the Warden to signal the loser’s fate.

The thumb dropped, and the meaning was clear as the crowd cheered and clashed beverages, clearly enjoying the spectacle the Warden put on for them, once a standard month.

One of the Latino men walked over to the loser and bit into his throat tearing out the man’s windpipe like a savage beast. He spat out his mouthful of flesh and raised his arms in solute to the baying crowed surrounding them.

Caleb looked at the carnage unfold and was disgusted with the men he would soon have to fight. As he watched the body of the dead man being dragged away, 118 came onto the display screen, indicating that it was his turn now to fight. He had never felt so furious, except when his parents had been slaughtered before him not so long ago.

The Master instructors had always told him not to fight angry, but instead fight smart. Now though, all he could think about was ending the men in front of him that had taken so much pleasure in butchering another human being. The bars opened ‘Good luck again your worship. Ha ha’ shouted Baz patting Caleb on the back, as he entered the pit to the roar of the blood thirsty audience, who had the evenings first kill and now yearned for more blood sport.

They would be the ones who needed luck thought Caleb and even that would not help them. He did not care anymore about hiding his abilities. But with these wretches he would not have to.

He walked to the centre with a confidence that was surprising for someone so young and new to the pit. He gave each man a look of contempt, with fury etched on his sublime face.

‘I want to know before you are dispatched, if you killed that man for them, or your own amusement.’

The one who had done the biting answered for the trio.

‘I enjoyed it, we like to kill, and they like to watch it.’ He indicated to the crowed with a tattoo sleeved arm.

‘Don’t know if the Warden will like it if you died on your first fight, but the mine hounds have put a price on your head.’

The blood from the last fighter’s throat was still dripping from his chin, as he made the threat. The mask of blood made him look like something from hell. But Caleb had not been intimidated by anything in his life. He was just not made to fear, and he calmly waited for the Warden to signal the beginning of the fight.

***

From above, seated in the galleried tier looking down at this strange boy, who towered over the three men he faced, the Warden turned to Wellin.

‘This boy shows more defiance than when he was first brought to us Mr Wellin. I would have thought him broken by now.’

Wellin had disliked the look of superiority in this boy’s face. He may have been the biggest and best where he was from. But this was Redeem and the Warden ruled this place, and liked all to know it. He would learn humility now though. The mine hounds had apparently put a price on his head, after what they had called a lucky fight with some of its weaker members.

He had made the revenge easy for the mine hounds by putting the boy up against the top fighters that volunteered from the gang to fight in the pit. They were also the most ruthless; the troublesome lad was unlikely to survive the encounter.

Bets were placed and Wellin noticed the guard that had broken up the fight had bet heavily on the young man. Against these three, he was surly doomed.

‘Begin!’

The Warden shouted over the noise of the crowed who could not contain the excitement of another certain bloody end.

***

Caleb launched himself at the one covered in blood, and at the last second slid on his knees over the dusty floor. The two other men tried to grab him as he slid past, but they were not expecting the large youngster to even attack, let alone slide past them the way he did.

As he slid, he threw a well-aimed punch to the blood smeared killer that connected with his groin with such force, Caleb almost felt sorry for him as he squealed, agonised by his manhood being pulverised. He dropped to the floor clutching his wounded genitalia screaming like a banshee as Caleb finished the slide and jumped up to his feet.

The two left remaining were more cautious now, after watching their leader dispatched so easily. They began to circle Caleb, hoping to come from behind and to his front at the same time. Caleb was having none of it. He was sick to death of this tortuous world. He had learned his capabilities gradually throughout his short life. But he had noticed a change in him, since being sent to this prison. He was sure he could break every neck in this cursed arena if he wished. But for now he would make do with the necks in front of him.

He took no time to spin a roundhouse kick at one of the attackers circling him, knocking the man out cold. The other thought he could tackle him to the ground and leapt at Caleb, who caught the man in mid-air by the throat and crushed his wind pipe, as he held him in a merciless death grip.

The Mine hound gang member stared into Caleb’s cold green eyes with surprised panic and tried to gasp for air through his ruined oesophagus, unsuccessfully.

Caleb held the man high, demonstrating his un- rivalled power to all that beheld him. He realised that there was now utter silence from the amazed crowed of guards, who marvelled in wonder at this boy’s strength. He dropped the dying man in a heap at his feet and strode over to the screaming mine hound that was holding his manhood. He had not even noticed that his fellow fighters were no longer there to help him and showed no resistance when he was kicked over to face the one who should have been in agony, instead of him. He looked around, and could now see that both of his fellows were silent and down. Looking up past the boy who had been the instrument of his misery he waited for the inevitable thumb of the Warden to signal his death sentence.

Caleb did not even turn to look up for the Wardens authority to end this wretch.

He knelt down next to the stricken mine hound and brought a swinging elbow that connected with his temple, silencing the screams instantly. The man went limp and Caleb rose to survey the pit floor. Two men lay dead and one unconscious. You could have heard a pin drop with the silence.

Caleb looked up to the Warden with malice, and was tempted to leap into the stands and continue killing, until his thirst for vengeance was quenched in the blood of the hundreds of guards, who looked at him open mouthed. They were unsure if what they had just seen was real. The thought occurred to Caleb that when he fought, others would see a blur of motion and carnage. But from his perspective all had happen in slow motion.

Was he strong enough to fight all the guards at once? He knew he was becoming unnaturally strong. He wasn’t sure what his limits were. Killing ten of them would be a certainty. This he crowed however, numbered in its hundreds and all carried truncheons with a few carrying fire arms.

The madness passed and he took a breath to calm the rage that had momentarily burned inside him, and decided he would not try escaping just yet. Looking at the situation with a calmer head he could not believe he had even considered attacking the crowd. Was it suicidal thinking or did he really believe himself capable of defeating so many? Now was not the time to find out. Instead, deception and subservience was called for.

Turning from the carnage, he walked in front of Wellin and the Warden and bowed as he would have done for one of the Academies Masters. What was strange was this seemed to please the Warden, who took it as a sign of obedience.

Caleb then turned and left the pit the way he had come, with the sound of silence behind. Baz opened the bar doors to let the winner through, His mouth also open wide in amazement at what he had seen.

‘how’d you do that.’ Spat Baz at the returning victor.

‘I don’t really know, just lucky I guess.’

Both knew it had not been luck that had enabled such a swift and violent end to the fight. Caleb was not about to tell them that he was genetically enhanced and the son of Earths greatest warrior, who had been created and groomed by the most powerful men on Earth.

Suddenly the quiet was broken by a communicator chirping, and Baz activated the ear bud he was wearing. ‘Yes sir right away.’

Baz picked up some power cuffs that were hanging off the rock wall and gingerly snapped them around the wrists of the dangerous prisoner. Caleb held them out giving Baz no fuss.

‘The Warden wants to see ya. Follow me Lad.’

Caleb realised the stinky guard had not called him your worship this time. Fear it seemed was a new weapon Caleb could now wield, as they made their way to see the ruler of Redeem.