by Piers Platt
The judge and Falken’s lawyer appeared back on the screen.
“Counselor,” the judge asked, “your recommendation, please?”
“I think it’s self-evident. My client has developed notably, particularly in terms of empathy and restraint,” Falken’s lawyer said. “I recommend immediate release, subject to the usual felony parole conditions.”
“Captain Peshai, do you have any objections to that?”
Next to Falken, the warden shook his head. “No, your honor. He’s earned it.”
The judge nodded. “So be it. Mr. Falken, you are hereby released from federal custody. Live the rest of your life the way you did inside this program, and I have no doubt this will be the last time you find yourself on the wrong side of the criminal justice system. Good luck, sir.”
“I still don’t understand,” Falken said, frowning.
The warden put his hand on Falken’s shoulder. “I’ll explain.”
“… and Captain Peshai will review the terms of your parole with you, too,” the judge said. “Good day, gentlemen.”
The screen went dark. Captain Peshai gestured with his controller again, and the vidscreen slid upward into the ceiling, revealing a wide, pressure-sealed window, which offered a panoramic view of space. Falken’s eyes went wide.
“That’s Earth,” he said.
Chapter 35
“Yes, it is Earth,” Peshai agreed. “Over the years, I’ve found that showing people this view helps convince them that what they’re seeing is real. And it is. That is Earth. You are – still – in orbit over it. But you’re probably having trouble believing what you’re seeing, given what you’ve been through.”
Falken shook his head. “But I put Weaver on the pod. He was the one who went back to Earth, not me.”
The warden smiled. “New Oz is not what you think it is. You’ve been here, on this ship, ever since your in-processing. Your journey to New Australia was a metaphorical one, not a physical one.”
“It wasn’t real?”
“No. There is no planet named New Australia. It exists only as a state-of-the-art virtual rehabilitation program. It was designed to assess and reform criminals through a series of simulated ethical tests and tailored educational content.”
“It’s a simulation?” Falken asked.
“Yes.”
“All of it?” Falken asked. “Even the other inmates?”
“Many of the ‘people’ you encountered in the program were real criminals, processing through the system in their own way, just like you were. And your interactions with them were real, too. But some of the key players – the ‘warden’ called Archos, for instance – were constructs, designed to teach you usable skills, or present you with different moral quandaries.”
“Was Weaver real?” Falken asked.
Peshai shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give you specifics of each person you may have encountered.”
“He was an inmate, but he was innocent,” Falken said. “If he’s still in there, you need to get him out.”
Peshai smiled. “I can assure you, the justice system hasn’t incarcerated an innocent man in centuries.”
“You have to check,” Falken insisted. “Please. Just promise me you’ll look into it.”
“I will,” the captain said. “But it’s more likely he was an AI construct. Like the others, he was probably inserted into the program to help you.”
“To help me with what?” Falken asked.
“Well, to help determine whether you were fit for reintegration into free society. The decisions you made over the last nine months have proven that you are no longer a danger to your fellow citizens. That’s the beauty of the New Oz program – it allows for true rehabilitation and unbiased, unequivocal testing. We presented you with multiple opportunities to continue committing criminal acts, and made you believe that no one was observing you, and that there would be no real consequences for your actions.” Peshai gestured toward the ceiling, where the vidscreen had disappeared. “You could have become a member of Archos’ crew, and continued to use your fighting abilities to gain favor while avoiding any real work.”
“… but I left, and joined the colony,” Falken finished. “And Mayor Luo tested me there, too. He tried to get me to fight him. And later, Archos tried to goad me into fighting when he stole all our food.”
“Exactly,” Peshai said, nodding. “The purpose of Oz is not to punish you. It’s to give you the opportunity to reform. To demonstrate that you can put your criminal past behind you.”
“It was all just one big test,” Falken said.
“Well, not all. The original versions of the simulation just focused on ethical testing. But over the years, we found that it was critical to equip people with real world skills, so that they had the opportunity for a career should they earn their freedom.”
“You manipulated me,” Falken said, meeting the warden’s gaze.
“Yes,” Peshai admitted. “We had to lie to you, repeatedly, for all of this to work. When you first got here, I told you that Oz was real, and over the course of your introduction to the program, we convinced you that there was no hope of release or escape, and that no one would be watching what you did on Oz. As it turns out, none of that was true. But that’s where our deception ended. From that point on, the course of the program was largely determined by your actions. We merely set a menu of choices in front of you, in a series of situations of increasing moral ambiguity. Your decisions are what brought you back here. And now you’re a free man again.”
A free man. Falken considered that statement in silence. A few minutes ago I thought I was dead. And before that, I thought I was stranded forever, alone on a hostile planet. But I got out. I did my time. And now I’m free.
“I know it’s a little hard to accept, this sudden shift in your reality,” Captain Peshai continued. “Especially when you’ve resigned yourself to a fate that’s no longer true. But that dislocation you’re feeling, that disorientation will pass. You’ll come to see that everything we did was meant to help you. Over time, you’ll appreciate what New Oz did for you.”
