by Caleb Fast
“We are the masters of our own destinies,” Dream starts, trying to cheer Trix up, “He just had his own course in mind, sometimes you can’t sway people.”
“I’ll try to sway people until I either die, or…” Trix trails off as a guard stalks by and loses her train of thought as another gunshot sounds from across the mess hall.
“Or what?” Dream prods once the rest of the crowd the in the cafeteria begin speaking again, after the deathly silence that had followed every gunshot thus far.
“Huh?” Trix asks absently as she watches yet another prisoner being forced to her knees above the puddle of countless being’s blood.
This inmate, unlike the others, was a Toaz, and her reptilian eyes were frantically searching the room, as if she thought she could still get out with her life. For some odd reason, the Coalition never seemed to send any Toaz, or any other non-human races to Paradise. Rumor had it, the Coalition had harsher accommodations for dissidents that weren’t human, which Trix couldn’t fathom, especially at times like this. Trix had grown used to seeing every single alien race being executed for comparatively petty crimes, while humans who led far more barbaric lives would only receive comparatively lax prison sentences.
“You were saying—" Dream starts before being cut off by the overhead speakers.
“Proceed to your work assignment,” The PA sounds off through its heavy static after several loud beeps. The announcement repeats itself several times as everyone from around the mess hall slowly rise and make for their respective exits. As the PA continues with monotonous daily announcements that served no purpose to the inmates, other than to discourage them. The report included things like the day’s weather—which was allegedly always sunny and beautiful, and also the various celebrations the enslaved were missing back at their homes. The broadcast continues with some propaganda reels, and a seemingly endless recantation of the names of inmates who had died in yesterday’s riot before the guards begin shoving people about in an effort to speed along their trancelike slog to the mines.
“I have to go,” Trix tells Dream as a guard draws near. Without waiting for a response, Trix and Srin rise to their feet with their trays and make for the nearest stack of dishes. When Trix first arrived, she had found what they did with the dishes as off-putting, but now she saw that everything followed the same procedure; someone uses something, puts it back where they got it, next person uses it, no cleaning, no nothing. Nothing was ever washed here, save the prisoners who would count themselves lucky after being hosed off every few months.
“Don’t forget to finish your food,” Srin reminds Trix as she points to Trix’s nearly untouched meal.
“Right,” Trix responds tiredly. Executions had always left her feeling drained as she felt like she had failed each and every person who was killed. After quickly glancing around, Trix pours the remainder of her food into one of the many pockets she had added to her jumpsuit. Trix knew that the guards would kill her if they caught her smuggling out food, or if they caught her with makeshift pockets that she could hide weapons in, but she was willing to risk it. Between the guard’s carelessness, and the fact that Trix wasn’t about to see any of her food go to waste, she knew that she couldn’t help herself. Those who knew about Trix’s bootlegging tendencies warned her of their implications, but, as Dream had said, Trix’s mind was set, she was the master of her own destiny, and no amount of warnings would change that. She had been able to share her food with countless starving people and save others with the odds and ends she kept tucked away in her pockets for emergencies.
“Dream seemed extra interested in you today,” Srin teases jokingly as she and Trix sets their trays atop the tower of dingy tableware.
“Let him be,” Trix laughs as she and Srin line up to make for the west wing, “He’s nice but he isn’t my type.”
“That’s what you always say,” Srin groans.
“And it’s what I’ll keep saying,” Trix states flatly. They were in prison, and not just any prison, they were in Paradise. This was no romantic getaway where she hoped to find her true love, this was the closest one got to Hell without actually being there.
“C’mon,” Srin presses, as she always had after every encounter Trix had with the man, “You could say all your Dreams came true in Paradise!”
“No more puns,” Trix complains weakly as their line slowly begins its advance toward the west wing’s lift.
“But it would be so perfect,” Srin continues, still following her normal playbook.
“No, it wouldn’t be,” Trix whispers dismissively as they pass a guard.
“Fine,” Srin mutters as she raises her hands slightly in mock surrender.
I’ll drop my ID in Jenessa's way to stop her, that way we can talk, Trix thinks, rehearsing how things would go down in her head after several moments of silence. She had been running countless scenarios through her head since she had first picked Jenessa out as a head honcho amongst the prisoners. Everything about Jenessa pointed to the fact that she was some sort of leader, from the way she carried herself, to the way that the other inmates form the first shift crowded around her in a protective circle. Trix had also seen Jenessa order people around countless times when the guards were away and could see that she held the respect of those she led.
“Did you see the guy they killed today?” A voice whispers somewhere behind Trix, breaking the usual silence of the trudge down to the mines.
“Which one?” Another returns, seemingly on the verge of tears.
“The one by the feed dispenser,” The first voice answers.
“The scrawny guy?” The second asks.
“Yes, him,”
“What about him?”
“If I’m not mistaking, he was the senator from my homeworld.”
“A senator?”
“Yeah… Senator Walskie, if I remember right.”
“Why would they send a senator here to die?” The second voice demands doubtfully, “They’re untouchables.”
“I heard he started speaking out against the Coalition,” A third voice chimes in from the line of male inmates which had pulled up on Trix’s right.
