Breakout

by David Ryker

  “I’m not angry, Iona,” he said quietly. “You did well. Thank you for bringing this to me.”

  She brightened at that, and Bishop felt a sudden wave of unreality wash over him. Ridley was begging for Kergan’s approval now, instead of the other way around. It was as if he’d stepped into some parallel dimension where up was down.

  “What is attenuation?” he blurted. There had been no thought behind it; his mouth suddenly seemed to have a mind of its own.

  Pain exploded in his ribs as Ridley’s baton connected with his midsection. He gasped and doubled over.

  “Don’t talk about attenuation,” she hissed in his ear. “It’s not for pieces of shit like you.”

  “Iona,” Kergan soothed from somewhere above Bishop as he tried to keep himself from retching. “Don’t damage him. He will work for us, eventually.”

  “Yes, sir.” She grabbed Bishop under the chin and yanked him back into a standing position, which prompted a fresh shudder of nausea. “You heard him. Get out of here and finish cleaning the latrines. If you step out of line again, I’ll kill you.”

  Bishop smiled to mask the grimace of pain on his face. In for a penny…

  “How about I shout for Warden Farrell to join us instead?” he said through gritted teeth. “What do you think he’d make of this? I know he doesn’t give a shit about us inmates but, like you said, Kergan, he doesn’t like it when you damage the merchandise.”

  Kergan blinked at him a few times before lifting his brow. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  Bishop’s eyes flitted back and forth between the two guards. Both of them were staring at him patiently. It was a trap, he knew that much. But he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to bring this to Farrell’s attention, whatever the consequences.

  “Warden!” he hollered. “I need your help!”

  A few seconds later the door to the warden’s office slid open and a tall man in an expensive suit stood in the entrance. Sean Farrell’s expression was grim, but his eyes looked vacant. Not at all like the powerful figure Bishop had seen on countless SkyLode messages over the comms system in the last two years.

  “Sean,” Kergan said mildly. His voice made Bishop jump slightly, enrapt as he was with the warden. “Please tell this inmate who is in charge of Oberon One.”

  “Kergan is the leader,” the older man said. His voice had that same flat tone as the guard’s.

  Kergan smiled just the tiniest bit. It was enough to complete the journey that Bishop’s guts had started on to being frozen. “I’m sorry, could you make that a bit clearer, Sean?”

  Farrell stood for a moment looking slightly confused before answering: “Officer Kergan is my boss.”

  “Excellent.” Kergan’s grin widened. “Now, be a good employee and go back in your office.”

  Farrell turned in the doorway and ambled slowly back toward his desk.

  “Oh, just one last thing,” said Kergan, snapping his fingers. His smile widened, and Bishop thought he saw the old Kergan appear again. “Sean, soil yourself.”

  Bishop watched in numb horror as the warden turned to face him again, that blank look still hanging in his eyes. But could he also see a tinge of something else behind them? Anger? Fear?

  Despair?

  The fabric of the crotch of Farrell’s suit pants slowed turned a darker shade of blue, until it finally became black. The patch spread all the way to his hips, and a few moments later Bishop saw the first droplets of urine strike the floor below.

  “Thank you, Sean, that’s enough. Go back to work now.”

  Ridley broke Bishop’s own trance by grabbing the collar of his jumpsuit and tossing him toward the door like a rag doll. When he stumbled on the pressure plate in the floor, the hatch slid open and Bishop stumbled through it into the corridor. Was this really happening?

  “Stay out of the walls,” Ridley warned absently before the door closed behind him. In the final instant, he was sure he saw her mooning over Kergan, who was smiling inscrutably, like a cheap Buddha statue in a Shanghai storefront.

  Bishop propped himself against the wall with his hands and breathed deeply, fighting the nausea and the pain, trying to get a grip on his thoughts. If this was drugs, then they were using them on the warden too, and that was insane. And since when was Ridley attracted to anyone on board, let alone Kergan? And how the holy living fuck did Kergan end up running the station?

  He had no idea what any of the answers might be, but he knew one thing for sure: none of it meant anything good for the inmates of Oberon One.

  Maggott was in his bunk when Bishop got back to their cell. The big man looked startled by his friend’s appearance.

  “Bloody ‘ell, mate! What ‘appened to ye?”

  Bishop winced as he sat on his own bunk across from Maggott. The pain in his back had increased over the hours that he’d spent mopping the latrines after his ordeal in the warden’s office, and it was obviously showing on his face.

  “Long story,” he said. “I got the message to Quinn and the others in the Can, but Ridley caught me when I got back.”

  “Ah, fook me,” Maggott breathed. “So much for th’ back channel.”

  At that moment, Dev Schuster appeared in the doorway of the cell, his brown eyes dancing.

  “You’ll never believe what—” he began, then caught the look on Bishop’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Bishop brought them up to speed on what he’d been through, taking particular care to describe his experience with the guards and the warden in Farrell’s office. Reliving it now didn’t help it make any more sense to him than it had then.

  “And then Ridley just let ye go?” asked Maggott, clearly astonished.

  Bishop shook his head. “That was weird in itself. She didn’t escort me or call anyone to keep an eye on me. Just sent me on my way, like I was being dismissed from the principal’s office and should get back to my homeroom. She seemed more upset that I’d asked about attenuation than she was over the fact I’d broken a dozen or so prison rules. Not to mention witnessed the warden pissing himself.”

  “Attenuation,” Schuster said, deep in thought. “That’s what this all comes down to somehow, but I still don’t have a clue what it means.”