Falken took a deep, rattling breath, as the realization began to sink in. A great, heavy weight seemed to lift off of his shoulders, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him.
I’m free. It’s over!
He was surprised to find himself crying, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
Peshai squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said, smiling. “Let it all out. I cried, too, after I was released.”
Falken sniffed, and then frowned at the captain. “You were inside, too?”
“A long time ago,” he said, smiling. “But I still get nightmares about those damn eel creatures. And sometimes I miss the taste of blue-ball meat, too.”
“And now you’re the warden?”
“Who better to explain to inmates what’s just happened to them?” Peshai asked. “It’s a great job, besides. I get to be part of moments like this. I get to tell men like you that their nightmare is over, that they have a new life to look forward to.”
Falken looked back up at the viewscreen, at the blue-white curve of Earth. “I can go back home now?”
Peshai’s smile faded. “No. When this program was first approved and funded, one of the conditions the government set was that ‘graduates’ like you and I would never return to Earth.”
“They’re worried I’ll kill someone again.”
“Actually, no,” Peshai said. “Initially that was a concern. But history has proven that program graduates have a very, very low rate of recidivism – that is, relapsing into criminal behavior. No, the main reason is that if you returned to Earth and told your story, other criminals would know what to expect. They’d know Oz wasn’t real, and they’d know how to game the system. The program only works if it remains completely secret.”
“That’s why the government’s banned anyone from talking about what happens to felons,” Falken realized.
&n
bsp; “Indeed.”
“So where can I go?” Falken asked. “What do I do now?”
“We’ve secured a job offer for you to work out in the colonies,” Peshai said.
“The colonies?” Falken frowned. “Only scientists get to work in the colonies. I’m not a scientist.”
“No? In point of fact, the Oz program is an accredited university. The work you did under Saltari was an accelerated Bachelors of Science program. You hold a degree in xenobiology.”
“Just for taking care of some blue-balls?”
“He taught you botany, alien anatomy, and cellular processes, too. You did sophisticated work in grafting plants, increasing crop yields, and helping manage the harvest. I think you’ve been slotted for a post as a research assistant on a planetary survey team, doing ecological assessments. After you finish your therapy here, your reintegration counselor will give you more details. But I think you’ll find the experience you gained on Oz quite useful. That’s the whole idea, at least. Moral rehabilitation, and career enhancement. We teach you the value of placing others’ needs before your own, and give you the skills you need to support yourself and be a productive member of society.”
A xenobiologist on a survey team …? Exploring new planets, learning about their ecosystems, determining whether they’re potential places for humans to colonize. Falken rolled the idea around in his head for a moment. That doesn’t sound half bad, actually.
“Your physical therapy starts tomorrow – we need to get those atrophied muscles back in shape again.” Peshai was saying. “But first, you’ll start your reintegration by meeting with your psychiatrist.”
“A shrink?” Falken asked.
“Absolutely,” Peshai said. “We’ve just massively shifted your reality, and the resulting cognitive dissonance is hard for your mind to handle. You need help accepting that this is the real world. And it’s not uncommon for our graduates to have some degree of post-traumatic stress, as a result of the transition or the things they experienced on Oz. But we’ll help you with all of that, don’t worry.” He smiled reassuringly. “For now, I’m going to have the orderly take you to your quarters so you can rest.” Peshai patted Falken on the shoulder.
“Welcome back, Mr. Falken.”
*
The robotic voice emanated from a speaker in the ceiling of his room. “Your shuttle will arrive at docking tube four in five minutes.”
Falken opened the door to the wardrobe mounted in the room’s wall, and pulled out the clothes he had purchased from the prison ship’s stores. He folded them carefully before tucking them into a duffel bag. He cleared his toiletries up next, and then paused, staring at the sparring gloves hanging from the mirror over his sink. Falken took them down, turning the smooth, faded leather over in his hands.
The one personal item they let me bring here. And I picked my lucky gloves.
Falken moved as if to pull them on again, and then decided against it. Instead, he opened the cover to his trash chute. He hesitated for a second, before pushing them into the chute and shutting the cover. Then he zipped up the duffel bag, slung it across his shoulders, and floated over to the door, shutting off the light as he left.
He found Captain Peshai and his physical therapist waiting for him at the docking tube. Through a thick porthole, Falken could see a small shuttle moving into place, preparing to dock.
Falken shook hands with his physical therapist first.
“Keep up your exercises,” he told Falken. “Stay in shape on the journey, or you’re going to be hurting when you first set foot back on a planet and feel gravity again for the first time.”
“I will,” Falken promised. “Thanks for everything.”
The physical therapist clapped him on the back, and then disappeared down the corridor.
Falken turned to the warden. “I’ve been wondering something.”
“Ask,” Peshai said.
“Does everyone graduate eventually? Does everyone pass the tests?” Falken asked.
“No,” Peshai said. “They do not. But they don’t stay in Oz forever, either. If our wards show no willingness or ability to rehabilitate, after a certain period of time, we remove them from the program. Second offenders serve the remainder of their lives in an actual prison, on one of the colonies.”
