Five years previous, a man not named Vel sat silently on a prison transport bound for Kalo Internment Facility, or at least his name wasn’t Vel according to the prison datalogs. According to those, the tall man with pale blue eyes and a scruffy beard was Nilo, a low-level dealer of black market pills, both medicinal and recreational. With arrests going back to his early teens for this profession, it was likely a bad dose given to the wrong local official that resulted in such a relatively severe sentence this time around, two years of hard labor on a distant rock.
Kalo was a mining camp towards the edge of Collective space, just a few systems from the known edge of the galaxy itself. Deposits of a mineral key to antimatter reactions had been discovered here, giving Kalo some value, but not in large enough quantities to warrant a full commercial operation. Instead, the combination of negligible resources and a breathable atmosphere has destined the planet to be a prison colony, one of countless scattered across the astral charts, originally manned by resistance prisoners of war, but now by all classes of criminals in this time of peace. For centuries, robots and machines had been more efficient and effective at this type of labor, but tech cost credits, while the criminals were more or less free and always in abundant supply.
This was the world where Nilo was to spend his next two years, the odds at least decent that he would survive that long. He was young, healthy, and strong enough to outlast the harsh rigors of the mines and Kalo wasn’t known as a particularly violent facility, but of course, there are no givens in life, especially not a life in prison. It’s hard to say what Nilo was thinking as the transport made its descent towards the planet’s surface. He hadn’t said a word among the twenty-five other convicts for the entire trip, strange as most dealers were a bit chattier, but he might have still just been in shock over finding himself here, in a drab jumpsuit, harnessed and restrained to his seat as the transport lowered itself slowly to the landing zone just outside the prison colony, kicking up a layer of yellow, acrid dust from the cement pad as it did so. Once the craft had settled, the harnesses released themselves and the back hatch began to open. Autoguns lowered themselves from the ceiling, scanning menacingly over the prisoners now starting to stand. These guns were connected to the bio-scanners and pyschreaders onboard and wouldn’t hesitate to fire at the slightest sign of aggression. The prisoners knew this perfectly well and didn’t tempt any provocation. “Two lines, file out the back.” stated a disembodied voice in a bored tone through the comms and those aboard followed instructions, shuffling their chained feet out the now open hatch silently, cuffed hands in front of them. From the moment Nilo and the other prisoners stepped out from the controlled atmosphere of the transport, they found that the ‘breathable atmosphere’ of Kalo was just barely so. The unmistakable smell of sulfur filled their noses and left many hacking and gagging as a result. Even if one wanted to breathe in deeply the odor, their lungs would have still been left wanting from oxygen levels lower than those of most inhabited worlds. In such an environment, the dusty horizon now in front of Nilo made sense, a desert unbroken by anything but the squat prison complex in front of them and automated guard towers in the distance, no cities or even civilian life whatsoever, just prisoners and guards with guns.
Of those guards, a collection of two dozen or so were at this moment arrayed in front of the prisoners, almost all with their rifles drawn and trained on them except two at the center of the formation. One of the two, an older man, looked over the gaggle in front of him solemnly before giving a quick nod towards the cockpit of the transport. At that signal, the vessel lifted off with its still active engines, throwing even more dust into the air which the prisoners shielded themselves from as best they could. As the dust settled, the older man stepped forward slightly. Instead of the nose-clipped breathers the guards wore, a luxury Nilo doubted he would be receiving, the man wore a clear mask covering the entire bottom half of his face, allowing him to speak without tasting the rotten air. “My name is Warden Millen.” came his voice in clipped tones, amplified by the mask, “Administrator of the Kalo labor facility by authority of the Collective High Council. Know that under my jurisdiction, you will be fed, clothed, and not mistreated” he continued, no warmth in his words, “and in return you will labor in accordance with the terms of your sentence. Also, know that any infraction or failure to comply will be dealt with harshly.” Millen allowed the last word to linger, moving his gaze to the guards and weaponry just behind him, showing the threat was not an idle one. Nilo watched the scene before him with stone-faced attention, his eyes went past the warden, however, and to the woman standing just behind him. She was dressed identically to the other guards, but her rifle was still holstered to her side rather than aimed at the prisoners and her position and general air suggested some type of seniority. Although she stood a head shorter than the warden, she was stouter and powerfully built, dangerous even without a gun at the ready. Like the rest of the guards, a small plate on her blast armor displayed her name; Bales.
