Awakening The Warriors by S E Gilchrist

Chapter 1
    Star Time 6036: Besa System
    â€œI so don’t want to die in this cell, a zillion miles from home, in a galaxy I’ve never heard of.” The words burst from my lips as I gripped the bars and stared in first one direction and then the other along the dim passageway. I leant my forehead against the cold metal and squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the ache in my throat.
    A burning torch set into a metal brace on the opposite wall spluttered, spitting stinking oil onto the flagstone floor. I pulled back from the stench, released my grip and turned round to look at the other inmates.
    Females—all of us.
    Four different races, including humans like me. The probable significance made my stomach muscles cramp. If I had anything left in there, I would have retched. Relia, one of the Purkons, rose to her feet and crossed the floor. She laid a tentative hand on my arm, a fleeting gesture of unspoken understanding. For some reason I remembered my mother making a similar gesture when my pet rabbit had died, years ago, when I was just a school kid. Pain clutched my heart in a hot embrace and I rubbed the palm of my hand against my chest.
    Relia said, “Come, Fran, rest.”
    I nodded. Lifting my hand, I ran a finger over the narrow translator collar encircling my neck and followed her. A faint noise had me swinging back to the bars, my heart stuttering like a misfiring engine. The sounds became louder and I recognised the tramp of booted feet.
    A Jurian female hissed. “They are coming. What will we do?”
    What could we do? Trapped by three stone walls far too thick for even a combined effort to move and metal bars, all we could do was wait and pray to whatever gods or goddesses who would listen.
    But it appeared some other poor bastard was their target, for the footsteps stopped further down and a gate opened with a protesting screech.
    Relia folded her arms over her chest, her wide sleeves falling back to reveal the glow of her mottled pearly-white skin. Her green sloe-shaped eyes met mine and she said, “The cell of the Darkons.”
    I hastened across the room, pressed my back against the wall, then sank onto my haunches. We fell silent, each lost in our private horror and pity as the crack of a whip and the snap against flesh ping-ponged off the pitiless stone walls. A hand slipped into mine and I pulled Margaret, the youngest of our small band into my arms, hugging her tight, as the sharp noises became soggy slaps. Soon the wielder would be slashing against bone.
    Next came the thud of boots laying into flesh. Not once did I hear a groan, a cry, not even a grunt from their victim. The guards laughing and jeering, the relish in their duties obvious by voices high pitched and thick in tone, sent shudder after shudder through my body. How long would it be before they turned their attention to us? Only five days ago (or had it been four?) they had appeared at our cell and dragged away two Relic women and two Purkon females.
    We hadn’t seen them since.
    After what seemed like years to us and must have felt an eternity to the victims, the gate clanged shut and footsteps trudged away. In the heavy silence our fear clung in the air like the filthy stench of death.
    I shivered, aware the dampness from the stones had seeped into the back of my flight suit, making my bones feel as if I was buried in ice. One of the women sneezed and snuffled, then broke into a fit of hacking coughs.
    â€œIf we stay here much longer, we’ll die of cold or disease,” I said. Giving Margaret a final hug, I eased her shaking body away from me. “How are you doing?”
    â€œI’m okay.” Margaret smiled and the stark fear ebbed from her hazel eyes.
    Her expression worried me. Fifteen years old, she looked as gaunt as an old woman with deep hollows beneath her cheek bones. Not much more than a child and trapped in this madness. Life was not fair. Somehow I had to get her out of here.
    â€œWe