Revolutionary Right

by Wayne Basta

  After several moments of leering, the guard said something Saracasi couldn’t hear, and the Liw’kel unleashed a sharp blow with her fist to the guard’s face.

  The guard staggered back, put one hand to his face and raised his baton. Before he could bring it down, the tan-colored male Liw’kel next to the female became a blur. The movement was so fast that Saracasi wasn’t sure what was happening. The guard was suddenly lying on the ground several meters away, cradling a broken nose that was gushing blood.

  A moment later, the other guards swarmed the Liw’kel male and pinned him to the ground. Several started to beat him with their batons. Saracasi was horrified to see him just lay there and take the beating.

  Screaming with fury, the female Liw’kel tried to pry the guards off the male. One of them knocked her in the face and she fell to the ground. Then the male started fighting back.

  He twisted the arm of one of the guards until it broke, forcing him to drop his baton. He struck out at another, whose nose began gushing blood. Then one of the unengaged guards shot the Liw’kel with a stun pistol, and the struggle was over.

  More guards swarmed into the room and surrounded the prisoners. The three injured guards were escorted out, but the two Liw’kel were left where they had fallen. The female was conscious but delirious from the blow to her head. Despite that, she looked upset at the bloody state her mate was in. She tried to move over to the male several times, but the guards beat her back.

  After a few more moments, a semblance of calm reappeared in the room, though the tension remained high.

  The whole fight had taken only a matter of seconds, and none of the other prisoners had moved; most appeared to be as scared as Saracasi. Saracasi had been shocked at the events, but when she thought about it later, she realized it would have been an excellent opportunity for an escape attempt. There had been more prisoners than guards, and only one door between them and the outside world.

  A Terran entered the room, dressed in a business suit rather than a prison guard uniform. He surveyed the room and took in each prisoner. Unlike the guards, he did not look over any of their bodies. His face did display pure contempt as he, in turn, looked each of them in the eye. Most of the prisoners quickly averted their gaze as he turned to them.

  Not wanting to call any more attention to herself than being the only Braz in the lineup already did, Saracasi looked down as soon as the man got to her. When he stood there and considered her for longer than the others, though, she could not help but glance up. She saw him giving her entire body a thorough look. It was not lust, like the guard, but contempt. It made her want to cover herself even more.

  The man finally turned away and began pacing the room. “Welcome to Olan Detention Center. I am Warden O’Hare. I see you have already learned the first lesson: do not mess with the guards. Do as you are told, and your stay will be a relatively painless one. Make trouble, and you’ll suffer the consequences. Make any attempt to escape, and the consequences will be swift and final.

  “You will be cleaned and given your new favorite clothes. Then you will be shown to your cells. Once you have proven you can behave yourselves, you will be allowed time in the yard for exercise and maybe even a job within the center. I trust that all of you will be well behaved.”

  O’Hare turned to one of the guards as he walked out, saying, “Take them to the showers, Sergeant.”

  The ordeal of the showers proved to be less humiliating than Saracasi had predicted, at least when compared with the events in the initial room. The Liw’kel female had been dragged into the showers with the rest of the group, but the male had not rejoined them.

  After the showers, they were all allowed to put on a yellow jumpsuit, and then a tracking device was secured to their ankles. From there, the group was directed into the prison barracks. Saracasi had expected to find stark, small cells just big enough for two or three people. What she found instead surprised her.

  The group was herded out of the main facility through a set of fence gates. They moved toward a large, flimsy-looking structure that looked more like a military barracks than a prison cell. The building was adjacent to a central courtyard of concrete, along with three other similar buildings. In the courtyard were a few tables, a Terran basketball hoop and a Braz Terrac goal. Saracasi could see through the fence that there were several other buildings set up in the same formation.

  Once in the courtyard, the group was split into three and moved into different buildings. Saracasi’s group was the largest and included the Liw’kel female and the Kowwok she had been sitting next to on the transport. A pair of guards preceded them into the building, shouting for the occupants to stand clear.

  Inside the building, the resemblance to a military barracks was even greater. The building was lined with rows of triple-high bunk beds. There was no other furniture in the large room, and the few windows all had bars covering them. A variety of people from every species Saracasi had ever heard about stood at the bunks. She noticed a few Terrans and Braz among the mix – the first she had seen who weren’t guards.

  When everyone had been moved inside, their escorts pushed through the group back toward the exit. The occupants of the building began moving toward the newcomers. Without a word, the guards exited and sealed the door with a loud clang.

  As the swarm of people enveloped the newcomers, Saracasi recalled the stories she had heard about what happened to new people in prison. She started wondering if the Liw’kel male had been the lucky one. He would be spending his first night in a hospital bed, and the story of him fighting off several guards would surely spread. She wondered whether she should do something similar in an attempt to scare these people off. But she knew she’d just make herself a target, as there was no way she could fight off several people at once.

  The crowd of people stopped and then parted as a Notha male made his way to the front. He stopped in front of the newcomers, his short tail twitching slightly as he studied them. There was an air of authority about him. Saracasi decided he must be the one in charge in this building. As she looked at him, she couldn’t figure out why. He stood at average height for a Notha, which was short compared to most other species. The fur that covered his entire body was primarily black but streaked with grey, suggesting age. Despite the typical sharp teeth that protruded up from his lower jaw, he did not look intimidating.

