Nox

by E. R. Torre

  “Ah,” Elizabeth said.

  The computer system came back to life, rebooting its internal programming before again displaying the lists of information she was looking at moments before.

  Elizabeth sighed. She had to scroll through the lists and sorted through everything she had already read before getting back to what she was doing. It was hardly worth the effort.

  That’s why they pay you the big bucks, she thought and grinned.

  She was about to do just that when she noticed there was a priority email waiting to be opened.

  Interesting, she thought.

  Priority emails were a rarity reserved for extreme emergencies. The email often originated from somewhere within the prison itself and was usually an automated warning of a major equipment failure, fire, or, in the very worst cases, a breakout or riot. The grin on Elizabeth’s face remained in place. Since she heard no alarms and didn’t feel the prison crumbling under her feet, she assumed this priority email had something to do with a situation in the Big City.

  Better them than us.

  She set her coffee aside and opened the email. The letter originated from Penal Supervisor Peter Rupert’s office back in the Big City and was, as far as she could tell, the list of the inmates to be transferred today from Segmore to the Big City. Ordinary stuff.

  “Why the big deal?” she mumbled.

  She scrolled down. Toward the end of the transfer list, she spotted something new.

  Inmate Landon, Joshua, #CHU8999-0987, to be added to transfer.

  Verification Alpha Alpha 335187. Sechima Escorts will prove counter-verification.

  The grin on Elizabeth Corona’s face was replaced with a frown. Her first instinct was to reach for the phone and give Penal Supervisor Rupert a call to verify the transfer addendum. Before she could, the door to Warden Manning’s office opened and her boss stepped out.

  Warden Manning was a small and thin man in his late forties who looked like he was at least a decade older. He was almost entirely bald and what little hair remained on his head was jet black and stuck to his skull as if super-glued. There was sharpness in his gray eyes, an attention to detail that underscored the reason he was promoted to Warden and held that job with relative ease for the past dozen years. If it was up to Warden Manning, his very last seconds as Warden at Segmore would coincide with his very last breath.

  Elizabeth offered the Warden a polite smile as he approached her desk. The Warden carried a very thick file in his hand. She recognized it as the summary information on the prisoners scheduled for today’s transfer.

  “Warden,” Elizabeth said. “I was about to call you. We have an addition to the transfer.”

  “Addition?” the Warden repeated. He looked at his wrist watch. While additions to transfers were not entirely uncommon, it was strange to receive such an addendum so close to the actual transfer time.

  “Take a look,” Elizabeth said. She spun her monitor around, allowing Warden Manning a view of the priority email.

  Warden Manning read what was on the screen. The curious frown that appeared on his face after reading the email was almost identical to the one Elizabeth Corona sported moments before.

  “You just got this?”

  “Seconds ago. Haven’t had a chance to print it out yet.”

  “From Supervisor Rupert?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “This addition…Joseph Landon…he hardly fits in with the rest of the outgoing group.”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

  Warden Manning gave Elizabeth a sidelong glance and smiled.

  “Sure you wouldn’t,” he said.

  “I haven’t had a chance to fully check.”

  “You know enough. Landon’s been in solitary for years. He’s a lifer.” The Warden shook his head. “If memory serves, he’s a military prisoner.”

  Elizabeth opened a window on the computer screen and brought up Landon’s computer file.

  “You’re correct, Warden. He was sent here twenty years ago under military orders.” She scrolled through the information. “And he was sentenced to life.”

  “Why do you suppose they changed their minds?”

  “I wouldn’t know sir, but it has been many years. Perhaps…”

  “Are the authorization codes proper?”

  Elizabeth pointed to the code at the very end of the email.

  “They are.”

  “Check them against military decree,” Warden Manning said.

  Elizabeth did.

  “The codes are military,” she said. “Authorization is proper.”

  The Warden considered that information. He again looked at his wristwatch and scratched his chin.

  “The transport truck will be here in a little over thirty minutes,” he said. “Get in touch with Chief Supervisor Rupert. We should personally verify this order.”

  “Yes sir.”

  She grabbed the phone on the right side of her desk and dialed the Chief Supervisor’s number. After a few seconds, she had her response.

  “This is Elizabeth—” she began. The Warden motioned for the phone. “Hang on, please.”

  She handed the phone to the Warden.

  “This is Warden Manning at Segmore,” the Warden said. “We just received an addendum to the day’s transfer orders.” He paused a second. “Yes. His name is Joshua Landon.” Another pause. “Yes, the authorization codes are proper, but given the prisoner’s status, we need to verify the orders with Chief Supervisor—” The Warden frowned. “He’s on his way to where? Listen, the transport is about to arrive. I’m very uncomfortable making the transfer without…”

  The Warden’s frown deepened.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll try his cell…What? You can’t?”

  The Warden listened for a few seconds before shaking his head.

  “Looks like it’s going to be one of those days,” he said. “We’ll try from here.”

  Warden Manning hung the phone up.

