The Falken Chronicles

by Piers Platt

He left, and closed the door gently behind him. Elize lifted her face off of Vina’s shoulder, sniffing. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “I gave up,” she told Vina, her face guilt-stricken. “I … I knew something wasn’t right, but I stopped fighting to bring him home, and I gave up.”

  “Shhh,” Vina said, squeezing her mother’s arm. “There’s only one person at fault here. And it’s not us, and it’s not Dad.”

  “We’re going to find him, and bring him home,” Elize said, pulling herself together.

  “Damn right we are,” Vina agreed.

  *

  The sheriff’s car slowed to a stop in front of Rauno Korhonen’s house. Buckniel, in the passenger seat, looked out the window, frowning.

  “That him, sitting there on the porch?” the deputy asked.

  “Mm-hm,” Buckniel replied.

  “Spoiling for a fight?” the deputy guessed.

  “I reckon,” Buckniel agreed. “I’d rather not give him one, but if it comes to it, let’s be sure you and I go home tonight in one piece.”

  “Yessir,” the deputy agreed, nervously.

  “Pass me that shotgun,” Buckniel ordered. He took it from the deputy and switched the safety off. Then he opened the door, and stood up carefully, watching Korhonen warily. The older man sat on the top step of his front stoop, hands in his lap.

  “Afternoon, Rauno,” Buckniel called. He heard his deputy walk around the front of the car – the younger man had one hand on his pistol, in its holster.

  “Sheriff,” Rauno said. “I imagine you talked to my granddaughter.”

  “She showed me the video,” Buckniel said.

  “She’s a smart girl,” Rauno said. “I didn’t even know she was shooting it.”

  Buckniel started up the walk, slowly. He could only see one of Rauno’s hands – the other was hidden in his lap. “You’re a smart man, too, Rauno. Don’t try anything you’ll regret later.”

  “Ten years I lied about what happened that night,” the older man said, seeming not to hear Buckniel. “You keep a lie going for that long, and part of you starts to believe it’s the truth.”

  “The truth is you still have a chance to make this right,” Buckniel said. “It’s too late for Tevka, but your son-in-law deserves to come home. You could help make that happen.”

  “I’m not going to jail,” Rauno said, focusing his gaze on Buckniel. “I’ll not let you parade me downtown in handcuffs, to be humiliated in front of my family.”

  Buckniel noticed an empty bottle of bourbon on the top step, next to the old man.

  “You’ve been drinking?” he asked.

  Korhonen snorted. “Fat lot of good it did me,” he said. “But I figured I should try to enjoy one last drink.” He picked one hand up out of his lap, and Buckniel raised the shotgun, covering him closely.

  “Easy,” Buckniel said, seeing his deputy draw his pistol, pointing it at the old man.

  Rauno lifted a crystal trophy out of his lap, and set it down beside him on the step. He brushed a layer of dust off the award’s plaque.

  “Stand up, please, Rauno. We’re gonna take you in, now,” Buckniel said.

  “No,” Rauno said.

  “Stand up slow, and show me your other hand,” Buckniel ordered. “You’re making us nervous, and I don’t want anyone getting killed by accident, you hear?”

  “Nobody else has to die, sir,” the deputy echoed.

  “Just me,” Rauno said. He lifted the pistol to his temple, and fired.

  *

  “You’re sure I can’t come?” Elize asked, holding Vina’s hand as their car sped down the highway, passing under a sign for the spaceport.

  “I think it’ll be easier if I go alone,” Vina told her. “When Falken and I visited, he had to talk his way in, we weren’t really supposed to be there.”

  “He was going to go back inside the jail, to try to find your father?” Elize asked.

  “That was the plan,” Vina agreed. “If they let him – he had to make an appeal with a special committee, I think. But it was a very secretive place, there were a lot of things they didn’t tell me. And I haven’t heard from him since the day I came home. It’s been a couple weeks, now.”

  “Perhaps you’ll find him when you go up,” Elize said.

  “I hope so,” Vina said. It would be good to see him again. And he’ll be happy to learn what I found out about Dad.

