The Cronian Incident (The Formist Book 1)

by Matthew Williams

Ward looked at her and answered in the affirmative. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cold, unemotional eyes began looking him over, surveying him as if she were trying to get a better sense of what she kind of take control of she was dealing with. Ward did the same, noting she seemed different than the last time he had seen her, when she first arrived several months ago. At the time, she had taken over control of the facility, and gone through the process of making a formal introduction of herself to the inmates and workers. He could tell she hadn’t enjoyed the proceedings.

  Now, she looked different somehow. More focused, more intense, and more relaxed. The exact opposite of what he would have expected to see.

  “Chief Banks, you and your men can go now.”

  Banks attempted to protest. “Ma’am”

  “You can remove the cuffs as well, Banks. I don’t imagine he will be able to do much.”

  Banks gave Ward a look of anxious indecision. The thought of leaving an inmate unrestrained in the presence of the Administrator was evidently more than he could handle. Then again, so was disobedience. Ultimately, he opted for the least dangerous path, the one of compliance, and released the cuffs.

  “My officers and I will be right outside if you need us,” he said, more for Ward’s benefit than the Administrator’s. She shooed them away as they departed the room, halting outside the door to assume the position of attention as the door closed in front of them.

  Ward stared back to the Iron Widow. For her part, she ignored him as she perused the single Folio that lay before her. His earlier impression had been correct. He expected her to look like her brief time here had taken a toll. In truth, she appeared far more comfortable than when she had first shown up. Something about that didn’t sit right with him. Anyone who became progressively more at ease during their time on the Rock had to be more dangerous than all the criminal population combined.

  For several long moments, she continued reading from the Folio. Several times, she swiped at the Folio to change the page being displayed, scrolling down every so often to see more. Ward scoffed inwardly as he realized she was probably looking over some of the same materials repeatedly. No way she would have let him into her office before preparing to tear him down.

  Why are you doing this? he wondered. I know the routine, I’ve done the routine!

  Ward knew the feigned disregard for his presence was necessary, at least to her. All part of a prolonged act to make him sweat, to make his anxiety build and to drive home the all-important fact he was not in control of the situation here. All he could do was wait and be prepared for the inevitable lecture about rules, safety regs, and the like.

  The act all seemed a little excessive for that, though.

  Eventually, she took a deep breath and launched into an unmistakably pre-prepared speech.

  “I have some interesting news for you, Mr. Ward,” she said. Ward noted she now used his name, a dubious development if there ever was one. “The facility has been contacted by a representative of a powerful Martian Faction. They are sending an envoy to meet you, and I am informed they will be here shortly.”

  Ward already felt a little lightheaded, his breathing a bit shallow – common side-effects of the medication they were all required to take. Now, he felt like someone let the air out of the room.

  “Are you saying, I am being released?”

  “That would seem to be the case.” The Iron Widow smiled as she said this, but her eyes were like two fine, jagged pieces of ice. Evidently, he was being released as soon as this representative arrived, and she wasn’t too happy about his impending freedom.

  Which naturally begged the question.

  “Who is this representative? Who’s coming?”

  “They didn’t say,” she replied. “All I know for sure is there’s been a development in the Outer Worlds. Apparently, one of their colleagues went missing on Titan, and that has something to do with you.”

  Ward frowned. He couldn’t quite trace the logic. So someone from back home lost an associate of theirs, and for this reason, they were coming to free him. Ward struggled to see the connection. However, right now that seemed inconsequential.

  He was going to be free!

  “How long before this, envoy arrives?”

  The Iron Widow checked the Folio before relaying the estimated date of their arrival.

  “Seven days,” she said, doing the math. “Doesn’t leave much time.”

  “Time for what?”

  She intentionally placed the Folio down where Ward could see the open page, his eyes drawn to a single media box on the page’s center. The box appeared to be a grid with some icons on it. A sense of dread filled him as he recognized the icons as being from the autonav, the icons representing the Sapper and his team. Looking back at her face, he noticed a loss of all traces of false cheerfulness. All business. The Iron Widow returned.

  “I’ve been looking over the records of your last run, prisoner. I noted some . . . discrepancies, some rather telling.”

  “I see. . .” Ward replied, mirroring her pause. “Could you be more specific?”

  She took a deep breath, her expression becoming sharper. “Where to begin? Your order to a crew member to disregard safety protocols? Your own disregard for proper procedure when you ordered members of your crew to demolish an obstruction? You showed a marked disregard for the safety of your people, prisoner. Do you have any thoughts on that?”

  Ward hesitated. He had the feeling she was holding something back, though he couldn’t imagine what. She covered all the little deficiencies in his mission, what more could there be? His unkempt appearance? His behavior towards her and her officers?

  Regardless, she had asked for his thoughts on the issue, and he had several to share.

  “I do,” he said, finally. “For one, we stayed out longer than is commonly advised, but we were never in any danger. We still had days before the terminator would have been upon us. Second, the extra time allowed us to haul in a significant amount of ore, which as I understand the rules, is the purpose of the worker-incentive program.”

