“Is it done?” Houston asked the question as he got to the first checkpoint in front of his parents’ hab. Unsurprisingly taller than the other, he’d nonetheless ordered a total of three sets of barriers anyone would have to cross before they were granted entrance to the place, and the list of those who could take that short but potentially very, very deadly walk was a short list indeed.
Of course, he was on the top of that list. And his younger, middle brother Austin was second on it.
“Yes, sir!” said the gendarme at the checkpoint, coming to attention and looking straight to the front. Houston looked him up and down once. He was in his late thirties or early forties, fairly trim with lines in his face- one of Kai’s veterans of the force who’d likely defected in the first hour after Moreded had tried to take over.
“What’s your name, gendarme?” Houston asked.
“Borson, sir.”
“Well, Borson, you keep up the good work. Our world’s had a troubling last few weeks, and my patience has worn more than thin. Anyone tries to breech here, you know what to do, correct?”
“Yes, sir. Kill them, sir.”
Houston smiled. “Good to hear, Borson. Carry on. Let’s go, people,” he said, and started striding in a diagonal line the fifty steps’ distance to the next checkpoint.
Austin was silent as they passed through the checkpoints along several different diagonal lines which led to three increasingly high improvised walls of nearby materials around their former home. “What’s on your mind, Aus?” Houston said, the black curls in his head bobbing as he took purposeful, driven strides closer towards the spire building they’d grown up in and their Pater had governed the colony from.
“Lots of things,” Austin said. “How to get Pater and Mater out of Golgotha, how to deal with our new friends who are due to arrive in orbit anytime now. How to maybe get Dallas back and…”
“One thing at a time, frater minor,” Huston said as they passed another gendarme who silently saluted them and entered the lobby of the spire. “If you try to do too much, even a considerable intellect like yours will find itself quickly overwhelmed.”
Austin blinked as they passed between another pair of silent, saluting gendarmes and entered the elevator. “You think I have a considerable intellect?”
“You think I’m lying?”
“I think you oughta lie down; you’re not normally that nice to me.”
“We’re not normally at war.”
Austin was silent. For the first time in a very, very long while, he didn’t have a flippant answer to a heavy statement from his frater major, and that scared him worse than the threats gathering above.
#
The office was clean, white, and immaculate. The desk the man sat at was even moreso. He himself wore a uniform similar to those of his underlings, but had enough subtle differences to illustrate to all who’d view him that there was to be no doubt that he was their superior in authority. The slightly larger shoulderpads, the small red rectangle above his left pectoral, the gloves he wore which also covered his fingers, all stated with clarity that he was, indeed, the commander of the facility.
His office was quiet, utterly and completely. The noise dampers did their job well, and ensured that no unwanted noise would penetrate the foot-thick titanium-alloyed walls of his office. If he wished, he could easily have spent his life in complete isolation from those whom his duties encompassed, but he felt it unwise. At least once per day he took at least the briefest walk among those charged in his care, and he did so at random times and in randomized locations to ensure his safety and discourage oppositional planning on the part of those in his care.
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His terminal beeped softly, reminding him of the need for him to rise and begin that day’s walk. He stopped the communication he was typing, stood neither slowly nor quickly, doffed the cap that hid his eyes beneath a black visor, and checked his holstered, loaded pistol that was set to fire only when gloves with his own DNA were on the stock and the trigger.
Now standing, he breathed deeply, enjoying the silence for a last second before he touched the panel and spoke the words to open the door in front of him.
As always, a cacophony of yells, screams and angry shrieks assaulted his ears, while the smell of bodies in need of showers and other forms of cleansing angrily forced their way into his nostrils. The two guards who stood always at his door with their weapons drawn snapped to attention in silence as he emerged. When he turned to the left, one guard fell into walking in front of him, while another strode no more than two feet behind.
It was always bad for the first sixty seconds after he emerged from his office, and this was no exception. He thought again of the upgrades proposed at the last board meeting that would have placed sound-proof doors on every cell, but reminded himself of why that needed to be refused. This facility exists to punish those who’ve done wrong. Other worlds pay us to incarcerate and punish those who’ve broken the law on their worlds. We cannot allow a facility like this to become pleasant in any way, even to ourselves. This must and will remain the place no one wishes to be sent to, a place where its inmates will lose all hope of comfort or escape within a day of their entrance through our airlock.
And so, the screams. And the smells. Inmates screaming his name, hurling oaths, threats, and curses upon himself and his family for generations as he went from his own floor down stairs [never the lift] and witnessed first hand small adjustments and improvements that needed taking care of, which he’d send out in communications that would be instantly obeyed by those who wished to keep their positions.
Paint of warnings needs touching up on level four…prisoner door of cell 3454 has dried food in the outer corner…prisoner dead in cell 3467, apparent suicide…slippery step on stairway leading from level 546 to 547…
He categorized all the needed improvements in his head as he descended level after level, moved from segment to segment of the prison, walking for nigh an hour until he arrived at a new and very different block of cells, one that until his arrival as warden had ever been visited at all.
He stopped at one that seemed to have no significant difference than that of other doors. He looked at the numbers, nodded his head and knocked.
“Who is it?” said a female voice.
“It is I, Miss Liberty. May I enter?”
There was a slight pause. A male voice answered. “Come in,” it said.
The warden looked at each of his guards, who without word or hesitation snapped to wait at attention with weapons drawn on either side of the doorway.
The warden mumbled a series of numbers to himself, and the door in front of him unlocked and slid open without a sound.
Texas Morgan and his wife, Liberty, stood quietly wearing the simple uniforms of inmates of Golgotha. Their spacious cell, which was as clean and silent and spartanly furnished as the warden’s office, though with a soft double bed and a pair of computer terminals set on a large table behind them.
“How are you, Lord Morgan?” the warden asked.
Texas sighed. “As well as can be expected. Is there any news from our home?” he asked.
“Your youngest continues to have adventures as captain of a mercenary transport vessel, and your two oldest are apparently having some success as insurrectionists. I’d be happy to divulge all details to you both over a game of chess?”
“That sounds quite- inviting, warden. Lib, dear, could you begin to fix dinner for us?”
“Happily, darling. Will there be anything else?”
“I have,” the warden said, “a new shipment of books arriving on the next transport. Would the pair of you prefer anything to read? I regret it’s in the format of the Old Earth volumes, paper only.”
“That would be lovely, warden. We couldn’t ask for more, and are once again grateful fro your assistance.”
“You are here unjustly, Lord and Lady Morgan. And while I am paid to incarcerate, the location and method of your ahem 'punishment' is left purely to my discretion. White or black pieces, Lord Morgan?”
Texas Morgan smiled, as he took a chessboard from the nearbu bookcase and began setting up the pieces.
TO BE CONTINUED...