by Jeff Taylor
The array of ships docked at the various gates along the circumference of the circular hangar immediately caught her attention. Enormous supply vessels with their life-saving cargos rested on the padded moorings like monstrous beasts of burden while their wares were unloaded. Smaller craft, some prisoner transports others official dignitary envoys, dotted the numerous gates around the cylindrical hangar. Overall, the collection of ships was much lighter than she’d expected. “Not many visitors today,” she observed to no one in particular.
The fore and aft thrusters rotated slightly causing the transport to spin until its aft cargo hatch aligned with the doorway marked Gate J in white letters. A green light illuminated her instrument panel, signaling that the docking computer had taken control of the ship. Eve leaned back in her chair and watched the ship maneuver itself around and then back into the opening gate of one of many side bays. The Hermes rocked for a moment as it set down on the landing pad. The thick outer doors of the small landing bay pressed together, locking the air seal with an assuring hiss.
Eve rose from the pilot’s chair, then stopped mid-crouch, remembering to activate the docking brake before she disembarked. After doing so she deleted the flashing red text message reminding her to do so. She had lost too many of her own cruisers in the past because they had drifted away from a docking hatch. She didn’t want to repeat that with this ship. That task complete, it was time to move on to the big job.
On the back of the pilot’s chair beside her was a small zipped bag for storing items while in transit. From it she removed a sky-blue uniform with red trim which she put on over her magnetized flight suit. The matching cap fit snugly over her now dark hair bunched up inside. It looked hideous, but it was strict company protocol that the uniform be worn in full upon arrival. She caught her reflection in one of the transparent monitors suspended off to the side of the cockpit controls. The whole ensemble was not nearly as attractive as the dark navy uniforms she had worn during her days on the prison detail, but it would have to do.
She descended the ladder to the main cargo hold, skipping down each rung. Her excitement at finally being back at the lunar prison was impossible to contain. The prospect of reuniting with old friends and especially her husband was positively thrilling. For five years they had only seen each other through the aid of a video screen. No more. Now they would be face to face, looking into each other’s living eyes and not a three-dimensional replica. Eve couldn’t help but whistle a merry tune as she proceeded down the corridor to the hold, grabbing an empty aluminum mug that had been left adrift by one of the other crew members during the flight.
The hold consisted mainly of prisoner cells, with a few sections for supplies and equipment cordoned off in the rear. The cells were arranged in two rows, one on each side of the ship, a grated walkway separating them down the center. Each cell was transparent, encasing its occupant in a giant plastic box. The inmates were strapped down in a spread-eagle position with oxygen masks affixed over their faces. Eve thought they looked like life-sized action figures in their original, collectable packaging. No inmate was ever allowed out of their box until he or she was safely stationed in their assigned cell within the prison.
The ET991 carried only one prisoner on this voyage though it was equipped to carry ten. Xymon Nu, the notorious Asian crime lord, hung suspended in isolation at the far end of the ship. His tremendously round physique strained the capacity of the plastic casing. A life of excessive eating and inactivity ill-suited the consequences of his lifestyle, so extra precautions had to be taken to protect him from the rigorous journey. Not only had he been anaesthetized, but Eve had also taken the precaution to have him injected with several heart medications to keep his underused organ pumping. The speed of the Hermes also helped guarantee less time in transit.
Several groups had protested his placement at the prison saying that it would be a death sentence given his bad health. To some degree, Eve thought they were right. He most likely would die on this rock. But on the other hand, how was that any different than any other inmate waiting out his or her natural existence on the public dime? Either way, she didn’t care. All that mattered was the money that came from the job and the extra perk she anticipated when it was over.
Nu’s plastic prison faced straight down the center of the aisle toward the fore of the hold. Two crewmen in matching blue and red uniforms were in the process of removing the clamps binding his cage in place when Eve sauntered toward them. He was just starting to wake from his induced sleep. She whistled as she skipped ahead, clanging the aluminum cup along the keypads of the other empty cells.
“Honey, you’re home!” she cheerfully proclaimed.
Nu sneered at her behind his breathing mask. She could see the agitation in his eyes as she neared. Good, he’s irritated. It brightened her day when she got under the skin of at least one person a day. If he only knew what I really did for a living, he wouldn’t be so angry. We might even be “kindred spirits,” she mused.
The other crewmen glanced at her then rolled their eyes. None of them really liked the new pilot. She was keenly aware that they thought she was cocky and arrogant. Likewise, she thought all four of them were too stuffy and serious. But given their time together would be short, she didn’t care what they thought.
“Ready to go for a stroll?” she taunted when she reached Nu’s cell. The keypad sang under her fingertips followed by a soft moan of machinery coming to life below him. He tried to say something back but the mask muffled his words. She was sure that he wasn’t saying anything very nice.