  “Chief Supervisor Rupert just left the office and the cell lines in the Big City are on the fritz,” the Warden told Elizabeth. “They say it’s another solar storm. Anyway, Rupert’s on his way to Central. It shouldn’t take him much more than ten or fifteen minutes to get there. Give it that time and then reach him through Central’s landline. When you get in touch with him, transfer the call to me. I’m heading down.”

  The prison’s yard was a sandy open air field surrounded by the four walls that made up the prison building. There were only a few windows looking out at the yard, and each and every one of them was manned by armed officers.

  At this time in the early evening, there were only a few prisoners allowed in the yard. Those that were there were the very hard cases. They had a predatory look on their face, yet avoided making eye contact with each other or the guards. They also did their best not to intrude on their fellow prisoner’s personal space.

  Despite their records, they behaved.

  For around each of their necks was a silver shock collar. It took a flick of the wrist from any of the monitoring guards to send a searing electric charge through each of the collars. That shock was enough to instantly incapacitate all prisoners. Seeing the collar in action was not a pleasant sight for onlookers and barbaric to those on its receiving end. The charge sent its victims into thrashing fits. Bowel and bladder control was often lost, and it took at least a day and sometimes two before prisoners recovered enough to eat solid foods.

  The bottom line, however, was that the shock collars worked.

  After implementing the program, incidents of violence at Segmore drastically diminished. This result proved positive enough for the Segmore Corporation to continue using the collars despite protests from family members and humanitarian groups who argued the devices were cruel and could be abused too easily. If that wasn’t bad enough, controversial research studies suggested multiple exposures to even the device’s medium setting could lead to permanent mental and physical damage in the inmates.

&nbs
p; In the face of mounting protest, the Segmore Corporation wisely chose to put on a public display of concern for the prisoner’s welfare. The Corporate heads, in full empathy mode, promised they would find alternative means of controlling their felon population. What they were really doing was playing a waiting game. They put away the shock collars and allowed time to pass. In the interval, humanitarian groups found plenty of other outrages brought on by the rise of the Big Business Conservatives to focus on.

  So when the attention to Segmore’s use of shock collars waned, they made their triumphant, though very low key, return to the prison.

  Abuses were kept to a minimum. When possible.

  Warden Manning and two guards entered the courtyard and walked directly through the central walkway and to the other side of the prison.

  The convicts closest to them took several steps back. Those at the far end of the yard made even more room and pressed themselves against the courtyard’s side walls. Everyone was keenly aware that even the tiniest perception of a threat against the Warden would be dealt with harshly. The Warden relished the untouchable power of his presence among this herd. He walked slowly, provocatively, through the yard and made it a point to stare directly at every convict. He smiled when they turned their heads and dared not look back at him.

  They know better than to do that.

  Though the Warden wasn’t even close to equaling the strongest or deadliest or even smartest of the prisoners, he was nonetheless their king. Even the guards gave him his space, walking at least ten feet behind. The convicts had plenty of room to act against their nemesis…if they dared. All they had to do was test their shock collars.

  None did.

  The Warden reached the opposite wall and pressed the intercom button that lay beside a heavy metal door. The camera above the door rotated until it pointed at the Warden. An electronic buzz echoed throughout the yard and the Warden pulled the door open. He took one last look at all the prisoners standing so meekly to the side.

  He offered them one more smile, a savage one, before walking through the door.

  Warden Manning and his escorts passed through a very long hallway before reaching another large metallic door. The trio paused for only a few seconds as heavy machinery whirled to life and the door slid open.

  The light coming into the hallway from beyond the door was blinding. A wave of dry heat blasted whatever moisture remained trapped within these prison walls.

  Before the Warden and his guards was a large gray asphalt parking lot. Beyond it, the vast Desertlands. The light brown sandy terrain stretched out for scores of monotonous miles around them.

  Warden Manning and his escorts stepped into the parking lot. Despite being out only a matter of seconds, Warden Manning already felt perspiration forming on his forehead. He didn’t bother to wipe it away as the heat took care of it. The Warden addressed his escorts.

  “Begin the transfer.”

  The two guards nodded and walked to the prison’s side wall. They stopped before a second set of enormous metal double doors and pressed a series of buttons on a remote access unit. A faint alarm was heard from somewhere deep within the prison walls and the doors slid open, revealing a dark space filled with ten rectangular metal crates. Several more prison guards stood beside those crates, their weapons at the ready.

  “Bring them out,” one of the two guards escorting the Warden said.

  A bulky forklift roared to life and drew close to the first of the metal crates. The forklift picked the crate up and deposited it outside, on the blistering asphalt. That action was repeated over and over again, until all ten crates were lined up outside.

  Warden Manning approached each crate and gazed through a square barred window on their side. The crates were made of reinforced sheet metal and were very slim. They each held a single prisoner while offering enough space for him or her to stand and sit. Uncomfortably. A few of the crates already had a foul odor emanating from within. This was not unexpected. These portable crates were, essentially, locked steel latrines. Electronic security on the outside door ensured the prisoner remained inside until those locks were disabled.

