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were on Slade—she was the fairest of the bunch.
    They were heading toward the USS Gibraltar , a prison transport ship that would ferry them to Alpha Ceti 7.
    Prisoner 3603762 was twice as large as anyone else. Six foot five, 350 pounds—a thick hulk of a man. Underneath his number was a name—F. Giles. He looked like the kind of guy who could snap through his restraints, if he really tried. Definitely not the kind of guy you’d want to meet in a dark alley. He wasn’t going to have any problems in prison. He certainly wasn’t going to be anyone’s bitch.
    He kept staring at Slade with lustful eyes. She just stared back at him. She wasn’t one to back down from a fight. Even one she knew she’d lose.
    “I bet you don’t last a day in the big house, Sugar Puff,” Giles said.
    “I bet I last longer than you.”
    Giles chuckled. “Maybe I ought to come to you for protection.”
    “Maybe you should. You look kind of frail. And you’ve got dick sucking lips.”
    The rest of the inmates burst out in laughter.
    Giles scowled.
    Slade was making enemies quick.
    The shuttle landed on the flight deck of the Gibraltar . A moment later and the hatch opened. An armed cadre of guards escorted them off the shuttle and into the Gibraltar’s holding area. They unshackled the inmates and shoved them in the cell.
    It was a common area of about 50 inmates. Like a drunk tank of a county lockup, there was one latrine, and a sink. No privacy whatsoever. If you were going to take care of business, you had to do it in front of everyone. And these weren’t the kind of people you wanted to pull your pants down in front of.
    All of the inmates were dressed in orange jumpsuits, with digital readouts of their prison number embedded within the fabric.
    The guards weren’t in the UP Navy. They were privately contracted corrections officers. From here on out, the inmates would be in the care of the private correctional system.
    Slade’s eyes surveyed the holding cell as she entered. As always, she tried to identify potential threats. She knew Giles was one. And there were plenty more like him in this cell.
    She strolled over to a corner and sat down. The kid next to her couldn’t have been more than 16. Skinny, pasty faced, thick glasses.
    “What are you in for?” Slade asked.
    He looked at her for a moment before he spoke. And when he did, the words came low and slow, like he was doing an impression of his favorite movie star. “I killed 9 guys in a bar fight.”
    Slade narrowed her skeptical eyes. “You’re not old enough to drink.”
    “I’m old enough to kick ass.” He tilted his head back, like a boss.
    “You don’t look like the ass kicking type.”
    “I can hold my own.” She could tell he was scared shitless, but trying to put on a good front.
    “I can see you’re a killer, no doubt.” Slade knew this kid wasn’t a violent offender. He didn’t have the look in his eyes. That cold, emotionless stare that all killers have. Even the serial killers that masquerade as friendly neighbors have the stare. They hide it well, but if you look deep enough, you can see a cold detachment. A separation from themselves and the rest of humanity.
    “Damn right. Nobody better mess with me.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Prisoner 2936783. But my friends call me Kirby.”
    “How long they give you?”
    “I’m a lifer,” he said, trying to sound tough. But then his eyes went slick. He covered his face with his hands to hide his tears.
    “Looks like we got a little crybaby,” one of the inmates teased. “You can’t run to your momma here, boy.” He chuckled. “That’s alright. I’ll be your momma and your daddy.”
    Slade glared at him.
    “What you looking at? First time you seen a real man, honey?”
    “I’m sorry, I thought you were a woman.”
    There were laughs all around.
    The inmate scowled at Slade. She was making friends quickly.
    He stood up and ambled toward her. He was a short stocky guy. And like so many