  He took a breath before getting to the third point, trusting his confidence would confound her little show of force here more than anything. His confident attitude had always worked for him in the past, even though he would never have admitted it at the time.

  “Last, the obstruction blocking our path – the rock wasn’t listed on the autonav, so I could only assume we were the first to spot the obstruction. My crew and I were facing a delay. I knew we could clear the rock much quicker than a team dispatched from Prokofiev could. Since we were already overdue, I figured time was of the essence. So, I made a decision, ma’am. I regret I may have inadvertently broken some regulations.”

  Sandoval fixed him with a steely look, the seconds passing in abject silence as if she were processing what he said. Or perhaps she was waiting to see if he had anything more to offer. Once again, Ward had the feeling there was something he was missing.

  “Shall I enter that as your official explanation for your actions?”

  “Is this an official inquiry?”

  She shrugged. “It has the potential to be.”

  “Then yes, that is my explanation,” Ward said firmly.

  Sandoval returned her attention to the Folio lying on her desk and made a few quick gestures over the device, calling up the autonav data of their mission again. From where Ward stood, he could see what appeared to be footage from when his mining team was deployed.

  “Prisoner, it is my opinion your judgement was impaired on this particular mission. I have it on good authority you’ve been abusing your meds, and this may have been responsible for your actions.”

  Ward’s hands curled involuntarily into fists.

  “Wha – what are you –”

  “Furthermore,” Sandoval cut off his stuttered denial. “From what I’ve seen from the autonav feed, you nearly wandered into an open pit shortly after ordering your crew to defy standard safety regulations. A quick check
on the comm chatter indeed seemed to reveal as much.”

  “I–”

  Sandoval pressed her finger to the Folio. Over speakers which seemed to be embedded in the walls, familiar voices began to play.

  “Bossman, you there?” A slight pause, followed by Guernsey repeating himself. “Bossman, are you with us here?”

  “I’m here. Just a little tired.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, we’re nearing the end of the vein.”

  Another pause, this one much longer. Then the sound of Muscovy’s incensed words.

  “Chto yebat' vy delayete, vy dura?!”

  “Sir, is everything all right?”

  “I’m fine! A little tired, is all. Only trying to see into the hole, maybe get a sense of how we’re doing.”

  Sandoval waved her hand over the Folio, terminating the recording. Leaning back in her chair, she folded her arms, a look of sardonic contentment on her face.

  “I would say this, more than anything, is a sign of impairment.”

  Ward felt sweat percolating in his clenched hands. The small of his back felt sweaty too, and some beads were forming on his forehead. Worse yet was the feeling of pricking cold on his face. Between having his judgement questioned and narcotics being blamed, this was beginning to feel entirely too familiar.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to tell you,” he managed to say finally. “The last time I checked, being tired was not a crime. We were several days into a mission and –”

  “Your bio-readings indicated you slept plenty,” she said. “And they also registered a sudden change in your brainwaves shortly before you chose to step out and join the mining team. I imagine a more thorough check of your bioreadings will provide evidence this was caused by you dosing before you went out.” Her arms were still crossed. She was unflappable in her conclusions.

  So, she had called up their comm traffic and his bioreadings, had she? He had to admire her proficiency. Still, he knew she had only revealed the circumstantial evidence so far, even if said evidence remained rather compelling.

  You’ve got nothing!

  That was what the suspects had always said to him whenever he reached this point in an interrogation. They always assumed the probing and insinuations were part of some elaborate bluff to get them to confess. Of course, Ward knew better. Even if Sandoval didn’t know things definitively, it would be easy enough for her to find out. Challenging her conclusions would only embolden her.

  “Is there to be an investigation, then?” Ward asked.

  Her expression remained firm, but her eyes were telling once again. This time around, they seemed gleeful, which instantly made Ward afraid.

  “There already has, prisoner. We’ve searched your quarters and found additional packages of your prescribed medicine. Security has spoken with the facility’s pharmacist. Doctor Doyle confirmed you approached him multiple times in the past to request additional medication, a request which he mistakenly obliged. However, he kept a log of your transactions. One might say he simply didn’t trust you.”

  That son of a bitch! Ward thought. And here he’d believed they had an understanding. All the while, keeping a record to cover his own ass.

  His anger didn’t stop at Doyle. Patently, the Iron Widow hadn’t taken to the news of his imminent departure well, so she had gone looking for a reason to screw with him while she was still able. In the process, she found a wealth of infractions to punish him for.

  “What is to happen to me?” Ward said, resigning himself to his fate. “Am I to be confined to my cell until the Martian gets here?”

  Sandoval keyed the intercom on her desk and ordered Chief Banks to come back in. The office door slid open, and the staunch officer, accompanied by two of his men, rapidly moved to Ward’s sides to secure him. Roughly grabbing his hands, they replaced the shackles around them, one man grabbing him by each arm.

  “No, prisoner,” said the Iron Widow. “I have a feeling you’ll require something a little more. . . private while you’re still under our care. We don’t want you overdosing before our guest arrives.”

  Ward’s heart felt like it had suddenly dropped into the pit of his stomach. He knew exactly where she was going with this. He was going somewhere altogether horrible.

