Absolute (Discipline Book 1)

by P. S. Power

  "What, you think your friends will have you out by morning? You won't see a judge until tomorrow at the earliest. The days of calling up help at midnight are over. That's half of why we come in so late. So that people can't squirm out of things to easily."

  Ben sighed and nodded, since that made sense.

  "Even the ones you know are innocent. That isn't good." He wasn't trying to lecture, but feeling scared was only part of what he had going on inside. Anger was the other half. Even being there for a few days, he might be killed.

  It had been known to happen.

  Instead of taking offense, the man on the right laughed, visible through the wire mesh.

  "Everyone is innocent. Didn't you know that? I hear you though. This is a bit of a washout. Just keep your head down and you'll be fine. It won't even show up as anything on your record, except that you'll be cleared." The words were bland, not friendly, but the man seemed to mean them.

  The other man, who was older and looked it, carrying at least sixty pounds more than could be healthy, nodded, looking at the pad he was working on.

  "True. You don't even look that distinctive, so no one will hassle you too much inside. Just remember, if anyone attacks you, for any reason, put your hands over your head and curl up. If you hit anyone, even once, you'll be guilty of battery. People can get a bit wired up, going inside, so keep that in mind."

  Again, it was just advice, and not anything that the man thought of as a threat, even if he was kind of suggesting that violence was so common where he was going that he would be beaten. The sense behind it was gentler than that, even though it didn't seem like that on the outside.

  "Do you think that guy in charge back there will set something up? Have me attacked?"

  "Nooo. I wasn't saying that. Jim's not a bad guy. I was just talking about the fact that a lot of guys will be going into withdrawal or be hung over. That tends not to have everyone in the best mood all the time. That's all. The police don't go around having people beaten. You know that, right?"

  Ben was quiet for a moment, and then let his head tilt to the side. The back of it still ached, from the knee that had been dug into it. He wasn't going to have some bruises, he knew.

  "My father was brought in on false charges. Well, you saw the data? Three inmates jumped him the night before he was supposed to get out, and beat him to death." There was silence, so he went on, the composite seat slick underneath his gray trousers. "The thing there was that they were the only three violent criminals there, that also had personal issues with child traffickers. Which my dad wasn't and the state admitted, even if they didn't bother finishing the work on it after he died. So, yeah. I'm worried that you'll do the same kind of thing."

  The men were both silent then, for a long time, making it seem like they didn't care. That wasn't the case however, since both had started to read up on the file. Very softly, the one on the right said a single word.

  "Fuck." It wasn't really audible, but Ben managed to get the idea of it anyway.

  Both men tensed then, wondering if they were going to have a big fight with him, if they weren't careful. It was illegal to fight with the police, but if you thought that they were going to have you killed, people would anyway.

  It was the older guy, the one on the left, who spoke for them.

  "Don't worry. We won't let that go down. I'll put a word in. It will just be a night in a cell. No big thing."

  Ben nodded a little, his jaw sore and lip starting to swell from where it had been pressed into the ground.

  "Thanks. I appreciate it."

  The trip to the station took a while, about forty minutes. Then, at the station, the men helped him out of the car, which drove off to park itself as soon as they were clear. They were in an underground parking facility, which only had official vehicles in it, and lines painted on the ground.

  He was supposed to stand inside the white lines. There was a box just for him. The men that brought him there were done at that point, though the older one waved to the two men and the woman that came out, which got one of them to come over and talk. They were too far away to be heard, and it was kind of hard to pick up what they were saying, given the overwhelming anger and mental chaos of the place above them.

  It was hellish already.

  It started with burning anger, a thing that was close to uncontrollable, and a suicidal depression. Then there were bits and pieces of information mixed in. It was so bad that he was shaking by the time the female corrections person came over to collect him. His being that scared seeming got her to respond as well. With paranoia. After all, they'd been warned that he was afraid for his life, which to them meant one thing. They were potentially in danger.

  Ben was pulled along, and the cuffs were left on the whole time. Even while they fingerprinted him. They had a small scanner for that which was just placed on each fingers. That just showed that he was him, since he had a small scar on his right thumb, which David hadn't. Everyone was in the system, but that bit of confirmation didn't get him cleared. No, the order had come in to hold him for at least a day.

  The judge might overrule that, but the police didn't even have to press charges inside that time frame.

  His brain started to burn after they shoved him into an orange jumpsuit, made of uncomfortable plastic like composite, that glowed softly. It probably had trackers, and scanners in it, in case he got worked up. As soon as he was in it, the people started to treat him more harshly. Pushing him, and at times slapping his shoulders and the side of his head to get him to move to where they wanted. Since that was going to help anyone calm down, if they were having problems.

  The idea was clear. They were scared. He wasn't that powerful looking, but the bio-signs coming off of him said that he was ready for combat. So they wanted to show him how strong and tough they were first, so he'd think twice about fighting with them.

  Ben held it all in. It was mainly coming from outside of him anyway. He wasn't pleased with the situation, of course, but the anger, and depression, those weren't his. With a lot of force, he tried to avoid showing that he was feeling any particular way at all. The suit tattled on him, but his actions were under his control.