Datalogs would give her name as Lena Bales, but she never went by the first name and it’s doubtful that anyone around her was even aware she had it. Bales had been raised in a military family, her father was killed in battle. As soon as she was old enough, Bales enlisted herself, trained, and eventually commissioned as a shipboard armory officer towards the very end of the resistance wars. Her military career ended just six months into her commission without seeing combat, however, after a late-night incident in her quarters resulted in a dead senior officer and Bales being discharged from the fleet. Bales had called the shipboard MPs in herself, standing calmly when they entered next to the officer's dead body, the bridge of his nose smashed back into his brain by her knee among other injuries. The unredacted version of the report would detail the officer had been suspected of raping female subordinates in the past, but powerful family connections had shuttered any investigations. In light of this, there was no murder charge for Bales, just a quiet dishonorable discharge from the Fleet for cavorting with a senior officer. Despite this ignominious end, she was quickly able to find work suitable to her skillset, joining the crew of the PMF Black Maria, a bounty transport vessel that had once stocked labor colonies like Kalo with war prisoners. She served eight years aboard that vessel, the last three as first officer until the captain’s arrest and confiscation of the ship forced her to change careers once more. Rather than seeking a new ship, Bales chose to instead keep her feet on the ground. Joining the penal system was a natural transition then, even if it meant assignment to a shit detail like Kalo, at least that’s how fellow guards seemed to feel about the place. For Bales, however, something about the desolation appealed to her, the job free of distractions and ideal for her regimented nature, not to mention one that gave the occasional opportunity to indulge the sadistic sliver of her personality. She even declined the furloughs off-world she was entitled to, not stepping off the planet since returning from her mother’s funeral over three years previous. By this time Bales was by far the longest serving guard in the facility, her time there only outstripped by the warden himself and a couple of the longest serving prisoners, and was unquestioned captain as well as an unofficial assistant and advisor to the warden. Together, the two of them were essentially the permanent authority on the surface of this rock, and with no family or purpose for her elsewhere, she didn’t see the point in leaving.
If Bales noticed the eyes of Nilo upon her, she didn’t show it. Outwardly her attention was on the warden, waiting until the end of his short speech before giving a hand signal to the other guards who fell into a well-practiced formation to the sides and behind the prisoners, beginning to march them towards the prison complex. Bales herself moved to sit behind the controls of a small open-air vehicle parked to the side of the landing zone, waiting for the warden to take the passenger seat behind her before guiding it into position at the rear of the march.
Within a few minutes, the group was within the open main gate at the front of the complex. A large, four-story structure stood in the center, white walls stained from years in the dust, surrounded by five smaller blocks arranged in a pentagon. Open-air bridges, connected each building to the adjacent as well as to the center building like spokes to a hub. The figures on these bridges were all guards, standing watch at regular intervals or moving from one building to the next. Inmates, on the other hand, moved on the ground, either to or from the center building in small ordered groups. At the head of each group was a prisoner wearing a different color jumpsuit, a trustee who acted like something of a foreman for his or her workgroup. As the new arrivals and guards marched towards one of the outbuildings, the other prisoners gave them a wide berth, eyeing them warily. The group came to a halt in front of the building marked with a large letter C, waiting while Bales exited her vehicle, another guard taking her place at the controls and driving it with the warden toward the main building. Now in charge, Bales walked towards a keypad to the right of the large building doors. She keyed in a quick code and placed her palm against a reader below, the pad offering an affirmative beep before the doors began to slide open. Bales flicked her head to indicate the prisoners should enter, and those dawdling in the rear were pushed forward roughly by the ten guards that remained. Once the prisoners were herded inside, Bales touched another key, causing the door to close, her fellow guards keeping weapons raised to dissuade anyone who would think to run.
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Nilo found himself near the front of the group, now inside a room with three transparent walls resembling an airlock, with the large door they had entered on one end and a sealed circular hatch on the other with two large bins on either side of the hatch. A couple of meters above their heads, a ventilation system snaked across the ceiling of the chamber, suggesting something would be pumped in. Through the clear walls, Nilo could see the rest of the building beyond the hatch. Prefab holding cells were stacked like shoe boxes in two rooms running the length and width of the building, within most he could make out the figures locked inside staring back. These cells surrounded an open space furnished only with neat rows of steel tables and stools, likely where the inmates would take their meals. Directly across from the entrance, high up the far wall, a half-circle guard house protruded out, catwalks suspended from the ceiling far out of reach from below. These catwalks connected to similar guard houses on each wall and likely a fourth directly above the airlock they were in. A few visible figures were moving on the catwalks or within the structures, armed guards keeping a watchful eye over the scene.
A few moments after the main door had closed, a second smaller entrance outside the airlock opened and Bales stepped into the cell block with two fellow guards. She removed her goggles and breather, placing them inside a pack at her side. “Strip down and place your clothes in the bins in front of you,” she stated forcefully, watching to make sure the order was being carried out before continuing. The space inside the airlock was cramped with men and women, so they all had to jostle a bit to remove their shoes and jumpsuits. One man near the center clumsily stumbled back into a large man behind him and was roughly shoved to the ground, throwing others off balance as well. A glare from Bales and a sharp rap of a rifle butt against the clear wall stopped any sort of scuffle from breaking out, and the prisoners continued to undress in silence, passing the removed articles forward to be placed in the bins. Through transfers and transports, everyone in the group had likely been forced to publicly strip down several times already and were therefore mostly beyond any modesty and embarrassment. Most just tried to keep their eyes down and to themselves, although a few predatory glances did roam around the room.
