by Ben Wolf
Justin looked at the pods again. He hadn’t noticed at first, but some of them were indeed open, while others were closed. He counted three staggered rows of twenty pods around the room. Of those, the majority were closed, and maybe eight of them were open.
Did that mean there were more than fifty prisoners locked in the brig with him? Or did the brig keep some of them closed all the time? Justin didn’t want to be locked in such a small area with fifty other people, especially if they were criminals, even if only by ACM’s definition.
“Thanks,” he told the barefoot guy.
“Name’s Jonesy,” the guy said. “Full name is Fennimore Jones, but folks just call me Jonesy because ‘Fennimore’ is too long, ‘Jones’ is too boring, and ‘Fen’ is a girl’s name.”
[Can’t argue with the man’s logic,] Keontae said.
“I’m Justin Barclay. ‘Justin’ is fine.” He extended his hand toward Jonesy, who didn’t return the gesture.
“No offense, but I won’t be shaking your hand, son.” Jonesy fingered a hole in the fabric of his jumpsuit just above his waistline instead. “Last man’s hand I shook decided to bury a shiv in my side while he had me close. Earned me half a week in the medbay, shackled to my bed, of course.”
Justin noticed the remnant of a slightly darker stain around the hole in Jonesy’s jumpsuit. Probably blood.
[Welcome to prison,] Keontae muttered.
“Between the boots and the handshakes, it must sound like I’m a slow learner,” Jonesy said with a huff.
Justin had been thinking it, but he hadn’t dared to point it out.
“I promise, it’s just in here. Never done time before this. Never done anything wrong in my life ‘til my commanding officer decided to trump up some malarkey to ruin my career.”
Justin had no interest in hearing this guy’s sob story. For all he knew, it might not even be true. Then again, if he could make a friend out of Jonesy, that was better than making an enemy, even if the old guy seemed harmless enough.
“For what it’s worth, I know exactly how that feels,” he said. “ACM tried that on me, too, awhile back.”
“I was the best mechanic they had, too,” Jonesy continued as if he hadn’t heard Justin. “They’re screwed without me. That’s for sure. I just hope none of our boys get killed because of piss-poor maintenance on their Strikers.”
Truth be told, Justin didn’t care either way. He didn’t want anyone to die if they didn’t have to, but these guys were all working for ACM. As far as he was concerned, they all deserved whatever they got.
Justin nodded at Jonesy. “Hope you get it sorted out. It’s late, and I’m gonna find a pod for the night.”
“Okay. Thanks for listening.” Jonesy gave him a wave. “Good luck with the pods. They usually stay shut, but some of these guys have jiggers that can pry them open. You ought to sleep with your feet toward the door in case they try to pull you out. That way, at least you can throw a punch or two before they get at you.”
That did not help Justin’s sense of calm, but it was good information to know all the same.
“Thanks,” Justin repeated, and he headed toward an open hexpod ninety degrees away from Jonesy’s.
He climbed into the tight space with absolutely zero finesse, but he managed to get inside all the same. On the ceiling, which was only about a foot up from his head, a screen glowed down at him. He tapped it with his human fingers, and it glowed to life.
A thick layer of transparent Plastrex covered its surface, like a shield. These things probably took a lot of punishment from unhappy prisoners.
A message on the screen instructed him to press his hand against the screen to confirm his identity, so he did. The screen scanned his fingerprints, and the glass at his feet gradually slid shut, sealing him inside. A soft orange light glowed along a singular track on the right side of the ceiling.
He couldn’t sit up, and he didn’t have much room to move to either of his sides, but he was secure and alone… at least for now.
“Think there’s an in-flight movie?” Justin muttered.
[Good luck with that,] Keontae said. [See that dot at the top of the screen? That’s a camera. Means you are the in-flight movie.]
“Can you…? You know?”
[Of course. Load me up.]
Justin pressed his metal fingers against the screen, and he wondered if Keontae would be able to get through to the tech inside, given the extra Plastrex protection. But his fingers tingled as usual, and Keontae got in no problem. The light from the screen took on a green hue.
Rather than talking to Justin out loud, Keontae sent messages to him on the screen.
{: I’m in, but these shields are insane, man. Gonna take some time to work through. :}
Justin nodded. “How long?”
{: Not sure, :} came another message. {: This protection is serious, though. Top-of-the-line shit. Best plan to get comfortable. Could take me a day. Hopefully less. :}
“A day?” Justin hadn’t accounted for that much time.
His plan all along was to get aboard the Avarice so Keontae could sabotage it from within, but would the others be able to last a full day aboard the Nidus with hundreds of ACM soldiers searching for them? And would Justin be able to last a full day in the brig with whoever else happened to be in here, too?
“It has to be faster than that.”
{: I’ll do my best, ofc. :}
“Thanks. You mind hitting the light so I can catch some sleep?”
The orange light bar flickered off, and the screen went dark as well.
“Thanks. Be safe.”
The screen flared to life once more. {: You too. :}
Justin awoke to the sound of groaning metal and scraping glass. He jerked upright, only to smack his head on the low ceiling above him, and he flopped onto his back again.