  “I am Faide Darkthorne. Welcome to Building 15. This will be your home for the foreseeable future. Let me explain the rules, and we should be able to make this experience as endurable as possible.”

  Saracasi dreaded what would come next. Her worst fears were coming to life. They would each be given to one of the other prisoners to be used as their personal plaything. They would all have to beg to be fed. Thousands of other possibilities raced through her head.

  “First, it does not matter why you are here. Unless you are Terran or Braz, I am sure you were never presented with formal charges. Despite that, I am sure some of you have a good idea why you were sent here. I am also sure many of you really have no idea. No matter where you fall, it does not matter. Forget about the why for now.

  “Second, if you think you know why you are here, and it is because you are not Terran or Braz, I point out that there are several Terrans and Braz here among you, one even among this new group. They were sent here rather than one of the Alliance-only prisons. They are here in the same conditions as you. So even if you want to blame the Alliance, blame the Terrans, blame the Braz, it was not these Terrans or these Braz who are to blame.

  “Third, no fighting. We all have to live together here. We are thrown in together into tight spaces. Multiple species with different customs, sleeping habits, hygiene and dietary needs. We are locked in here with no way out and no one supervising us. There was an incident last year in one of the other buildings, and a full-scale riot broke out inside. The guards waited a full day before going in to tend to the wounded. While they were neglectful, they had not hurt anyone. Let us not do their dirty
work for them.”

  Faide surveyed the group again, and when no one spoke, he turned back toward the original prisoners. “Please show them to open beds.”

  Several individuals moved forward into the group. Two Kowwoks approached Saracasi; one was short, with brown fur, and the other was taller, with white and tan fur. The short one smiled at her while the taller one maintained a passive expression.

  “I am Chavatwor and this is Larin,” the shorter one said. “What’s your name?”

  “Saracasi,” she replied nervously.

  Chavatwor led her down the rows of beds toward a stack in the middle of the room. “Welcome to Building 15. It’s not much, but it keeps the rain out.”

  “Sometimes,” Larin said with a half laugh, half grunt.

  “Thank you… I think,” Saracasi replied. None of these people were behaving the way she had expected. The atmosphere was more of a friendly community than she had imagined was possible in a prison. “This is not what I expected.”

  Chavatwor nodded. “We do what we can. None of us want to be here. So we’re all in it together. Things used to be ugly, but Faide turned things around when he was transferred to this building. He was one of the first non-Confederates put in here.”

  “First non-Confederate? This used to be a POW camp?”

  The Kowwok nodded. “Yes. During the war. Once the war ended, the POW’s were released. After that, it was turned into a prison for everyone.”

  “Wait, after the war? That was sixteen years ago!”

  Chavatwor nodded. “Yep, Faide’s been here ever since.”

  Chapter Three

  Maarkean felt uneasy sitting across from Zeric. Facing the Terran without a pistol in his hand felt wrong somehow. For the thousandth time, he questioned his sanity. It had not been easy to decide to trust the person who had twice tried to steal his ship. Still, every time he questioned himself, he kept coming back to the inevitable truth: there were no other alternatives, nothing he could do alone.

  They had left the ship in favor of a public café and were now seated at tables right off a public park in the middle of the city. There were lots of people smiling and moving about their lives. It was a pleasant, sunny day with a light breeze coming in from the south. The setting and the weather did not match the situation at all.

  Maarkean was not sure how comfortable he felt having given Zeric his gun back, but holding on to it would not have built the trust they were going to need to work together. That was the main reason he had suggested leaving the ship. Being in public, where they had both been forced to leave their weapons behind to avoid scrutiny, was a safer bet than being alone on the ship.

  Maarkean had tried to question Zeric about how he had managed to sneak aboard the Cutty Sark. The man’s answer had not been particularly informative. He admitted to slipping in as part of the cargo, but didn’t know why Maarkean’s ship had been their target. It seemed one of his associates, Gamaly, had been given the details by a contact on the Black Market, a man called Renard.

  The possibility occurred to Maarkean that Renard and Josserand may have been in league, which would explain the ease of Zeric’s insertion. This was one case where Maarkean wished there were better records kept. With no paperwork to clarify how many cargo containers Josserand had intended to ship, there was no way to know if he was just as much of a victim as Maarkean.

  Regardless of Josserand’s involvement, Maarkean knew he couldn’t go back to the Black Market when this was over. He had lost Josserand’s cargo and failed in making the delivery. It had been pure luck that the cargo had not been anything illegal and that the AIS hadn’t looked into the paperwork very closely. That had kept him from joining his sister in prison.

  Getting her free overrode any of his other concerns, including Zeric’s trustworthiness.

  “So what’s your plan?” Zeric asked.

  That was the last question Maarkean wanted Zeric to ask. He had no answer to give. Despite spending several years in the Alliance military, which had included advanced tactics and war theory classes, he had never been trained in how to break someone out of an Alliance prison. Years of smuggling had only taught him how to avoid Alliance prisons; the general consensus was that if you got caught, you were screwed.