The ship twitched slightly when the rear hatch behind Nu separated from its seal and retracted upward. The semi-circular platform, on which his cell was perched, rotated clockwise until he faced the brilliantly lit hangar. Once its revolution was complete, the platform gradually extended outside the ship and down toward the deck of the hangar. Eve stepped up next to Nu and descended with him to the deck floor. A dozen black uniformed soldiers immediately encircled the ship like a swarm of locusts, their military-grade weapons bearing on her and her captive.
“Nice to see the welcome wagon’s here,” she said from the corner of her mouth.
Each soldier wore a sleek, form-fitted helmet with a dark visor obscuring his or her face. From the size of the barrel, magazine, and the heavyweight design, she surmised that their weapons were no less than a .50 caliber pulse rifle.
She was about to ask them to “take her to their leader” when they parted and another uniformed man appeared wearing similar attire but free of the helmet. Eve groaned when she saw who was walking so crisply toward her, making little effort to conceal her disgust. It was apparent the feeling was mutual.
The man narrowed his eyes and scowled, quick-stepping between his corps until he was practically on top of her.
“Hello, Gangi,” she said, surprising even herself at the civility in her voice. “You’re looking remarkably well-groomed today.”
Gangi Klindon, the deputy warden, ignored the quip and reached out his hand, matter-of-factly, but not in greeting. “Your manifest, please,” he demanded.
The fact that he actually said “please” surprised her and made suppressing her grin at hearing it impossible. She pressed her thumb to the translucent circle on the narrow, rectangular datapad she held in her left hand. A bright green menu appeared at the top and asked for her authorization code. Quickly, she voiced the access code “1232." A thin plastic strip the length and width of her thumb ejected from the bottom of the pad and she then handed it to the deputy warden. He pressed it to the left sleeve of his uniform and read the dim yellow text that scrolled across the small screen embedded in the fabric of his forearm sleeve. “There’s no transportation order here,” he said without looking up.
“Oh, sorry,” she replied, feigning surprise. “That’s my visitation visa. Here’s the transfer information.”
His right index finger hovered over her pad once more. Another strip was produced and handed to the officer. He rea
d both orders and grimaced. Eve noticed he read the visa, moved on, and then went back to read it again.
“Is there a problem?” she asked. “If not, then I would really like to sign this creep over to you and go see my husband.”
Klindon looked up, flames practically spewing from his eyes. His palm pressed against the data readout on his sleeve, effectively shutting it off.
“If I had my way,” he growled, “the only way you’d see that viper again is if you were in the cell next to him. I don’t know how you rigged this or who you bribed, but I swear to you that if you try anything while you are on my rock, I will personally lock you up for the rest of your life.”
She smiled. “Klindon,” she said coyly, “are you flirting with me?”
The deputy warden’s face flared red with rage. He swiped the datapad from her hand and pressed his thumb to the authorization line near the bottom. His embellished signature appeared followed by the words, “Confirmation Received: Prisoner Transferred.” He tossed it back to her and turned to the closest officer. “Take her to the visitation room.”
“I think I remember the way,” she interjected.
Klindon ignored her. “And don’t leave her side,” he ordered.
The officer nodded and motioned for her to lead the way. She smiled once more at Klindon, blowing him a kiss as she skipped toward the door. Her steps were light and swift as she gleefully bounced on her way to reunite with her beloved while her crew finished unloading Xymon and prepared the ship for the return to Earth.
A great deal had changed in the prison since she’d last worked there. In truth, it was almost a completely different place than what she had left so many years ago. Eve had to smile at the differences. Light-colored paint on the walls, artificial trees lining the hallway, and even a pilot’s lounge just off the hangar were all new. Had Strón finally lightened up? She doubted it. She knew he would not have tried to create such an inviting atmosphere without some encouragement from the higher-ups.
The whole idea of a visitor’s wing was repugnant to Strón. Only on specific request by the highest of authorities was visitation allowed, and even then, only for a short time. Video discussions that could be controlled and monitored were his preferred method of communication. He had even insisted, as a condition of his employment, that he would have final approval of who came and went to the prison. In light of this, and considering the ban he had placed on her specifically, it had taken quite a lot of hard work to get access to the Apollo again. But it was worth it.
Something else that was new was the number of guards lining the hallway as she walked by. Eight soldiers, all of whom were in full combat gear, rifles poised at the ready, stood at attention at even intervals of ten feet down the lengthy corridor. Surveillance nodules that normally were plainly visible beforehand were now concealed behind trees, in corner nooks, and attached as part of the light fixtures. She counted at least a half dozen just in this passageway. “Somebody’s paranoid,” she criticized under her breath.
There were no metal guiderails for navigating in micro-gravity that she could see. Most hallways and public spaces were required to have the cylindrical bars to aid people in moving around in the diminished gravity, but this section of the prison had none. A testament, she assumed, to Strón’s proclivity to discourage visitation. She was glad she’d decided to wear her magnetized suit to give her some added traction on the iron and fiber flooring beneath her.