Once satisfied, Bales continued to address those inside the box, “This is cell block C, the quarters you’ll be in when off work shifts. After each work shift, you’ll enter the airlock you’re currently standing in and strip down for sanitation. You might be animals, but I won’t have you smelling like them around me.” she said humorlessly. Nilo might have been a new prisoner, but even to him, the purposes beyond hygiene for the nudity were clear, first as a simple show of dominance and power, the guards had it and the inmates didn’t, and second a simple preventative measure against contraband. Hard to smuggle anything in or out while being watched naked, stuck in a clear box. Not impossible of course, but a hindrance. Bales began to pace back and forth in front of them, eyeing each person in the group individually. Most never met her gaze and those who did quickly turned away. “After sanitation…” she started, but trailed off and stopped her steps. If she had missed the stare of the man at the landing zone, there was no missing the pale blue eyes locked with hers now. Nilo stood in front of her, separated by the wall, but still close, an unblinking stare first meeting her eyes then traveling up and down her body, a sinister grin curling on his lips as he did not attempt to cover his nude form. It was a look Bales had seen in the eyes of men and women before, one that used to send a shiver down her spine, but not anymore. She quickly took the rifle from her hip and cracked the end sharply against the transparent wall, causing Nilo to flinch reflexively against the noise and motion just inches from his face. “Backup!” she barked, holding back a smile as he obeyed, some dark part of her hoped that this man would try something when they weren’t separated, giving her the pleasure of taking care of it personally. “After sanitation, you’ll have your restraints removed and a tracking band applied. Now take a deep breath and close your eyes,” she said, completing her statement before signaling to someone above her. At that moment, the chamber quickly filled with white smoke streaming out of the overhead vents. The chemicals stung at Nilo’s nostrils and the inmates not prepared quickly found their eyes or throat burning, the rubbing and coughing that followed only making the pain worse. Nilo felt the familiar tingle of the chemical cleaning making its way down his body, destroying bacteria as it went. When the sensation finished a moment later, he knew it was safe to open his eyes, finding himself mildly happy that the sulfuric scent of the air was banished, at least momentarily. When the hatch opened with a hiss moments later, the smell returned, although more muted than it had been outside, and mixed with the scent of the other two hundred or so bodies sharing the cell block.
Bales and her fellow guards stood to either side of the hatch as it opened, rolling in two identical machines with openings in the middle and a monitor attached. “Form two lines.” she called out, switching on the tracking band installer next to her, “Place your left hand through the opening.” The nude men and women then exited the airlock two by two, placing a hand through the aperture in either machine. Once inserted, a sensor would read the movement, trace a red laser line around the wrist, and in one lightning-fast movement, both latch an unbreakable band of metal and sensors around the line and draw a blood sample from the wrist, its DNA compared against the prisoner’s file and displayed on the monitor with their image and info. As Nilo approached the machine near Bales, he kept his eyes on her, not giving the slightest reaction as the band attached itself and his blood was drawn. The woman ignored him, however, keeping her eyes on the monitor as his information was displayed on the screen. She was surprised by the crime listed, the man didn’t seem like a simple pill pusher, and slightly disappointed the sentence was only two years, but still she knew those years would last a long time in this place, even if he even made it far at all. Finally, she turned and coldly met the stare as he began to move away, the look in his eyes now making her certain that Nilo wouldn’t last till the end of his sentence on Kalo, not even close.
Once all the inmates had their bands attached, they were allowed to take fresh undergarments, jumpsuits, and shoes from a wall well stocked with them, their old ones left behind in the bins to be collected later and laundered. Along with tracking, the bands also displayed their prisoner ID and work shift, with Nilo’s indicating C-182 20:00, C block prisoner number one-eighty-two, his twelve-hour work shift beginning about three hours from now, a schedule to be followed daily, without fail, for the next two years. From there, Nilo and the other inmates were to make their way to their cells. There were one hundred cells in the block and two inmates per cell, so Nilo walked up a short set of stairs and down the walkway until he came to the cell door marked 182-183, placing his wrist next to the scanner to open it. The lights were out inside the room, but the light now coming in from the open door was more than enough to fully illuminate the small space. On the far wall was a simple toilet and sink, on the left a vidscreen and desk. The vidscreen was the only form of entertainment provided to the camp, with Collective reeducational courses and propaganda accessible for free and other content available for fees to be deducted from the prisoner’s credit account back wherever home was. Some prisoners would burn through their entire savings during the first year of incarceration on nothing but carefully censored films and mindless games, leaving them with nothing once they were released. The final piece of furnishing in the cell was a bunk bed to the right. It, like everything else including the cell itself, was prefabricated and in a single piece, nothing in the room was separated or movable. The only thing moving in the space at the moment was the dark figure rolling over on the bottom bunk of the bed.