  “Solitary block, Chief Banks. Make sure he gets one of our best cells.”

  Four

  The main lights went out as soon as the door sealed behind him. Slowly, very slowly, the four dark walls enclosing him became visible. Only a faint set of small panels, mounted around the ceiling, provided any light. Ward’s eyes took their sweet old time adjusting to such a low level of illumination.

  He now knew with terrible certainty where he resided. Confined, within a cell built for one occupant and one occupant alone. No outward markers to tell him the time of day or regulate his circadian rhythms. No opportunities for social interaction or connection.

  Truly and utterly trapped. Ward could think of nothing worse at this moment than being left alone, the unwanted visitors free to drop in on him whenever they wanted. Because they showed up then. They were known to strike regularly when he slept. During his wakeful periods, they appeared only when he was alone and vulnerable and unable to medicate.

  A sound. A loud, metallic clinking, too synchronized to be random. His ears perked up. He was sure he had heard a sound; it was not his confused, addled mind playing tricks on him. The sound came again, muffled, but he knew it had to be coming from somewhere nearby.

  “Hello?” he cried. He heard the sound again. A series of knocks, the vibrations coming through the walls. The sound distinctly metallic.

  “Who’s there?” he called, trying to keep the desperation he was feeling from his voice.

  Again, the same pattern. The same basic sound. He surveyed the room. No decorations or features to speak of, except for some dividing lines running along the length of the walls. In one place, the division made a rectangular outline, bordered by a box-shaped section. Ward recognized these for what they were: a deployable bed slab and a toilet. Beyond, nothing other than recessed lighting around the top of the cell. Four oblong panels emitted a faint blue light. He followed them around, hoping to spot something else, some differentiation.

  Ward had turned all the way around before he spotted something at last. Below one of the panels, above head height, there were some very fine lines in the wall. Following them outwards and then down, until they intersected with the smooth floor, the tiniest of variances indicated where the door had to be.

  Despite being level down to the very micrometer, the holding facility was still composed exclusively of dumb matter. No such thing as seamless nanomaterials here. Nothing could blend into the background until instructed to do otherwise. Where two separate pieces met, there would be visible divisions.

  Not only could he make out the edges, he could make out the tiniest of panels in the middle of wall, close to his eye level.

  The knocking came again. Three taps, sharp and ringing like rapping against metal. He realized the purpose of the sound at last and tapped the panel. Sliding aside at once, the gap revealed the outer corridor, a touch brighter than his own cell.

  He called out into the gloom.

  “Hello? Who’s there?”

  No answer. Ward swallowed to wet his dry throat and tried again.

  “Hello? Is anybody out there?”

  A second’s pause before a voice sounded like grinding metal called out.

  “Zdravstvuyte, boss.”

  Ward felt a sudden spike in his adrenaline. “Zory?! Is that you?”

  “Da, boss,” Muscovy replied, his voice all slimy and self-assured. “Looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

  The entire process of blacking out and waking up in a solitary cell had been rather shaking. His mental state was not the most reliable, even at the best of times. Was the voice he was hearing or not?

  “Zory?”

  “Da, boss,” he replied.

  Ward sighed and placed a hand ov
er his face and mumbled a curse.

  “Why are you here?”

  Ward imagined Muscovy grinning in the cell next to him. He didn’t need to see him for his skin began to crawl with the sensation. The way the Slav let his lips curl back, enough to let his canines show – like he was baring them. The sight always made Ward uncomfortable.

  Ward had heard rumors Muscovy had had implants before they had arrested him: big, long incisors meant to make him look like a snake. The way he studied those around him, like prey he was waiting to sink his teeth into, Ward never doubted the stories for a second.

  “What’s ze matter, boss? Not happy to see me?”

  “Well, can’t really see you now, can I?”

  “Just how I like it. But you can hear me. I plan to tell you some very bad things.”

  He heard the man grinning now. It was obvious from the tone of his voice Muscovy was mighty pleased with himself. Then again, the man was extremely skilled at making threats. Threats were the one thing he could do with impunity without worrying about neural intervention from his spike.

  Ward’s heart sank and a newfound sense of anxiety rose to meet it. The one thought worse than being alone was being in the next cell from a man who had routinely threatened to kill him. Though they had a wall between them, he knew Muscovy wouldn’t let that stop him from being a complete menace.

  “Am I to assume if I seal the door panel, you’ll go back to banging on the walls?”

  “You can count on it. I don’t think that’s an option.”

  Ward tapped on the panel again. Nothing. The panel remained inexorably fixed in place. He tried again, harder this time. Muscovy must have heard the tapping, because he started to laugh.

  “Something not working? Maybe jammed?”

  She set this up, Ward thought, silently cursing himself. It was the only explanation. His hand went to his pocket, and confirmed yet another of his worst fears. His dispenser was gone.

  The Iron Widow had sealed him into a solitary cell and put the person he feared and hated most next to him. Worse yet, she had arranged it so there was no possibility of ignoring each other. Just to be a complete bitch, she had left him without a single med with which to numb himself.