  The car took an off-ramp, circling up a highway overpass, toward the terminal building’s departures area. Elize checked her wristpad briefly.

  “Your brother will be home tonight,” she said, reading a message.

  “Good,” Vina said. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re not alone. And when we spoke, Enzo had a ton of questions about everything.”

  “I’ll try to catch him up,” Elize said.

  The car stopped next to the curb, and Vina unbuckled her seat belt, leaning over to give her mother a hug.

  “If I can’t convince them, be ready to make a lot of noise down here. Go to the newsnets, like we discussed,” Vina said.

  “I’ll be the loudest woman on the planet,” Elize said, smiling. “And Sheriff Buckniel said he’d be right there with me.”

  They broke off their hug, and Vina reached into the backseat for her overnight bag. “I’ll call you as soon as I can,” she promised.

  “Call me with any news, no matter how small,” Elize said. “And if you see your father, tell him … tell him I love him.”

  “I will,” Vina said.

  She kissed her mother on the cheek, and then stood up out of the car and hurried into the terminal. Ten minutes later, she was climbing up a set of boarding stairs into a fueled spacecraft, as a hot wind gusted across the tarmac, ruffling her hair.

  “Welcome aboard,” the flight attendant said, smiling at her.

  Vina smiled back, and then ducked down the ship’s center aisle, found her seat, and slipped her bag under the chair. She checked her wristpad for a moment.

  I better wait ‘til I’m up in orbit to call Captain Peshai, she thought. Probably best not to call him in public.

  The cabin door closed a few moments later, and the attendant passed down the aisle, checking that everyone was buckled into their safety harness. Then the boarding stairs rolled away, and Vina felt the craft lurch forward, starting toward the runway. They waited for two other craft to take off, and then the engines’ dull roar increased to an angry whine, and Vina was pushed back into her seat as the spacecraft hurtled up into the air.

  Chapter 33

  “Easy, he’s coming up,” a voice said.

  Falken opened his eyes, and felt a weight lifted off his face, as an orderly removed the virtual reality mask. He tried to lift his arm, but found that it was still strapped to the chair.

  “Just lay still,” another orderly said, drawing an intravenous needle out of Falken’s arm.

  “Where’s Weaver?” Falken asked.

  “We’re not supposed to talk to you,” the first orderly told him.

  Falken looked around the room, but in the dim lighting, he could only make out the shadowy outlines of other inmates strapped to their own chairs. One was close enough that Falken could see his head, but his face was hidden beneath his own mask.

  He’s probably not in here, Falken decided. This is still the new batch of convicts they sent me in with. Weaver would be in a different room.

  His throat felt dry – he coughed and tried to clear it.

  At least my ribs aren’t broken anymore.

  Falken saw one of the orderlies reach a foot under the chair, and toggle its release switch. The chair floated upward gently in the room’s microgravity.

  “I need to talk to Captain Peshai,” Falken said.

  The orderly pushing the chair shook his head. “Good luck with that,” he said.

  “Sh,” the other orderly said. “She said not to talk to him.”

  They floated the chair out through the room’s hatch, and then dow
n the ship’s corridor into a room with a vidscreen hanging from the ceiling.

  Same kind of room they took me to the first time I got out. But I guess they skipped the checkup with the doctor this time … wasn’t in there long enough.

  The orderlies locked Falken’s chair in place and then disappeared. He waited, facing the screen, and the seconds dragged into minutes.

  “Hello?” Falken called out, after a time. “Is anyone there?”

  What the hell is going on around here? Where’s Peshai?

  Finally, the door opened again, and a tall woman with gray, curly hair walked in. Falken frowned, and then recognized her as the chairwoman of the Corrections Committee.

  L-something. Lopez?

  “Mr. Falken,” she said, nodding sternly at him. “You’ve caused quite the incident here.”

  “That was never my intention,” Falken said. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name …?”

  “It’s Locandez,” she said.

  Falken glanced past her, but as he did so, the hatch slid shut. “Captain Peshai’s not coming?”