  “First, we need to find out where they’re being held.”

  “My friends will be in Olan Detention Center,” Zeric said. “Your sister, what did you say she did again?”

  “I didn’t. But she’ll be charged with treason.”

  To him, the charge of treason his sister faced was unreasonably harsh. The Alliance did a lot of good things and stood for a lot of principles he believed in, but it took acts of sedition seriously. Even though he didn’t agree with his sister’s long-standing activism, he didn’t consider it treasonous. Yes, she’d been there, actively participating, when a rally had turned into a riot back on Braz, but she had not personally attacked anyone. But he couldn’t afford to let a lawyer argue that her involvement, while illegal, wasn’t treasonous. Victory would result in life in prison, but failure would carry the death penalty.

  Zeric gave him a considering look, but nodded. “Then she’ll most likely end up there, too. It’s where they send all the ‘undesirables.’”

  “Undesirables?” Maarkean asked, confused.

  “Yeah, all non-Terrans or Braz or any Terran or Braz who appear to like consorting with aliens. I would guess a treasonous Braz fits that bill.”

  Maarkean gave Zeric a questioning look. “You sound like my sister. The Alliance may have some issues, but there are strong antidiscrimination laws. They don’t have separate prisons.”

  Zeric shook his head at Maarkean. “For a smuggler, you’re pretty blind. Maybe on Braz or Terra they don’t, where there’s one alien for every ten thousand natives. But out here, the war ended with the Confederacy, but it didn’t with the locals. There are some pretty strict laws for non-natural Alliance citizens. You’re a smuggler, you know about the trade laws.”

  “Sure – trade laws say everyone must trade with the core worlds, and that’s why there’s so much smuggling business. But that has nothing to do with alien oppression. It’s to avoid trading with the Confederacy.”

  Zeric shrugged. “I don’t really care. I’m a ship thief and not interested in polit….’

  Zeric’s voiced trailed off as his gaze drifted. He became fixated on something in the distance. Maarkean turned around in his seat to find out what Zeric was staring at. In the window of the café was a video screen running a news story. The screen showed a Terran female news anchor and the news ticker at the bottom.

  With the video too far away for them to hear any of the sound, Maarkean assumed Zeric was focused on the ticker. The headline didn’t tell him much, but the ticker did talk about the recent capture of a criminal wanted for several crimes, including murder, treason, terrorism and intention to incite riots. Maarkean became concerned that they were talking about his sister. The charges were similar, if exaggerated. After a while, the ticker said that the suspect was part of a multi-planet terrorist group called the Kreogh Sector Congress, and Maarkean breathed a sigh of relief. He knew his sister was not involved in anything like that.

  “Someone you know?” Maarkean asked, no longer interested in the story.

  “Huh?” Zeric said after a moment. “Yes… uh, no, sort of.”

  Zeric broke his gaze from the video. “That story was about Lei-mey Darshawn, a supposed radical terrorist leader who was recently apprehended.”

  “Old girlfriend?” Maarkean asked as a joke.

  “Close. I did have a short relationship with her sister, Ceta. I never met Lei-mey, but Ceta always talked about how her little sister was some wonderful political activist who was championing the rights of freedom or some other nonsense.”

  Confused, Maarkean grew impatient. “So you dated the sister of a terrorist who has been caught. What does that have to do with us?”

  Zeric replied, “Where do you think they put terrorists?�
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  “Prison?” Maarkean asked, confused.

  Exasperated, Zeric said, “And in which prison do they put dangerous undesirables, such as terrorists?”

  “Olan Detention Center,” Maarkean said, starting to see where Zeric’s mind was going.

  “Exactly,” Zeric said. “I bet a person like that has all kinds of friends who are eager to see her get out of jail.”

  “You want us to break a terrorist out of prison?” Maarkean asked, shocked.

  “I highly doubt Lei-mey is any more of a terrorist than my friends, or your sister. Criminal, probably. Terrorist, doubtful,” Zeric replied. “You said your odds of succeeding doubled if I agreed to help. We should go look up Ceta and see if we can increase those odds some more.”

  Reluctantly, Maarkean nodded his head in agreement, and wondered how far he was going to have to go to save his sister this time.

  Zeric smiled as he watched the Braz female who twirled around the pole and then leaned over in his direction. He had never been too fond of the cranial horns Braz had. Unlike their three-toed feet, their heads looked similar to Terrans’, so much so that the horns looked out of place. But between the knees and the neck, you couldn’t tell the difference at all. And he was definitely not looking at this Braz girl’s head.

  The woman moved across the stage in another direction and Zeric turned to give an appreciative nod to Maarkean. He had always thought that there was no better way to bond with another guy than prowling for women or watching them dance naked. This place would provide an excellent opportunity to test that theory, as there was quite a gulf to bridge with the man.

  When he saw Maarkean’s face, he began to rethink his theory. The Braz did not appear at all amused. Neither did he merely look bored and uninterested in women. His violet eyes flashed with annoyance and impatience