I can’t stop my chin from dropping as they laugh at our reaction. “Your—”
What is a Blair, of all people, doing here? I wonder. And the look of him. He’s nearly as tall as Strohm, I’d peg him at just over six feet tall though he’s hunched over, looks like through years of hard labour. His hair is shaved close to the skull, but I see white hairs sticking out from the sides just like Blair’s. And also like Blair—his eyes are a stark blue, bluer than the sky we’ve been staring at all this time on the water. If not for the distinct eyes, I wouldn’t know they were related.
He grins wide, and shows us so many gaps in his teeth, I’m suddenly reminded of ancient stories of pirates on the ocean, pilfering and plundering. I wipe the thought from my head though.
Those stories were of bad people, I remind myself. I don’t know what Ronan Blair is, but I hope beyond any other type of hope I’ve had that he’s not a bad person. I’ve had enough of those in my life.
All this takes a minute before Ronan ushers us through the wooden door, then up several flights of steps until we get to yet another door. It’s metal, this one. Made of modern material straight out of Prospo factories.
He allows it to scan his Alto and the door slides out of place. Then we walk through and stop in our steps.
We’re finally inside the Equator Prison.
Prison isn’t exactly the right word for this place. I stare around in amazement as we walk through. I imagined stark sad halls lined with hundreds of dirty old cells tucked behind rusted metal bars. I pictured angry or sad prisoners behind those cells, soiling themselves as they stared out, wishing for sunlight, for fresh air, for anything other than the cells they were kept in.
Instead, what we’re met with is a village of sorts. The ground is dirt, a colour red I’ve never seen on dirt. In places where it’s wet, it looks like blood and mud mixed together.
To our right though, are stalls—filled to the brim with vegetables and fruit of all sorts, piled so high some of them have toppled to the red earth below, mixing their fruity liquids with the dirt.
They’re all covered under hundreds of cloth umbrellas—they look like they would have been brown or blue once, but they’ve been stained a yellowish white over the years under the harsh sun.
Then I realize, the sun in here isn’t harsh at all. It’s filtered through—something—I can’t see what it is, but the heat is definitely bearable in here.
To our left are more stalls, but this time with plastic bottles full of gallons of water.
And then, the people. They walk about, bartering with the stall managers, buying fruit, buying water. I watch them move about, not a shackle in place. There must be over a hundred of them in here. And they’re all dressed in older clothing, some stained, some ripped. But still, the way they move around, the way they chatter with each other in multiple languages, some I’ve never heard, gives me pause.
Some of them stop to look at us, curiosity in their eyes—but otherwise, hardly any reaction as they go about their day.
This is no prison. This is a town.
“This—?” I say as Blair smiles at me. “THIS is the Equator Prison? Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t get too—excited,” he says in a hushed tone. “This isn’t ALL of it.”
Right, but it can’t be all bad if this is here, right? Still, I remember that he was tortured here. I remember Franklin’s shivers before we came in.
Then we walk past the people to another door on the opposite corner of the compound.
“So,” Ronan Blair says, “you know your way from here. Be careful in there—” He pops his chin in the direction of the door. “They’re monitoring more, lately,” he says as he stares into Blair’s eyes.
It’s what he doesn’t say that has me worried.
“Let me know if I can—help—with anything,” he says. Then he scans his Alto again to let us through and he turns before we head through the door.
Blair walks through first, then Sanaa, Minchin, and me. Franklin takes up the rear.
I thought the door would take us through to another compound, but instead we’re climbing more stairs. I count a hundred and forty before we finally come to a stop at yet another door. This one is slightly ajar.
Blair turns around to face us.
“Okay,” he says. “This is level two. Prepare to barter. Or fight. Or run. I don’t know. Just brace yourselves.”
What in the—I think as he walks through the door and is attacked by a shark.