  “Captain Peshai is no longer the administrator of this facility,” Locandez said. “I’ve taken over his duties as warden, until we can find a suitable replacement.”

  “You fired him for putting me back in Oz?” Falken asked.

  She pursed her lips. “Actually, he resigned. But his decision to reintegrate you with the simulation played a large part in it, yes.”

  “Is Weaver out of Oz, too?” Falken asked.

  “He is,” Locandez said. “He just completed his medical screen.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Physically, he’s fine. And I’m told he’s adjusting to the transition better than most inmates do. I suppose he has you to thank for that: he knew what to expect.”

  “Yes,” Falken said. “I told him. I had to.”

  “You made a grave error in judgment,” Locandez corrected him. “Several grave errors. First, you ignored our decision, and conspired with Captain Peshai to re-enter Oz. Then you intentionally exposed the truth about Oz. You jeopardized the entire system.”

  “I couldn’t let him rot in there,” Falken said. “He’s innocent.”

  “So you believe,” Locandez said.

  “Will he get another trial?” Falken asked.

  “He’ll get a hearing with the Corrections Committee,” Locandez said. “If he admits his guilt, we may decide to release him.”

  “But he’s not guilty!” Falken said.

  “A jury of his peers weighed all of the evidence, and found him guilty,” Locandez said. “I have neither the ability nor the inclination to overturn their decision. Not without some new evidence.”

  Falken hung his head. Was it all for nothing then?

  “By contrast, the Corrections Committee has already discussed what to do with you,” Locandez continued. “Your decision to re-enter Oz, and your deliberate disruption of the simulation for another inmate are both serious crimes.”

  “This is where you tell me I violated my parole,” Falken said.

  “I’m afraid so,” Locandez agreed. “Your parole has been revoked, and your sentence reinstated. But we won’t be sending you back into Oz. Not for a third time.”

  They’re sending me to the permanent facility. Falken took a deep breath. Christ, I hope Weaver’s able to convince them he’s innocent.

  “If it gave Weaver a fair shot, it was worth it,” Falken decided.

  “A noble sentiment,” Locandez observed. “But I think the unfortunate result is that both of you will end up in jail for life, rather than just Mr. Weaver. Now: your transport awaits.”

  “Can I make a vidcall first?”

  “No,” Locandez said. “Absolutely not.” She pressed a button on her wristpad, and the vidscreen at the front of the room rose up into the ceiling, revealing a view of Earth from high orbit. Far below, Falken saw distant spacecraft criss-crossing the planet’s atmosphere. Then he heard the hatch slide open, and the two orderlies reappeared.

  “Take him to docking tube seven,” Locandez ordered.

  “I’d do it again, you know,” Falken told the chairwoman.

  “I know you would,” she said. “That’s why you’re going back to jail.”

  Falken took another look at the blue-white sphere through the porthole.

  Last time I’ll ever see Earth.

  Then he felt the orderlies unlatch his chair, and they turned him, and pushed him back into the corridor.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Falken,” Locandez said.

  She disappeared from view before he could say anything in reply. Falken sat in silence as the orderlies floated him down the corridor. Then they stopped – a hatch into the corridor had opened, and as Falken watched, another hibernation chair slid through the hatch, in front of another orderly. The chair turned, and Falken saw Weaver’s eyes go wide with recognition.

  “Falken!” the bookkeeper said. He reached out feebly with one arm.

  “Weaver!” Falken gasped.

  “Ah, shit,” Falken’s orderly exclaimed. “I thought they were supposed to use the port-side corridor.”

  Weaver’s orderly swore, and began pulling him back into the medical screening room.

  “Wait!” Weaver croaked. “Where are they taking him?”

  “Don’t forget about the hearing!” Falken yelled. “Weaver, you have to convince them you’re innocent!”

  “Where is he going?” Weaver asked again, as his orderly moved toward the door switch.

  “Back to jail,” the orderly said.

  “What?” Weaver asked. “No! Falken!”

  “It’s okay,” Falken told him. He smiled reassuringly for his friend, and then the hatch closed, separating them again.