The groaning and scraping continued, and he realized it was coming from his feet. Someone was trying to break into his hexpod.
Shit.
He had nowhere to go. Once that glass door opened, he’d more or less be at the mercy of whoever was breaking inside.
He craned his neck for a look and saw several sets of hands reaching for him. They grabbed his ankles and the fabric of his pants and began to haul him out. He didn’t bother to fight back… not yet.
God, I hate prison.
As he cleared the end of the hexpod, Justin cocked his metal arm, ready to throw the first punch.
Then he froze, confused, when the first face he saw belonged to Jonesy.
16
Justin had missed his chance to fight back. Two men grabbed his arms and locked them in place. One guy was the size of a small hovercar and perfectly round in his midsection. He held Justin’s right arm, which made sense given Justin’s augmented strength, although the fat guy couldn’t have known about it in advance.
The fat guy wasn’t all that unusual to look at, but the guy holding Justin’s left arm freaked him out a little bit… mostly because he was missing the lower half of his face.
A black breathing apparatus had replaced his nose and mouth, now a slab of metal that formed a chin that was disproportionately small compared to the rest of his head. Chrome tubes ran from each side of the apparatus, along his jawline, and they sealed to two metal panels on his upper back, visible through two holes cut into his shirt.
He had albino-white hair, short and spiky, and he stared at Justin with jaundiced yellow eyes and manic golden irises. A low electronic voice issued from his face apparatus. “It’s not polite to stare.”
Justin blinked and looked back at Jonesy, who looked the same as he had the night before, still barefoot but far more relaxed. It probably helped that a dozen men and women now surrounded him, their arms folded as they scowled at Justin.
“Mornin’, Jonesy.”
“Good morning, Justin.” Jonesy now wore a smirk instead of a nervous smile. “Warned you about the jiggers, didn’t I?”
“Yep,” Justin replied. “Not much I
could’ve done about it anyway, though.”
“You could’ve swung as soon as you came out.”
“I think we both know how that would’ve ended. Twelve—no, thirteen against one makes for a tough fight,” Justin said. “I mean, you’d need at least double that number for it to be fair.”
Jonesy’s smirk widened into a smile. “You’ve got a sense of humor. I like that about you.”
“Enough to let me go?” Justin proposed.
Jonesy shook his head. “Sorry, but no.”
“Worth a try.”
“It was. You’re either very brave or very foolish.”
“Honestly?” Justin shrugged, and the two goons holding his arms immediately gripped him tighter. “I’m a good mix of both. It’s how I’ve stayed alive this long.”
Jonesy’s pleasant timbre darkened, and his face went sullen. “Keep talking, and your run ends today.”
“You got me all wrong. I’m here to listen,” Justin said. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve got some questions for you.” Jonesy reached into his jumpsuit and produced a shiv. “And I’m going to get answers one way or another.”
Justin glanced around the small common area, hoping the guards—or Keontae—would see what was happening and intervene. He doubted the guards cared, but if Keontae was seeing this…
“The guards aren’t coming. They wouldn’t get here in time anyway, so you might as well stay focused on me.” Jonesy pointed the shiv at Justin’s midsection and took an impossibly small step forward. He was about six feet away, but even with those microscopic advances, he’d make it to Justin soon enough.
“I’m gonna guess you’re not actually a flight mechanic,” Justin said.
Jonesy’s smirk returned. “Matter of fact, I am. But that’s hardly a way to earn a good living, even with all the years and seniority I got under my belt.”
“So… drugs, then? Probably Tyval? That’s what all the cool kids are huffing these days.”
“I believe the term is ‘criminal enterprise.’” Jonesy took another tiny step forward, still pointing the shiv at Justin. “Means it’s a big operation. It’s a big ship, after all. All sorts of wants and needs to be met. Drugs, sure. But also women, simulated and otherwise. Men, too. Even children, if the price is right and the client is discreet.”
The mention of children being involved sickened Justin to his core. If he survived this encounter, he promised himself he’d kill Jonesy before he got out of this cell. He clenched his jaw tight and tried not to show his fury on his face.
“Then there’s gambling, loans, contraband, weapons, blackmail, and good old-fashioned extortion. You could say I’ve got my fingers in a lot of dirty little pies.” Jonesy took another measly step. “Speaking of pies, I even control what food comes into the cafeteria and what goes out.”
Justin cleared his throat. “Seems like they oughta hire you to do something more than just being a mechanic.”
“I’m content with the current arrangement, all except for one little part of it.” Jonesy took another step forward, this one as equally small as the others.
“Like I said, I’m here to listen.” Justin stole another glance around the room and spotted a woman in one of the hexpods who didn’t seem to be part of the group.
She was bald, with tan skin. Tattoos ran from her neck down as far as Justin could see, which wasn’t much. She lay in the pod on her belly, watching the scene unfold while resting her chin on her hands. Probably would’ve been pretty cute if she had some hair.
“I’m stuck in here,” Jonesy said. “I should be out there, overseeing my domain, but here I am, locked up.”
“I can see how that would be frustrating,” Justin said. “I mean, I’d rather be out of here as well, so I get it.”