Sharks
Blair falls to the ground but he’s already up on his feet when the shark comes at him again. Of course it’s not a real shark, I realize as I brace myself for more attacks and keep my eyes on the thing.
It’s a stocky man, about my height, and he wears the dried head of a great white on his head, the rest of its body wrapped around him like a cloak. He holds a gnarly wooden staff in his hand as he throws himself at Blair again, and attacks and attacks and attacks. I move forward but Sanaa places an arm across my chest.
“What—” I say, surprised that she’d stop me from getting into a fight, especially since it meant I’d come to Blair’s aid.
“This is the way of the EPrison,” Franklin says as she shushes me. “Fight, barter, or—whatever else—it’s always one on one.”
My arms itch to get in there and pummel the crap out of the shark.
“Don’t worry,” Franklin continues as it’s clear she’s holding herself back as well. “You’ll get your turn.”
And soon, far sooner than I expect, I get what she means.
Just as Blair looks like he’s winning the fight, another—shark—shows up on our right and I move up to him before any of the others realize he’s there.
He looks me up and down and laughs.
“What are you, gahl?” he says, in the same accent that Ronan Blair spoke. “Are you crustacean or are you coral?”
I know he’s making fun of my makeshift protection of Maya’s outer shell. So I say, “Well, whatever I am, I eat fish—like you—for breakfast.”
It cuts his laugh in half as he stares at me, then charges.
I’d lost my weapons in the water, but like the others, have some of Maya’s hard, weaponized tail on me. I’ve attached a particularly sharp portion of her to my inner arm where I’d normally have my metal sticks. I block his staff with one arm and slam a fist straight into his sternum.
I know it hurts as he falls back with a loud humph. I’m aware that the others are fighting too as I hear the occasional grunt from them behind me.
Still, Sharkman doesn’t stop. He keeps charging at me, and I wonder if there’s any way I can stop him. I’m still exhausted from our trip here, I’m definitely not at my hundred percent. Still I block every attack, and throw in a good punch every now and then.
No matter what I do, he keeps coming and keeps coming. Until my arms are bloody on the inside.
Note to self—if I survive this, I have to make sure to add padding underneath these razors from Maya.
He comes at me for what feels like the thousandth time when I know I simply don’t have the strength to pull my arms up again. So I shift my balance and drop. I sweep my right leg out and slam it into his calves so he slips and lands on his back, losing all his air. He grunts then jumps back on his feet again.
By Odin, what is he made of?
Then a female voice yells, “Stop! That’s enough.”
Without hesitation, Sharkman steps away from me and stands in a row with the other sharks. I notice now, some are draped in hammerheads, some in tiger shark gear.
I hear heavy breathing behind me and finally look to the others. They’re all as bloodied and broken as I feel. We’re a ragtag little team, but if there’s one thing we all have in common, it’s that we don’t give up.
The person behind the voice steps forward with a “Huh.”
How long has she been there? Long enough to watch a large part of our fights, I’m sure.
As she steps forward,
my heart stops. She’s darker than anyone I’ve ever seen. A skin so black and shiny, I can imagine seeing my reflection in it.
She has a triangle-shaped face under a wild clot of curly black and red hair. In wild contrast to the skin are the eyes. They’re a silvery ocean green, small and fish-shaped and absolutely enthralling. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Her lips are lush but don’t sit naturally on her face, like they’re usually thin but inflated somehow.
She’s dressed in a shimmery silver dress that reaches her knees, showing off legs longer than any I’ve ever seen. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she stepped right out of the ocean—she’s what I’d imagine those ancient stories of mermaids would look like.
Of course it’s ridiculous, and the exhaustion is certainly getting to me. But I wonder—then I notice her spiky high heels, of all things! Right here in the Equator Prison.
“So,” she purrs, as she steps forward and stops only when she stares Blair in the eyes. She speaks in the same accent the others do. It’s slightly heavy, slurring every so often.