  It’s gonna be okay.

  Falken set his head back on the chair’s headrest. His orderlies pushed him forward again, and they reached the docking tube a minute later, where a stern-looking guard wearing a corrections uniform and a stun-glove stood waiting. Falken watched as an orderly unbuckled the restraints on his right wrist, releasing his hand. The guard bent over and held Falken’s hand against the screen of a small datapad. It scanned his fingerprints, and then the guard held the pad up to Falken’s face, and took a photo.

  “Prisoner identity confirmed,” the datapad reported.

  The guard handed the datapad to one of the orderlies, who skimmed a document on it and then signed it. Then the guard signed it, too, and tucked the datapad away on his belt.

  “You have custody,” the orderly said.

  “I have custody,” the guard confirmed. “Have a good one.”

  The guard took Falken’s chair and guided it down the docking tube. Falken glanced back over his shoulder, but the orderlies had already turned, and were disappearing back down the corridor.

  The ship’s interior was cold, and the metal walls were lit by harsh fluorescent lighting. The main hold looked more like a cargo bay than a passenger compartment. Three other chairs were already locked in place in the middle of the hold, each holding a surly-looking inmate. Falken recognized them as members of Archos’ gang.

  One of them grinned at him. “He-ey, welcome to the party, Bird-man.” His voice was hoarse. “You lost their little game too, huh? Well, come join the rest of us Oz rejects.” He cackled with amusement, but his laughter soon turned to a fit of coughing.

  The guard locked Falken’s chair into place next to a bank of medical equipment, and then pulled a sleeve-like device off of a tray, and fitted it over Falken’s wrist, before reattaching his arm restraint. Falken felt the device punch into his skin, and he winced.

  “Stings, don’t it?” the talkative inmate asked, recovering from his coughing.

  Falken traced a set of tubes back from the sleeve to an intravenous bag hanging over his bed.

  They’re hooking us up for hibernation. Must be a long-distance trip.

  “Is this just another mind-fuck?” one of the prisoners asked. “Are we gonna wake up in another sim
ulation?”

  “No,” the guard said. “This time it’s for real.”

  “Undocking procedures complete,” a voice announced, over the ship’s PA system. “Stand by for long-range skip.”

  The guard lifted his arm and touched his wristpad, and Falken saw a colored liquid run down one of the tubes toward his wrist. The cold substance entered his bloodstream, and Falken shivered involuntarily.

  “Sleep tight,” the guard said.

  Chapter 34

  Locandez took a seat in the UNCS Sydney’s conference room, laying her datapad on the table in front of her. The vidscreens around the room sensed her presence and turned on automatically, each showing a Corrections Department logo.

  “Would you like to connect to the conference bridge?” a computerized voice asked.

  “Yes,” Locandez said.

  “Establishing encrypted bridge to Corrections Committee,” the computer replied.

  She tapped her finger impatiently on the datapad, waiting. Then, at last, the logos disappeared, and she was faced with the other members of the Corrections Committee.

  “Madame chairwoman. How are you enjoying life as the warden of Oz?” Ojibwe asked, smiling.

  “I’m not,” Locandez said, bluntly. “I can assure you that life aboard a Corrections ship has few perks.”

  “No,” Ojibwe said, shaking his head. “I can recall from my orientation tour – it’s not a pleasure cruise.”

  “It is not,” Locandez agreed. “And I’m making very little progress identifying a full-time replacement.”

  “Are you suggesting we look externally?” Huginot asked.

  “No,” Locandez said. “I think we’re all aligned that the next warden should be a reformed prisoner, per tradition. But after reviewing the profiles and performance reports of the ship’s current staff, none of them seem well-suited to the job.”

  “I agree,” Huginot said. “From my own review of personnel records, they’re all capable in their current roles. But none feel like the leader we need.”

  “Should we widen our net, and consider a former inmate who is employed outside the Corrections Department?” Ojibwe asked.

  “I know that the warden search is important, but I believe there was a more urgent matter …?” Arkanian asked. She smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry for being rude, but I’m due in court at the top of the hour.”