Jonesy’s stalking ceased. He held up his shiv, looking it over. “This one is very special to me. You know where I got it?”
“I figure if you eat enough prison cereal, you can send the box tops away with your receipts, then you get one in the mail in a few weeks,” Justin quipped.
“Close.” Jonesy’s smile returned. “That was a good one, by the way.”
“I’m nothing if not entertaining when my life is being threatened.”
“No, I took this from the man who tried to kill me with it.” Jonesy patted his side, near the hole in his jumpsuit. “Happened right after I got here. He thought he had me. But he was an amateur. Held onto the shiv too long. So I bashed his nose with my forehead, yanked the shiv out of my own gut, and returned it to him via his left eye.”
Justin nodded. “Solid choice.”
“I left this place on a stretcher, but he left in a body bag.” Jonesy smirked. “I’d make that trade any day.”
“Again, solid choice.”
Jonesy’s advance began anew with yet another small step. “And now we come to you, my new friend, and what you can do for me.”
“Let me have it.” Justin grimaced. “Scratch that. Poor choice of words. I mean I’m listening.”
“You can be my hostage and my leverage for getting out of here.”
“What?” Justin blinked. That sounded like a terrible plan. “Hold up. How long have you been in here?”
“Close to three months. And it’s killing my business.” Another tiny step.
“And you’re just now taking a hostage?”
“You’re different than any of these baboons. You have value. They’re nobodies, like me.”
Justin chuckled. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but I’m not worth the processed air I’m breathing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Justin Barclay,” Jonesy said. “Sole survivor of the accident at ACM-1134, but more importantly, the only living person with information about Carl Andridge’s death.”
Justin didn’t say anything in return, but he should’ve kept up his comedy routine. Now that he’d stayed silent, he’d given himself away. Well, might as well lean into it now. “Not strictly the sole survivor. One other person survived, too.”
“Ah, but they’re not here. You are.”
“Wherever you’re getting your information, good for you,” Justin said. “Probably wasn’t easy, and it probably didn’t come cheap. Either that, or ACM really is as incompetent as I thought.”
The bald woman huffed from behind Jonesy, but no one turned to look.
“Since you have value to the company, they’ll be willing to bargain for your life. I’ll get out, and you’ll be saved. It’s a perfect plan.” He stepped forward again. Now he stood about three feet from Justin’s position, well within striking distance.
“And they’re just gonna let you go back to everything you were doing before?” Justin scoffed. “Wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“No, you’re right. I’m done here. But they will give me a transport and let me take my accumulated wealth with me when I leave.”
“Yeah… then they’ll shoot you down the first chance they get.”
“Wrong,” Jonesy said. “Because I’ll still have you with me.”
“That long, huh?” Justin sighed. “Well, if we’re in this for a long-term relationship, you’d better at least buy me a ring.”
“The time for jokes is coming to an end, Justin. The time for blood is at hand.”
Justin recoiled a bit, but the goons held him in place. “Uh… what?”
“I can’t claim you’re a hostage if you’re in here doing fine. They won’t care,” Jonesy said. “But if you’re bleeding from what could easily become a mortal wound if not treated, or perhaps the first of many wounds, then they’re more likely to pay heed to my demands, and quickly.”
A flicker of green light caught Justin’s eye. Something on the ceiling. He glanced up and saw a few dozen nozzles lower from the ceiling at scattered yet even increments. Sprinklers? Fire suppression? Or… something else?
The bald woman had noticed the nozzles too, and she’d pulled back into her hexpod and shut the glass.
“This next part is the trickiest of the entire plan.” Jonesy’s shiv glinted under the prison lights. “But if you hold still, it’ll be less likely that I’ll hit something important.”
Time was up. Justin yelled, “Now, Key!”
White gas hissed out of the nozzles and descended into common area, gradually filling it with clouds of the stuff.
Jonesy lunged forward, but Justin was ready. The two goons had tightened their grip on his arms, but they’d left his legs unchecked. Justin pulled both legs up, caught Jonesy in the chest with the soles of his boots, and pushed with all his strength.
Jonesy’s small frame launched halfway across the common room and disappeared into the fog, and Justin felt the grip on his right arm go slack. The fat guy was wobbling, already affected by the gas.
Justin yanked his right arm free and promptly slammed it into the half-face of the guy holding his left arm.
Already, though, the gas was getting to Justin as well. It smelled sickeningly sweet with a bitter after-scent, like burning cotton candy. And it was making him feel woozy.
There was really only one place he could go—back to his hexpod.
But if he did that, then how could he ensure Jonesy wouldn’t just come for him again later?
He couldn’t. That meant he had to make a different choice, and fast.
He dropped low, covered his mouth and nose with his shirt, and took one last breath of mostly clean air. It still smelled weird, and his vision began to wobble and swirl, but he wasn’t out yet.
Justin scrambled along the floor in the direction Jonesy had flown, still holding his breath. He climbed over unconscious bodies, searching each of them as he frantically tried to outlast the tainted air toxifying his lungs and the malaise settling into his head.
Finally, he found Jonesy, who stared up at him, still conscious but bewildered and confused.