As she walked past each guard in the hall, she wondered if she knew any of them. Their dark visors made it impossible to discern any of their identities, yet she still speculated who was behind the mask. Inevitably, she wondered if she would run into her old friend, Sanyie Lison, Strón’s right hand.
Sanyie and Eve had been close almost the entire time they worked together at the prison. As two the only female officers on board the facility, they had forged a tight friendship, having met in the gymnasium Eve’s first week at the prison. Sanyie was an accomplished boxer and had beaten every challenger on the station until the bright-eyed rookie literally dragged her out of the ring and pummeled the champ with a combination of speed and power. After that beating, they were inseparable.
As with Strón, however, the friendship soured when Eve fell for Nelsonn. Sanyie could not understand how someone as independent and strong-willed as Eve could be swayed so easily by his lies and deception. “He’s using you,” she’d warned on more than one occasion, but Eve refused to hear her. Until then Eve was one of the few people Sanyie respected and would have considered giving her life for. But that changed with Eve’s defiance and unceremonious dismissal by Strón. Eve believed she was doing what was best by following her heart and resented her friend’s disapproval. In a heated exchange just before her ouster, Eve declared that she never wanted to see or speak to Sanyie again. It was a promise she still intended to keep.
Reliving the past stirred something in her that she had not expected, regret. To some degree, being there in person once more made her feel the loss of good friends, especially Sanyie, and Strón. She quickly pushed that aside. The past was long forgotten. It was time to focus on the future.
The narrow hallway finally came to an end. The anticipation energized her, sending a surge of excitement through her thick, athletic frame. Nelsonn, her long incarcerated spouse, was waiting on the other side. Her escort entered the passcode to the interview room and the beige double doors slid apart from one another. She could hardly contain her emotion as the doors whisked open. But it was not Nelsonn who waited for her on the other side. It was someone else from her past, someone she had hoped to avoid more than anyone.
Warden Hiron Strón sat facing her; arms folded as usual, a hardened expression on his face. The years on the moon had not been good to him. Several lines had formed on his once flawless face and dark circles had taken up residence under his narrow eyes. His hair had grayed slightly on the edges, making him look much older than she knew he was. But what was the most shocking was the amount of weight he had lost. Strón had never been what she would call fat, but he had always been bulky, rounded in the face and mid-section. The last time she saw him he had probably weighed in around two hundred-twenty pounds. Seeing him now, she would most likely put that figure at one eighty, if not less. The change was so dramatic that she nearly didn’t recognize him.
His posture and piercing glare told her that Strón was not happy to see her, and his stern expression stung her more than she had expected. A pang of guilt stabbed at her heart. For some unexplained reason, she felt as if she was the one responsible for his transformation into this emaciated and harried man before her. All her confidence and swagger was now gone. Finding the words to speak was extremely difficult.
“Strón,” she finally said, a slight lump forming in her throat, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“It’s my prison,” he said dryly. “I have final approval on all matters involving the inmates.” He nodded to her escort who then began to pat down Eve’s suit. Funny how they didn’t do this when I first came on the station, she thought. Finding nothing unusual, the officer returned to his position just behind her.
“Why are you here, Eve?” There was not a hint of cordiality present in Strón’s firm voice. His demeanor made it very clear that the wounds of the past had not been forgotten. Strón was a proud man and she had dealt his pride a significant blow in choosing a convicted terrorist over him. But why wouldn’t I, she huffed. In a few short months Nelsonn had shown her more love and affection than Strón had ever done in a relationship spanning almost a decade. He would never love her, or anything else for that matter, more than his duty. Being second fiddle to a man’s honor was not something she was prepared to do. She had no problem reconciling those facts with her choice. The regret she felt at first now eroded away. She stood up straighter, proud and confident.
“I’m here to see my husband,” she said, a little more of an edge to her voice than she had intended.
“I assumed as much,” he
said flatly. “Why now? I assume you could’ve gotten approval at any time, but why today? Why now when I am checking in the most dangerous criminal to ever take residence here?”
Eve scoffed. “Um, lifetime ban. Remember? The last thing I heard you say after pronouncing us man and wife was that I was banned from ever setting foot on this station again.” She knew the reference to her wedding would sting, which was probably why she had said it. “I had to go through a lot of hoops to get around that.”
“I saw the order,” he said, grimly. “It didn’t specify where your visit would take place nor for how long.”
“I believe it said that I have as long as I need to convey my love and arrange a private matter,” she retorted. “I interpret that to mean I have as long as I want to take.”
He rose from the chair to his full height. She had forgotten how much he towered above her. Clearly, he was not amused with her defiant attitude. Once upon a time, he had told her that it was her aggressive spirit that he admired most. She could see now from the coldness of his steel-grey eyes that was no longer the case. He was angry and seemed poised to release five years’ worth of frustration right then. But to her surprise, he didn’t. He remained in control and got to the point.
“I will be the one to interpret what that means. You will have fifteen minutes, no direct contact, and Officer Marne here will remain with you the entire time.” Strón looked up at the guard behind her who signaled he understood the order.