“What did he say that got him sent here?” The first voice asks.
“He called out some of the senators from the wealthy worlds for embezzling money for themselves,” The third answers.
“What’s so bad about that?” The second voice asks before continuing, “Everyone knows they do.”
“Well, he then tried to blackmail them into sharing the money with him,” The third voice answers, “He supposedly wanted to help out the worst off on his planet.”
“That sounds noble,” The second voice whispers.
“It was, but it challenged their compliance to the Coalition’s rules, since they’re liable for the taxes they collect.”
“I’m not following,”
“They were keeping some of the taxes their people were paying, rather than sending them off to the Coalition for redistribution. Since the senators that Walskie challenged weren’t adhering to that law, they were liable to get sent here.”
“But no one follows that rule,” The first voice complains, “That’s why I had to steal to eat,”
“That’s beside the point,” The third voice chides, “The fact of the matter is, Walskie took on the exact people that had the power to ruin him, and he didn’t have the clout to push back.”
“I hate the Coalition,” The first voice grumbles after several beats.
“Who said that?” A nearby guard demands after hearing the inmate’s gripe. The guard halts the line several people behind Trix before repeating his question, “Who said that?”
“Keep your head down,” Srin breathes a warning to Trix, sensing Trix’s need to intervene, “Whatever happens is on their heads.”
“But—" Trix starts before another guard comes along and starts pushing the rest of the line ahead.
“Keep moving,” The second guard orders as he shoves his way through the two colu
mns of inmates toward his comrade, who was staring down the section of the line he had stopped.
The few nervous women behind Trix force her ahead and they round a corner in time to hear gunshots sounding off from behind them, followed by several screams. Summoning all of her willpower, Trix continues staring ahead, wary of the fact that the guards were always on the lookout for people who broke the status quo and looked toward any commotion. In the guards’ eyes, those who broke the norm were most likely planning an escape. After all, any excitement that was unfolding gave anyone a chance to make a break for it. The only issue with that theory, was the fact there was nowhere to go if someone was to break out… nowhere on this planet, at least, Trix thinks bleakly as she looks between all the solemn faces of the hopeless people around her.
“Don’t look back,” Srin whispers as she forces Trix along, “Everyone knows gossip like that gets you killed sooner or later.”
“Sooner rather than later,” A nearby inmate pipes in with a soft chuckle.
“Exactly,” Srin agrees.
“I know that,” Trix reminds Srin.
“Then why do I have to keep reminding you?” Srin chides as she stares blankly ahead over the sea of enslave humanity.
“Because I’ll never be able to stand idle as people die,” Trix mutters almost pointedly in response as they pass yet another guard.
“Yeah, yeah,” Srin moans at the response Trix had given her countless times.
“It’s true,” Trix whispers defensively.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Srin says dismissively as they round their final corner before reaching the lift to get down into the mines.
“Ready for another eventful day?” Dream asks Trix, suddenly materializing from the line of men left on her line.
“Stop doing that!” Trix seethes after her heartrate normalizes from yet another scare.
“Sorry,” Dream apologizes softly as they duck by yet another guard. Dream uncharacteristically continues without waiting for Trix to accept his apology “Have you two noticed how there are more guards about today?”
“Yeah,” Trix whispers as they near the lift at the end of the tunnel that had just roared to life as it lowers itself into the prison’s innards.
“I don’t like the looks of it,” Dream whispers forebodingly.
“Maybe they’re just on edge after the riot,” Trix offers.
“Maybe…” Dream responds thoughtfully. He continues as he slips back into the mass of men that made up his haphazard line, “I’ll see you around,”
Trix and Srin nod in response to Dream as they continue ahead. Upon seeing the first shift groggily making their way from the mines, Trix tells herself This is it! Jenessa, who is three rows back, marches along trying—without success—to blend into the surrounding prisoners. As Jenessa’s line passes Trix’s on her right, she casually tosses her ID badge in front of Jenessa, who casually stops, picks it up, dusts it off, and hands it back to the Trix in one smooth motion. Trix who fails to even make a sound in her excitement, takes her badge back from Jenessa, and nods her thanks wordlessly.
Trix continues walking with her line, idly playing with her ID. I'm so stupid! She thinks, hating herself for messing up yet another one of her plans. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! She puts her badge back on as they continue down the hall. Stopping at the automated security checkpoint before the lift, Trix runs her card through the scanner, trying to proceed through the gate’s turnstiles, she is stopped. An automated voice sounds, "Invalid ID." She looks her card over, looking for anything amiss as several inmates swear at her for holding up the line. Turning it over, Trix sees a note, and quickly shoves it into one of her pockets to read later, she runs her name card again, and passes through to another day of work.
What could it say? Trix wonders in excitement, fiddling with the note in her pocket. She resolves to open it once she and Srin are in the mines, away from of the watchful eyes of the guards. Trying to act natural, she continues with the line, silent, and shuffling.
After what seemed like an eternity, Trix finds herself tearing down the lift’s scaffolding to the mine below, dragging Srin alongside her. She doesn’t skip a beat after her feet hit the cold stone floor of the mine before taking off down a secluded tunnel, Srin still in tow. Finding a dark corner, far from prying eyes, Trix stops abruptly, causing Srin to stumble over her.
