The Aeolian Master Book One Revival

by John Northern

  The room was small being no more than twenty feet by twenty feet. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling were made of metal—a cold, bluish steel. The room was barren of furniture or knick-knacks with only a bin next to a counter off to the left and six racks of drab-gray, prison-issue shirts and pants directly ahead. Ben stood in front of the other prisoners and waited.

  “Okay,” said the guard, “take off your clothing, everything except your underwear. And then find a uniform that will fit.” He pointed at the racks. “And keep whatever shoes you have on. We don’t issue shoes or boots, so you better make them last.”

  Ben stripped off his clothes, which he threw into the bin, then he found a uniform to fit and as he was getting dressed he watched the other three male prisoners. Ben didn’t know two of the prisoners, and he had never seen them except on the prison transport, but he was sure he would find out plenty about them in the next few weeks. Em, of course, he knew. It was outrageous that Thorne would throw this man into prison. Even this usurper should know that Em could help scientists find the answer to suspended animation, plus answer the question as to why he was known as the God of the winds.

  While the others were getting dressed Em stood in front of the racks, not moving.

  One of the guards pulled his bully stick from a strap on his belt and started toward him.

  “Wait,” said Ben.

  The guard turned toward Ben and with an angry look on his face. He slapped the bully stick in the palm of his hand, then took a step forward.

  “I’m not being disrespectful,” said Ben. “And neither is he,” he said pointing at Em. “He’s a little slow in the head, if you know what I mean.”

  The guard eased up.

  “I’ll help him get dressed,” said Ben as he stepped toward the racks. He picked out a uniform that looked big enough, then helped Em out of his body suit and into the shirt and pants.

  When everyone was finished, Kenly, the guard in charge, led Ben and the other three prisoners up a flight of metal stairs and along a metal walkway. The two other guards, with their phasors drawn, followed from behind.

  Kenley stopped in front of a barred prison-cell and pushed a button on a remote control device, which he held in his hand. Looking at a sheet of paper he called out, “Em,” as the barred-door slid open. “Step in. This will be your cell from now on.”

  Em just stood there with a blank look on his face.

  “Em,” called out Kenley in an angry tone. He was looking at the four prisoners not knowing which one was Em.

  Still no response.

  One of the guards walked forward with his ‘stinging stick’ in the ready position.

  Quickly, Ben grabbed Em by the arm and led him into the cell. “Like I said, ‘he’s a little slow.’” he said to Kenley. He left Em and stepped out of the cell.

  Kenley nodded, with a sour look on his face. He turned and started down the metal walkway. He passed four cells before he came to a stop. He pushed the button and the barred door slid open. “Keegan,” he yelled out.

  A tall, good-looking man with a good build and muscular arms stepped into the cell.

  As the door slid shut, Kenley turned and walked to the next cell. He pushed the button. “Samsung,” he said in a calmer voice.

  Ben recognized a tone of respect in Kenley’s voice, and he knew why. It was Samsung’s aura, which would bring forth a modicum of fear and respect from any man or woman when talking to Samsung. His presence gave you the feeling that if you weren’t polite to him, he could and would kill you in an instant.

  Samsung stepped into the cell.

  And now it was Ben’s turn. Kenley led him to the last cell on that level.

  As Ben stepped through the doorway and into the cell, the barred door slid shut behind him—enclosing him like an animal in a cage. Crap, thought Ben. A loud clunking noise reverberated throughout the room when the magnetic coupling locks were activated and engaged, locking him into the small room and into a new, but not a desirable way of life. Ben looked about him and noticed a set of metallic framed bunk beds to the right and a set to the left. Both were attached to the sidewalls, and both had a man on the bottom bunk snoring loudly. There was a small metallic toilet to the right against the far wall. He noticed the wall contained a barred window, which looked out over the prison yard. What the hell have I gotten myself into? A most absurd turn of events.

  From the top bunk on the right, a baldhead atop a face with dark, sunken eyes popped up and peered over the edge of a thin, tattered mattress. "Lookie here," said the face, "a new one."

  Ben ignored him and walked over to the window and looked out just in time for an unexpected scene. Thorne, surrounded by three prison guards and four of the Galaef's elite bodyguard, was walking across the prison yard. Come for his little meeting with the Galaef. Perhaps a mind melt is in the making.

  Ben wondered how much longer the Galaef would be alive. For some reason Thorne needed Myra in order to take control of the Galactic Federation, but he didn't know from which planet she came. He needed Taul to tell him, and that probably meant he would be alive until Thorne found her.

  "What's your name?" asked the face from the top bunk.