  They had to stay that way, or he'd be in a lot worse trouble than he already was.

  Then, taking him into a housing section, they tossed him into an empty cell, propelling him hard enough that his face hit the far wall with a thud. The cuffs weren't taken off either. They just left, no one wanting to risk him having the ability to fight at all.

  It was, no doubt, going to make for a fun evening.

  Chapter eleven

  It was all Ben could do to not scream. His head was bursting, and felt like someone had set it on fire, which he knew wasn't true. Thankfully, there was no cell mate in with him to beat him up for not sleeping, or however it would have happened.

  The space he was in was dark, but not pitch black. That might have been easier for him to take. It also might not have made any difference at all. He tried to control the feelings he was having with meditation, but that didn't seem to do anything except make it all worse. So he did what Glenda had suggested before he left.

  He hung on.

  It wasn't easy, but as long as he didn't start to gibber about the pain, and how he wanted to kill himself, things would be fine. A lot of people had problems when they were locked up, and he had to seem ready to kill someone. That was better, since he couldn't be punished for anger. Depression, which he felt as well, would have him locked in a special observation cell.

  Then anything he did that was too strange could be used against him. His hands ached, but were still warm, which meant that blood was flowing into them. He'd seen that someplace, he was sure. When your hands were white and cold, you were in trouble. Not that he could see them behind his back.

  More than anything, at that moment, Ben wanted out. It ate at him in a way that few things ever had. In the end, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to last there. Though, that wasn't the end at
all. That happened after a few hours of sitting there. Then there was more of it.

  Thankfully people eventually fell asleep, taking some of the pressure off of him. Not that it was enough. Ben didn't rest. There were dreams however. From hundreds of people. That made them go from slightly dark, or even brutal, to a massed jumble that couldn't be understood in the slightest. In a lot of ways that was worse, Ben decided. The images weren't clear enough to make out, but he nearly could. Most were in black and white, but a few were in color. What that was about, he had no clue.

  His dreams were always in color, as far as he knew.

  In the morning he was fed, though he didn't eat, since it wasn't on his diet plan. Scrambled eggs, and sausage with damp seeming toast. He left it in the door, which had one of the guards calling in to him.

  "You alive in there?"

  Ben answered, his voice sounding a lot livelier than he would have thought he could fake.

  "Oh, I'm fine, thanks. I'm just on a diet and should be out today, I hope, so no need to ruin it."

  That got a laugh and the tray taken away.

  Then about five hours later, his bladder about to burst, they came to take him to see the judge. Thankfully that didn't take long. Winston the lawyer was there, in a different suit, but with the same document case, his face still looking more than a little off.

  "Mr. Epson? We met last night. Winston Mills?" He glanced at the shackles and then at the guard that had brought him in. "Was there a problem?"

  It was clear to Ben that he wanted to know if there had been a fight, but the guard didn't lie about it.

  "No. He had some bad readings, that was all. I can get these off now, if you can vouch for him?"

  The old man, who didn't look it, nodded. He seemed ready to yell at someone.

  "Yes. That would be a good idea. You do know that it's illegal to keep a prisoner shackled for more than eight hours, don't you?"

  Ben hadn't known that.

  "Oops? They kept me like that all night. Ah. I couldn't go to the bathroom. I don't suppose I can now?" It hurt when the things were taken off his wrists. Oddly that was mainly at his shoulders, though he did bring his hands around and rubbed at the place the silver metal had been in contact with all night. There were lines, but they weren't too bad.

  There was a room for him to pee in, finally, which actually helped him feel a lot better. It was just to the side, since it seemed to come up for more people than just him.

  The guard didn't leave the hallway, though he did move back. It wasn't his fault after all. The man even muttered that part, which got a nod from the lawyer.

  "True. We should be in to see the Judge in a few moments. This isn't a busy venue. When we go in, please let me do the speaking? I know that you'll want to set the record straight, but right now the court will be searching for a reason to hold you longer, so that any case brought in the future won't look as good to a jury. I've managed situations like this before. So, if possible being quiet would be good?"

  The man meant it, but could tell that Ben was about to lose it. He nodded anyway, and didn't growl or start hitting anyone, even though it was all he could to make that not happen. He was breathing too hard, and the guard was about to pull his stunner out, expecting trouble.

  The worst part there was that Ben, who'd never hit anyone in his entire life, didn't know that he wasn't about to do it right then. It wasn't as bad as the night before, but they weren't that far from the jail, and more people were awake and finding out that their lives were pretty much ruined. Not all of them deserved it, either. That part was crystal clear, even at a distance.

  For every guilty man in the courtroom, there was an innocent one that was being jerked around by the system, and felt hopeless and helpless. Thankfully, most of them weren't in the hallway with them. It was just him for the time being, though there was an outer waiting area that had several bodies in it. Including the FBI Cymed fellow from the night before.