  After examining each of the crates, Warden Manning made a note within the thick folder he carried. By the time he was done, he spotted a puff of dust in the distance. He knew its source was the Big City transport vehicle. It would arrive very shortly.

  “That’s all of them,” the guard at the Warden’s side said. “All but one. Joshua Landon’s being prepped right now. He should be out any second.”

  “Thank you,” the Warden said. “The transport will be here in a few more minutes. Please disable the minefield.”

  “Yes sir,” the guard said.

  More machinery within the prison rumbled to life. A large conveyer belt coughed to life and one last rectangular metal cell was drawn to the waiting area. When it arrived, the forklift brought it out of the prison. It was laid down only a few feet from the Warden.

  Warden Manning approached that crate.

  Within it was a very lean and muscular man with shoulder length dark brown hair. Though the hair was thick and covered most of his face, it didn’t hide the three blue rectangles tattooed over his right eye and on his forehead. The Warden did not know, or care, about the origin or meaning of those tattoos, just as he didn’t know or care about the myriad tattoos found on so many of his prisoners.

  Joshua Landon’s face was a near perfect oval; his blue eyes were dull, vacant, and stared at the ground. They always stared at the ground. Landon seemed unconcerned or uninterested in his surroundings, as if the soul behind the eyes was long gone. The muscles in his body and his posture, however, betrayed a dangerous tension. In this narrow cell, he looked like a crouched animal waiting to attack.

  Warden Manning couldn’t help but shiver.

  Thank the Gods for the shock collar, he thought, noting it remained firmly in place around Landon’s neck. Lights coming from the collar’s control panel indicated it was functioning properly. At that thought, Warden Manning almost laughed. He trusted the shock collars more than the heavy metal crate housing these prisoners.

  Warden Manning stepped away from Joshua Landon and retrieved his cell phone from his suit pocket. The transport vehicle was closer, its silver metal body reflecting in the dying sunlight. It would arrive in a matter of seconds.

  “Elizabeth?” he said. “The transport is nearly here. Have you talked to…?”

  “Sorry sir,” Elizabeth replied. “Now there’s some kind of problem with the land lines as well as the cells. I just barely managed to get in touch with Central and they tell me the Warden has yet to arrive, that there’s some kind of major traffic mess.”

  “It just isn’t our day,” the Warden said. “Once the transport arrives, it’ll take no more than a few minutes to unload their cargo and another ten or so minutes to load up the transfer prisoners. That’s all the time we have to verify the orders.”

  “Yes sir. I’ll keep trying.”

  The Warden shut off his phone and swore.

  The transport truck slowed at the prison’s outer perimeter wire fences and, once they were opened, drove up to the asphalt parking lot.

  Once parked, the transport guards exited their truck. They opened a keypad panel at the side of the vehicle and inserted a code. The transport truck’s four sides slid down, revealing what looked like a sophisticated metal basket. Within it were twelve metal crates identical to the ones waiting outside the prison gates. The crates fit into individual spaces and were locked down, one after the other, filling the basket with the rectangular metal “eggs”. Behind the crates were several cargo boxes, supplies meant for the prison. The transport and prison guards began the job of unloading the cargo and crates while preparing the truck to accept Segmore’s transfers.

  One of the transport guards, a youth of no more than twenty five, approached the Warden. The Warden was familiar with the young man. He was recently promoted to Chief Transport Officer and had already made several trips
from the Big City to Segmore.

  Warden Manning could never remember his name.

  “Hello, Warden Manning,” the young man said. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Nice to see you, too…uh…”

  “Officer Gregory,” the transport officer said and smiled. It wasn’t the first time he had re-introduced himself to the Warden.

  “Yes, Officer Gregory,” Warden Manning said. “Very nice to see you again.”

  Warden Manning’s eyes drifted back to the transport truck. The guards there were moving very quickly. It would take them only a few more minutes to finish unloading their cargo.

  “How was your trip?” Warden Manning said.

  “Same as always,” Officer Gregory said. He offered the Warden his transfer orders.

  Warden Manning took them. He slowly read them over.

  “How is the rest of your staff?”

  “Fine,” Officer Gregory said. “We’re all doing fine.”

  “Good,” the Warden said.

  “Good,” Gregory repeated.

  They stood facing each other for several seconds. Finally, Chief Transport Officer Gregory said:

  “Sir, is there something wrong?”

  “Eh?”

  “The transfer orders. Are you going to sign them?”

  Warden Manning looked down at the documents. He made a show of reading them a second time.

  “We received an addendum.”

  “Yes sir,” Officer Gregory said. “Just received ours moments ago. Joshua Landon.”

  “Oh? We’ve been trying to contact—”

  “Yeah, the cell systems in the Big City are really fucked up,” Gregory said. “Had a moment of cellular clarity some ten miles back and the printer spat out the addendum. Lucky we got it, otherwise we’d have to leave Mr. Landon for next time.”

  “Yes, real lucky,” Warden Manning said. “Verification code?”

  “Alpha alpha 335187.”

  The Warden verified the code with the one written on his addendum. He didn’t say anything. Officer Gregory waited. After a while, he frowned.

  “Is the code proper?”