There’s something comforting about it though—something that reminds me of oceans and long lazy days on the water. The way she moves though, I doubt there’s anything remotely lazy about her.
“So, dahling Blair.” She places a small palm to his cheek. I’m impressed that he doesn’t move an inch. “You’ve come back to me.” Then she grins and the grin turns into a tinkling laughter as she looks around at us. “You’ve brought even more company this time.” She struts past us, staring each one of us in the eyes until she comes to me.
“You, gahl. You look familiah.” I keep still as she places her small hand on my face too. “Yes, I feel like I know you. But you haven’t been heeyah before.”
“No,” I reply. My voice shakes, comes out in a squeak. Great. I’m terrified of her, of that I’m sure. But did I have to show it so well?
She laughs again, then struts back to Blair. “Couldn’t get enough last time, Blair?” she says. I try not to react to the meaning in her words but see Franklin stiffen to my right.
“You miss my—uh—what did you call it last time? My wondrous hospitality. Is that right?”
She nods to one of the sharks, who steps forward with a little machine in hand. I recognize it as an Alto reader, recording each of the new prisoners, I’m guessing.
When he gets to me, he pauses and steps back, then whispers something into the lady’s ear.
She perks up, then stares at me again, her head on an incline. “What we have here,” she says, “is an unidentified SOL. No ID. No way to determine who she is. No Alto. Like Blair here was when he first came to us.” Her eyes land on him again. “So what is the purpose of your little—visit?”
Finally, Blair speaks. “It’s the music,” he says in his strongest voice, though I can tell he’s terrified too. “It stuck with me, what can I say?”
What is he talking about? Franklin shifts beside me. Looking down, I see her hands are clenched tight into fists and wonder how she’s holding back her rage.
“So dahrls,” the woman drawls as the smile on her face disappears. “Welcome back. Please—” She steps back and to the side as she slowly gestures with her left arm to let us through. “Enjoy your stay.”
Then she walks past us through to the other door, all the sharks and their weapons behind her.
For a minute or so, we all breathe. I lean forward, dizzy from lack of water, from the fight that nearly did me in and I take deep breaths as I bring down my heartbeat.
The others do the same, stretching and breathing until we’re only marginally in the same state we were in before all this.
“Okay,” I finally say as I look up into Blair’s withdrawn face. “Who was that?”
“She’s Ellena. The warden,” he says, “and just about the most dangerous person you’ll ever meet.”
“What did you mean by ‘the music’?” I say, through slow huffs.
“Hopefully,” he whispers as he stares at Franklin. “Hopefully you’ll never find out, Rome.”
It doesn’t matter now, anyway.
“Just let’s keep our heads down, find this Metrill and do what needs doing, to get the info you need okay,” Franklin says. She speaks so fast, I wonder if she’s breathed at all. I wonder what happened to these two in this weird place. Then I nod.
“Where’s the main—populace?” I ask Blair. I wanted to say the general population, but prison terms just don’t seem to work here.
“Up top,” he says. Then he turns toward yet another door, and we follow him.
My shoulders are sore, I’m bleeding, though my nanites slowly knit me back to normal. Huh, I think. Thank you Maya.
Then we’re through the door, another hallway, and in the midst of the general populace of the EPrison.
General Populace
The ‘general populace’, I find, is in a space the same size as the market two floors down. Sand and grime covers the hard ground. Instead of food stalls, we’re met with miles and miles of makeshift tents and square homes of corrugated iron, canvas, bits of old boats, sails, driftwood.
You name it, someone here’s made a home out of it.
“This isn’t a prison,” I whisper to Sanaa. “This is P-City today. This is a slum.”
She laughs at my words. “What’s the difference?” she asks as she leads me to the northern end of the slum, followed by Franklin and Blair.
I imagine those two living here for over a year and I shudder. What was that like, I wonder? After having lived free and on boats all their lives, true nomads, only to be stuck here being ruled by that scary warden—who knows just what she’s capable of? I know at the very least, she’s capable of torture—
And then stuck here, hearing the ocean right outside the walls, smelling the ocean breeze, but being unable to leave.