  He'd been relatively relaxed and calm all night, and managed to get with his people. There were no real charges against him, so there was no worry there. In fact, he'd slept well, and had a nice breakfast, and lunch, so was relatively happy. No shower, but there would be one later, when he got back. That was nice for the spy, but didn't help him that much.

  Ben should be going back to the compound, but there was no assurance of that. In fact, when they got into the court, the Judge actually sneered at him. It was an angry look from the overweight bald man. He was in a black robe and everything. Just like in a virt.

  Ben kept his mouth shut, and Mr. Mills didn't seem intimidated. That was very interesting, but it also worked. The Judge looking annoyed at Ben for not being a better criminal, shook his head after glancing at the data on his display for a few moments.

  "So... We don't have a case here? I'm growing sick of seeing clones come into my court when they haven't done anything. This..." He rifled through the information, scrolling down with his chubby finger. "There is... Nothing here. I see no reason not to dismiss this right now. Mr. Prosecutor?"

  That was, apparently, the other lawyer, who was at a table to the right.

  "Um... I don't have anything at this time, Your Honor."

  Without anyone even speaking, he was let go, which was nice to hear. Mr. Mills walked with him, but a guard came for him, to take him back to the jail.

  "But... I was let go. I don't have to go back." Ben felt pure rage starting to boil up inside of himself then. The pain of that place was worse than it was there in the court, and they were trying to send him back when he'd been cleared.

  Just as he was about trying to fight for real, Winston touched his arm, trying to calm him, and filled with concern.

  "You need to be processed out. It will take a few hours. Hold on. Don't let go now. You're almost free." The words were whispered, but they didn't make the feelings go away. He was being hit too hard for that.

  "Fine. They need to hurry though."

  That got a nod, but nothing was requested to anyone. He was just put back in shackles, to go back inside the jail. That took a walk, but when he got there, he wasn't processed at all, but put in a large room with about twenty other orange suited inmates. Most of them rather upset inside. A few were seething. The set up seemed clear to him. They were going to have him attacked and killed, to get rid of him.

  Only, all he did was sit at a table. They left the shackles on again, but no one came at him, even though a few wondered why he was being treated that way. They didn't ask about it however, since anyone that was left in the bay but shackled had something strange going on.

  Several of them realized that, and one even got a man that was just going to come and ask about it to back off. Thankfully a few hours later, the cement room with its metal stairways and balcony, all done in orange was calmer and not as annoying. That meant the guards that came to let him out didn't get to use anything happening as a reason to keep him longer.

  They really didn't want to, from what little he could tell, but the hate had managed to flow into paranoia after the court proceedings. That probably meant the whole thing had seemed different to him than it had been.

  While getting him, personally, out of there as fast as possible wasn't the job of anyone there, it got really close by the end of the whole ordeal. Ben practically threw his clothing on, those being his only belongings, and noticed that someone had managed to dump some kind of powder on his outfit. It made a large dusty seeming black stain down the back of it. The man behind the counter didn't even seem to notice it and he wasn't going to stick around to complain about it.

  The annoyed seeming asshole behind the safety glass pointed to the left.

  "The door is that way." The only saving grace was that the man, who had probably ruined his clothing, for some reason, didn't seem to want him to stay any more than Ben did.

  Rubbing at his face, which had a day's beard growth on it, he headed out, the door clicking to unlock so he could leave. He had no real clue where he was, or
how to get back home, but that wasn't going to stop him from just walking. Each step away from the hell hole was an improvement. The tension actually left him as he got out to the edge of the parking lot.

  The town was, he realized, the same one that he'd come in at. There should be a bus that would take him out to the compound, sooner or later. Except that he didn't have a credit scan with him. No money, meant he was walking. That was fine with him. Getting away from there was the first thing he needed to do. He was even used to running now. It was about fifteen miles away, which was too far for him to do quickly, but he started jogging anyway.

  At the edge of town, or about a mile past that, he could feel a sense of relief come over him. The jail had been hellish, and the court pretty horrible, but the entire town was filled with noise. Mentally speaking. It wasn't a vast place, but it was almost like half of them were just screaming at him. Not even to leave. They just had minor things going on, which mattered to them.

  One big difference was that, back with the Cymeds, he'd been dealing with people that were used to meditating daily. Their minds tended to be quiet, and well organized. The townies just shouted constantly.

  His walk, and he did have to do it that way, was harder than it seemed like it would have been. He could jog six miles, but walking more than twice that was going to leave him sore and with blisters. Ben kept going however, since there was nothing else for him to do. No place in the world for him to go. Not that he was blaming them for letting him go. It was needed.

  Not fair or good, but short of fighting there was no way they could have stopped it from happening. Well, he could have hidden, or tried to not get the situation cleared up, but then they would have kept coming for him. That shouldn't happen now.

  Hopefully.

  It had been about four in the afternoon when he set out, and if he could do three miles in an hour, which was about his walking pace, then in five short hours he would be back. Thirst was kind of hard to handle, since he hadn't been able to have anything at all since the day before. Ben didn't stop though.