  Ben remembered Thorne had said it would only be a few days, so he must be confident about finding Myra rather quickly, and with the resources of the Galactic Federation at his command his optimism appeared to be realistic.

  "So, an unfriendly sort, eh?"

  "Not really," said Ben. He turned and saw a scrawny fellow-sitting upright in the top bunk. "I just have a lot on my mind . . . my name's Ben, and what's yours?"

  "Name's Hilo," said the face, and he rolled off the bunk, swinging his right foot to the bunk below, but stepping lightly so as not to disturb the snoring man. From there he stepped to the floor. "Listen," he said, "you're new here, so it's only right I fill you in on the program." The man spoke in a soft, but nasal voice.

  "Program?"

  "You know . . . how things work in this joint. If you're smart and you do things right, you can live for a long time around here . . . especially now."

  Ben thought it ironic that this man would consider the process of staying alive under horrible conditions a 'program.' At the university they had programs which included an itinerary of coursework leading to a degree, or an outline of athletic courses leading to an event standing, or a sequence of events at a concert or a theater performance, but there were no programs for staying alive as long as possible under insane circumstances. It occurred to Ben that in some bizarre way it might be a program. It would certainly be a learning process; especially if he survived it.

  "What do you mean especially now?"

  Without hesitation Hilo said, "Two and a half months ago they started giving us a day off once a week, and then three weeks ago they started feeding us a cooked meal on our day off."

  "Why did they do that?"

  Hilo answered a question with a question. "How many new prisoners came with you today?"

  "Four men and a woman."

  "There's your answer," said Hilo. "Prisoners are dying too fast. Too many empty bunks, not enough men to mine the crystals. The workforce used to be two hundred strong, but now we're down to just over one hundred. I guess the rebels are getting smarter—not getting caught as much."

  Ben noticed Hilo said ‘the rebels’ instead of ‘us rebels,’ but he figured it was just his way of talking. "Well then, I guess that's lucky for us."

  "Damn straight it is." Hilo took a cigarette and a lighter out of his prison-issue shirt pocket, stuck the cigarette in his mouth and lit it up. He took a long drag and then blew out a cloud of dull blue smoke.

  One of those stinking Arian cigarettes, thought Ben—with the tobacco grown in hydroponics plants. Ben had had the unpleasant experience of coming in contact with that thick, stinking smoke on numerous occasions. "I'm surprised you can smoke in here."

  Hilo took another drag, and then as the smoke curled out of his mouth, he asked, "Why
not? It's not like they're worried about our health. At least, not on a long term basis."

  "What I mean is where do you get the cigarettes?"

  Hilo flicked his ash on the floor. "I have a mama on the outside who sends me cigarettes once a month. She even sends me food, what little she can spare."

  Ben thought for a moment and then his eyes met Hilo's. "It's okay for people on the outside to help you?"

  Hilo paused considering the underlying reason for this question. "Oh, I know what you're thinking," he said. "You've been listening to those rumors in Newusa about being imprisoned in the pits, and then you die within a couple of agonizing months . . . right?"

  "Well, . . . yeah, that's what I heard."

  With a big smile on his lips causing creases to appear all over his face Hilo said, "But that's not true. There are prisoners who have been in here for almost two years. Oh, it's a fact a lot of prisoners die due to overwork and small rations, and there are those who die from accidents and knife fights, but it doesn't have to be that way. If you do it right, and if you have someone on the outside to help you, you can live a long time." He paused, and then said, "I do everything I can to stay alive, and as long as I'm alive I have my hopes that the rebels will take control of the city so we can get out of this place."

  Ben had people on the outside. Problem was they were too far away and it wouldn't be possible to get word to his parents nor his brother nor Lyil on the Computer planet nor anyone at the college.

  He turned and looked out the barred window again. I wonder what Lyil is doing. The sun was starting to set, and the lights above the prison walls and those in the pit, which was about forty yards from the prisoner's barracks, had been turned on. He could see a large elevator shaft extending down the right side of the pit and spaced every forty feet there was a small platform held by cables, which were extended from a winch.

  Hilo snubbed his cigarette butt out on the bunk bed frame and threw it in the toilette. "We eat at noon every Sunday," said Hilo. "Too bad you weren't here sooner."

  "It's alright," said Ben. "I ate lunch on the Commander, the . . . "

  "The Federation flagship?"

  "Yeah, that's right. How did you know?"

  "Oh, well, . I . . . I just keep up on things." Hilo changed the subject by asking, "Does that mean you're not a rebel?"

  "Hell no, I'm not a rebel." Ben glared out the window.

  "That don't make sense. If you're not a rebel then how did you get here, murder or something?"