“What is it?” Srin asks angrily, after steadying herself.
“Jenessa gave me a note,” Trix exclaims, as quietly as she can, carefully removing the note that could mean their freedom from her pocket to show Srin.
“Well, what’s it say?” Srin asks, “And need I remind you, we still have a quota.”
“It says,” Trix read the note in a whisper, “Welcome to freedom. Meet me in west corner of the commons at evening mess.”
“That’s it? ‘Cause that’s not much to go on.”
“Yeah, that’s it. And it’s all I need. A chance at freedom beats none at all. You said so yourself.”
“Get to work,” A guard says from behind them. The guard is one of Yalland's men, not a group to be messed with, 22 had mumbled every time they encountered one. She had sworn that it would be one of Yalland’s men that would kill her, and sure enough, it was. 22 had caught a minor cold that was sweeping around the prison and that was it. She was taken to the “infirmary” and she never came back.
Trix and Srin scurry away and gather their tools for another day of working the eerily green mines. Impatiently Trix awaits her date with destiny that next evening.
Four
Paradise, Galatia
Clive, and the rest of his leadership meet in private as the chaos of the evening meal make for the ideal cover for their meeting. Their relatively secluded room just off from the cafeteria was a large, dark factory, abandoned for some time. Dust and dirt are layered thick on the walls due to the humid jungle air, which had found its way in through the ever-widening cracks in the walls and ceiling of the room. Various machines sit with parts strewn about them, rusted out hulks of what had once made up the machining section of the prison.
“Here’s the plan,” Clive begins, facing the expectant group of inmates, Richardson, and Phelix, “We use Richardson’s security clearance to get all of our people into the hangar without raising any alarms. By the time all of our people are in place, our distractions will be ready to blow. Then we have Richardson and his men put the docking bay under lockdown once we get all our people in place, and once he does so, Mav’s bombs will begin going off, keeping Jenniston busy. Richardson, you’re still up for the task, right?”
“Of course,” Richardson responds, his hands deep in his pockets as he toys with the handful of gemstones Clive had given him. He had only accepted them due to the risk he had to face, after all, Jenniston was cruel, selfish, and very, very evil. He shivers thinking back to what he had seen over the past two days.
“With the hangar on lockdown, and Mav’s handiwork doing its thing, we will funnel all of our people into the transport with very little disturbances—”
“Why the change in plans?” An old man by the name of Clint Mannison cuts in from a rickety old chair Clive had pieced together for the old man. Clint then waves a nearby inmate over and whispers something to him.
Clint somehow clung to life, despite Jenniston’s best efforts. Clint’s longevity was mostly thanks to the fact that he worked the night shift, outside of Triborn’s zealous reach. He had been in the prison for at least a year, after bouncing between a massive array of prisons throughout Coalition space. He had been part of the wealthy class before the Coalition rounded them all up to make examples of the ‘elite of old’ as they called them. He had outlived most of his counterparts, who hadn’t managed to smuggle or buy their ways out from under the Coalition’s iron fist.
“We got an inside man now, Clint,” Clive responds with a proud smile. Walking toward Richardson and his lieutenant who went by the name Phelix, he continues, “Would you two like to introduce y
ourselves?”
“Sure,” Richardson answers, all too happy to clear the air of uneasiness in the room, “I’m Richardson, and I was assigned here as a punishment for disobeying Coalition orders on countless occasions. They didn’t like how my team and I had a conscience, so they decided to forget about us and dump us somewhere they thought we wouldn’t be able to cause trouble. I’ve spent the last few years doing all I could to help you guys stay alive, and now I’m doing this for you all too.”
“Richardson has been feeding me information and turned a blind eye to a lot of our activities, as some of you may know,” Clive chimes in after he notices everyone’s expectant stares at him. Those in the room let out a collective sigh of relief as they at least partially let their guard down towards Richardson.
“And I’m Phelix,” Phelix introduces herself after the chatter around her dies down, “Richardson and I are part of one of the orphan brigades, so we had no choice but to become Coalition soldiers. Although we’re almost done with our required service, we decided we’d risk our freedom for yours, and save all the lives we could along the way.”
“Thank you, Phelix, Richardson,” Clive says with a smile as Clint and the inmate helping him along stop in front of Richardson and Phelix. It had been so long since Clive had smiled, that he had forgotten how good simply smiling felt. He continues after a beat, “Clint here has weak eyes, so he wanted to have a closer look at you two.”
“Hi, Clint,” Phelix says warmly as she enthusiastically shakes his outstretched hand.
“A pleasure to finally meet you,” Richardson says taking the man’s hand once Phelix had finished, “I’ve heard a lot about you from the other guards.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you as well,” Clint says after several beats. He continues searching Richardson’s eyes for any signs of deceit.
“All good things?” Richardson asks with an awkward chuckle as the man continues to stare.
“Something like that,” Clint smiles with his near-toothless grin.
“That sounds about right,” Richardson laughs, finally noting the man’s odd sense of humor.