Falken nodded. “You can’t save everyone.”
“No. We can’t. And this is the part where I warn you that you would join them there, if you chose to commit another Class One felony. As I said, we’ve had very few repeat offenders over the years. But those who do relapse do not get a second chance in Oz. So don’t squander this opportunity.”
“I won’t,” Falken promised. The hatch within the docking tube gave a loud clank, and then it swung open, showing the interior of the shuttle beyond. Falken glanced down the tube. “This is it?”
“This is it,” Peshai said, nodding. “Safe travels.”
Falken hesitated. “What if I’m not ready? What if I fuck up again?”
“You’re not the man you were,” Peshai assured him.
“But how can you be sure?”
“Because you’re worried about it.” Peshai smiled. “You’re ready.”
Falken took a deep breath, and then shook the warden’s extended hand.
“You’ve earned another shot,” Peshai said. “Make the most of it. Make us proud.”
“I will.”
Falken held his duffel bag tight and pushed himself down the tube, floating toward the shuttle, and his new life.
Escape from Olympus
By Piers Platt
Chapter 1
Last one alive, Falken thought. Again.
Quietly, carefully, he crawled forward, and then peered out from under the mushroom’s broad cap.
In the foggy haze ahead, the aerie loomed over him. The mountain’s massive bulk rose, gray and foreboding, until the sheer sides disappeared into the mist above. On a clearer day, Falken knew, the summit might be visible, its black rim jagged against the sky.
Not today. Too many clouds. A good day for hunting.
As if on cue, a winged shape appeared out of the mountain fog. The great wings beat once, noiselessly, slowing the creature’s descent along the mountainside. Falken froze. A single drop of moisture ran down his forehead, stinging his right eye, but he remained stock still as the beast flew toward him.
Coming in fast, Falken thought, his heart racing. Probably a female.
Then the creature turned, changing course.
She didn’t hear me. Falken breathed a silent sigh of relief.
The beast dipped a wing, flying in a wide loop as it gradually lost altitude.
She’s staying closer to the mountain. Circling in for a kill …? Falken frowned. Then maybe I’m not the only one left.
Falken decided to risk a little movement. Slowly, he lifted his right arm and held up a small wrist-mounted display unit. On the device’s screen, a terrain map appeared, with a blinking blue dot at the center. Falken touched the screen, and the display zoomed out, showing a larger portion of the area. On the edge of the screen, a vehicle icon appeared, with the text 0.9 miles hovering over it.
A mile to the truck. Definitely not going to make it.
He touched the wristpad again, and this time half a dozen other blue icons appeared, scattered around the map. Abruptly, five of the icons switched to a red skull symbol, but the sixth remained a simple circle. A name appeared over the blue icon: Murrisen.
The kid – birthday boy. Didn’t think he’d make it this long.
As Falken watched, the blue dot moved suddenly.
Shit. Stop running, Murrisen!
But the icon continued moving. Falken lined the map up with his view of the mountain. Sure enough, the circle icon on the map was dead ahead of him, and directly under the circling creature. Falken cursed silently, stood up, and then broke into a jog.
He skirted the edge of one of the planet’s ubiquitous round stone outcroppings, pushing aside the lacy fronds of a
brown fungus, before splashing through a bubbling stream. His noise cancellation staff was still slung across his chest, the thin cylinder bumping rhythmically against him as he ran. The device muted the sounds of his progress, but not completely. Falken kept his footfalls light, doing his best to minimize the noise even further, but to his practiced ears, the sounds were deafening.
She’ll have heard me by now.
He risked a quick glance up at the sky, but the flying hunter had disappeared back into the fog.
Probably getting ready to make her dive. But who’s she gonna target?
Falken scrambled up the side of another stone shelf, crossed its flat top, and then paused at the far edge of the round formation, peering forward. The ground sloped down and away from his perch, creating a small bowl-like depression, before rising up into another pancake-shaped rock formation on the far side, less than a hundred meters away. Pointy gray and green mushrooms dotted the depression, each over six feet tall. Then Falken saw one of the mushrooms move. Murrisen appeared under it a second later, and caught sight of Falken.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Falken raised his finger to his lips, shaking his head. Falken pointed up into the sky. Murrisen, eyes wide, glanced upward, but the sky remained ominously empty. The boy looked back at Falken, who held both hands up, palms outward.
Stay there. He mouthed. Stay still.
Murrisen nodded slowly. Then Falken saw a flicker of movement over Murrisen’s shoulder.
Oh, fuck.
The dragon hit Murrisen at frightening speed, hurtling in from behind the boy with wings outstretched, plowing through the mushrooms to strike him square in the back with its hind legs. The sheer kinetic energy of the attack lifted Murrisen bodily and hurled him across the bowl. He smacked into the base of Falken’s boulder with a sickening crunch.
Falken winced, but stayed rooted to his spot, his body held still. Below him, Murrisen rolled over onto his stomach, groaning. His right leg was mangled and his back was bleeding from the deep claw gouges, but he managed to push himself up off the ground, balancing on his left leg.