  "Had nothing to do with murder. It seems I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," answered Ben.

  "Not a rebel and didn't do anything wrong—don't make sense."

  Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Has something to do with politics and right now it doesn't much matter." He looked over the prison wall and then pointed his finger out the window and asked, "What's that hue coming over the prison wall?"

  Hilo walked over and looked out the window. "Oh, that's the light from the Employee's City. It's a couple of miles from here. And those lights just to the left—that's the warden's house."

  "And what's that door on top of the wall?"

  "There's two cross-over tubes that come from the warden's house directly to the prison yard; one on the ground and one from the third story of his house to the top of the prison yard wall. That door is the entrance to the top cross-over tube."

  Ben considered this piece of information for a moment. "I'll keep that in mind for a possible means of escape—maybe later on."

  No no, said a leisurely voice.

  Ben turned to Hilo, "What do you mean, 'no'? Haven't you ever thought of escaping?" he asked.

  But Hilo gave him a funny look. "I didn't say anything," he said.

  And with that Ben realized who it was and turned back to the barred window. Is that you, Roqford? he asked mentally. He hadn't gotten used to this cat stepping into his mind without warning and speaking as if he were standing right next to him.

  Yesss, it isss.

  "Do you want to escape?" asked Hilo.

  Best not to answer, said Roqford.

  "Not really. I already love it here." And then to Roqford, Where are you?

  I'm in the warden'sss officcce, replied Roqford. It'sss where I usually spend the night.

  That's at least a hundred yards away. How can we communicate so far?

  Roqford gave a mental grin. Telepathy is lessss restrictive than mechanical speech. It hasss a range of up to three milesss through any kind of material object found in thisss plane of existenccce. In other wordsss, he went on, through any kind of solid object, yesss, but not through certain forccce fieldsss and not into subspaccce, or any other plane of existenccce.

  "I know you're just kidding," said Hilo. "Nobody loves it here."

  "Well, I'm glad to know that," said Ben to Hilo, and then to Roqford. Now tell me why I can't talk to this guy.

  He'sss one of the warden'sss plantsss.

  Ben could imagine Roqford lying on the floor or on a big couch licking one of his paws. Stoolie? asked Ben.

  What? asked Roqford nonchalantly.

  Nothing, just an old Earth term. What do you mean 'one of? Are there more than one?

  "Look," said Hilo deciding not to wait any longer for a reply, "if you ever decide to make an escape you let me in on it, okay? Cause I want to get out of here too. Okay?"

  "Yeah, sure," said Ben.

  No, there'sss just one at a time, but he usesss four of them and switchesss them out every six monthsss.

  Hilo pulled out another cigarette and lit it up. "I better explain how it works around here," he said.

  When his six monthsss are finished, he'll go back to Newusa and live in comfort for a year and a half, then he'll be back.

  "Food pellets are used like money."

  Ben pictured the warden sweating in his sleep having nightmares about prisoner uprisings—the prisoners taking over the prison and threatening to disrupt his comfort and pleasurable way of life. If the situation was out of control he would have to call in Hurd's city police and maybe Thorne's air force and then he might lose his job.

  "Know what I mean?" asked Hilo.

  "Yeah," answered Ben.

  Yummmmmmmm, said Roqford.

  Yum? asked Ben. He was a little confused by this statement. What do you mean, yum?

  "Now with food pellets you can buy a most important commodity," continued Hilo.

  Nothing. Just Yummmmmm, life isss good.

  I used to think so, said Ben. But I really couldn't agree with you at the moment.

  There was suddenly an emptiness.

  Roqford?

  Roqford?

  No answer.

  Roqford?

  No answer. Roqford had fallen asleep, and it felt to Ben like there was a void in his grey matter.

  Ben turned and faced Hilo. "What would I want to buy around here?"

  "Why, protection, of course." Hilo paused and then continued. "Everybody belongs to a gang. There are eight of them, but you have to pay to belong by giving the gang leader two food pellets everyday."

  Ben gave him a wry look. "The way I understand it we don't get enough food as it is, and now you're telling me I have to give some of it away for protection?"

  "Look, it's only two a day. You agree to it, and I'll talk to my leader and get you into our gang.

  "I don't have a mama on the outside, so forget it. I'll start my own gang."

  "Can't," said Hilo matter of factly. "The gangs are all established." He shook his head in a knowing manner. "And if you don't join one, you're going to end up with a shive in your back."

  Ben smiled ruefully. "Now there's a term I haven't heard before, and I'll bet it's an ancient Earth term."

  "Doesn't matter. You'll find out what it is soon enough."

  Chapter Forty-Two