I shudder again. That’s the worst kind of prison. Not just having your freedom taken from you, not just being brutalized everyday, but knowing that the one source of comfort you’ve ever had is within hearing distance.
I can’t imagine anything worse. And we purposely came in here. They, knowing everything they know about this place, voluntarily came. We’d better succeed in our mission, I decide, not that that was a question before. But now—I’m even more motivated.
I have to do whatever it takes to get what we need and get this team safely out of here. Whatever it takes.
Blair is ahead of us now, taking the lead to walk us through the various tents. I see skinny kids running around, some babies crying. Children? Who’da heard of kids in prison? The little I know of EPrison, I know most if not all inmates are meant to die in here. So these kids must have been born here. What happens to them when their parents die?
I stare around at the homes.
“First things first,” Blair says. He stops at the entry of a larger tent and turns to us as he pulls it open. “Let’s get changed out of Maya’s heavy gear.” And he walks through into the tent.
“Are you nuts?” I walk in after him. “These are armour. We need them.”
“Yeah but you’ll feel hot in no time,” Sanaa says. “We need to be able to breathe, Romy.”
Ahead of us is a small woman, about five feet tall, and she grins from ear to ear as she hugs Blair and Franklin.
“What you thinking, coming back here? You crazy you know.” She speaks in that same strong accent the others here speak. Still, she doesn’t let go of Blair until he shrugs her off.
“We’re on an important mission, Bo,” he says. “We need to find someone. But first, five of your most luxurious clothing please.”
She cackles as she turns around to a mass of clothing behind her, freshly washed in salt water from what I can smell.
Franklin laughs and says, “Make sure mine’s a nice purple colour Bo. I need to look good you know.”
To which Bo cackles harder and finally turns and throws clothes at us, one at a time. Minchin’s hits him in the face, as he grunts.
<
br /> I look down at what’s in my arms—looks a lot like a potato sack, I decide, but somehow lighter. I’m to wear it, I’m guessing, since everyone’s already changing around me.
“You need a private room, dahl?” Bo yells out.
I start changing before she yells at me some more. I’m not nearly as modest about my nakedness as I used to be. I place Maya’s armour beside me. Sanaa’s the first one changed so she gathers the team’s gear in her arms and walks up to Bo.
“Keep them safe,” she whispers. “We’ll need them back soon.”
“Aye you will that,” Bo grins, then she says, “Who y’all looking for?”
All eyes turn to me. Right. The Metrill that I saw for all of two minutes, several weeks ago, amidst a group of people in P-City. Still, I remember her well enough.
I don’t know this Bo, no matter how close these guys seem to her. So I don’t mention that she’s a Metrill. Besides, I remember Blair’s words earlier. “Don’t trust a single soul in here,” he’d said. “When you’re an EPrison ward, you’re a desperate person. And desperate people do desperate things.”
So I say, “She’s short. About four foot five, I’d think. She would have been brought in here about a month ago, by a Vorkian.”
“Aye,” Bo says as she nods her head and brings her gnarly brown fingers up to her chin as if in deep thought. “Aye, I know who you speak of. I remember this Vorkian fellah.”
“Do you know where she’s—located?” I say, not wanting to use the word held though I know that’s the state of everyone in this place.
“She’da be on the south side,” Bo says, “unless they’re questioning her. If they’re questioning her, y’all know where she is.” She looks knowingly at Franklin and Blair, who both stand stiff and uncomfortable in their sacks.
I can’t see the look on Blair’s face but Franklin looks like she’s about to cry. “Okay.” She rolls her shoulders. “Let’s try the south side first, shall we?”
Then they hug Bo again, with “See you soon,” on their lips and we’re out of the big tent.
Romy's Last Stand: Book III of the 2250 Saga Page 12