  “It must have something to do with the way they’re acting,” said Bishop.

  “Yeah, but what? Sloane and Kergan are definitely not their usual selves—well, and Farrell, obviously, from what you just told us—but outside of fawning over Kergan, it doesn’t sound like Ridley has changed all that much.”

  “What about the others in engineering?”

  Schuster shrugged. “Still not communicating. They just go about their work, and they ignore me if I try to start a conversation. There was something different today, though. The others were in the hangar bay, actually working on the Rafts. Whatever they’re doing, things seem to be speeding up now.”

  “And your work? Do you know what it is you’re looking for yet?”

  He frowned. “Not exactly, but I think we’re getting close to finding it. Sloane had me fit transmitters onto some drones so that we could send them to the surface and expand the scanning range so that it can penetrate deeper into the crust.”

  “But why now?” asked Bishop, more to himself than Schuster. “It’s not like they’ve got new technology on the station; Sloane is just using what he’s had all along, only doing it better. And why is palladium suddenly on the sidelines, when it was the sole reason Oberon One was built in the first place?”

  “It has to have something to do with the incident on the surface,” said Schuster. “Whatever happened to us down there was what started all of this in motion. That’s the only thing we know for sure right now.”

  It was beyond Bishop in his current state of mind, and with the pain throbbing in his ribs, so he turned to Maggott. “What about you, big guy? Anything out of the ordinary happen?”

  “I dunno if it means anythin,’” said Maggott. “But you sayin’ that Ridley just l
et you go earlier makes me wonder. The guards in the gym today acted like they didn’t give a fiddler’s fart about us. They were walkin’ around like we weren’t even there. And I dinnae see any other guards in the corridors durin’ the rest o’ the day.”

  “So it’s not just Sloane, Kergan and Ridley,” said Schuster. “Even ones that weren’t on the surface that day are acting weird.”

  “Which begs a question I really don’t want to ask,” said Bishop. “But I don’t think we have the luxury of ignoring it anymore.”

  Schuster nodded. “I know where you’re going with this, Geordie. If something happened that day that changed them… then why hasn’t it changed us?”

  The three sat in silence for several seconds until Maggott finally spoke.

  “If neither of ye’s gonna say it, I will.”

  “What’re you talking about?” asked Bishop.

  “There’s another question we gotta think on.”

  “Which is?”

  Maggott leaned forward on his bunk, causing it to grown loudly.

  “What if it did change us,” he said gravely, “and we just dinnae know it yet?”

  16

  Chelsea Bloom had never been one for doing things by the book. First she had left college and defied her parents to sign up for the Medical Corp at the outset of the Trilateral War. Then she had actually been in the field instead of working at an evac hospital in one of the Utopia Cities, the way most of her friends had. Then she had been in the combat zones, unlike all of her colleagues, and she’d come out the other side.

  And when the position of chief medical officer and counsellor had come available on Oberon One, she’d jumped at the opportunity. She had an inside track for the job, of course, since her father was one of SkyLode’s major investors. She was pretty sure her father had come dangerously close to having some sort of cardiac event when she broke the news to him, but it didn’t stop her. It was a chance to experience deep space, and she wasn’t going to let it pass, even if almost everyone she knew was horrified by the idea. Blooms didn’t take risks; they basked in the glow of being one of the few elites who had everything money could buy. They didn’t go into space, and they sure as hell didn’t live among convicted criminals, let alone help them.

  But Chelsea wasn’t a typical Bloom, so when she took a seat outside the clear polycarbonate door to Napoleon Quinn’s solitary confinement cell, she actually felt some sympathy for him.

  “You’re looking good, Sgt. Quinn,” she lied as he glanced over at her from his spot on the cell floor. The odor of human waste assaulted her nostrils even in the corridor, and she didn’t want to imagine what it was like for Quinn inside his confined space.

  “Dr. Bloom,” said Quinn. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

  She smiled. “I’ll bet. Can’t leave the Can without my say-so, after all. And how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not a doctor, I’m a medical practitioner? It basically means I know how to operate the machines in the infirmary and how to figure out which drug does what.”

  “Just operate the goddamn door and let me out,” Ulysses muttered from the next cell. “Smells like a tick hound’s asshole in here.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Quinn said evenly.

  Chelsea bit down on a grin that threatened to spread. She wasn’t one for chivalry, but she appreciated the effort nonetheless.

  To her right, Senpai Sally appeared to be sleeping through it all on her bench, which was fine with Chelsea. She tapped at her wrist pad and turned it so that the built-in holo-camera was facing the cells, recording.

  “So it was just a typical fight that got you three thrown in here?” she asked. “Nothing out of the ordinary? You know I have to ask; it’s protocol.”

  Ulysses flashed a wide, sardonic grin. “Dat’s right, missy. We all jes had ourselves a l’il ol’ dust-up. You know how tense y’get, pickin’ de cotton all day likes we does.”

  Chelsea supposed Ulysses’ snide demeanor might intimidate some people, but not her. Sure, he was the leader of the biggest inmate gang in Oberon One, but she was still technically a guard, and he had to do as she said.

  “Very droll, Ulysses,” she said. “But we both know slavery was abolished over two hundred years ago in America.”

  “You obviously never bin to mah neck o’ the woods,” he muttered.

  “And you, Sgt. Quinn?” She turned to him. He stood up, revealing the chiseled frame that strained against the confines of his prisoner’s jumpsuit.

  “You’re not a doctor, I’m not a sergeant,” he said. “I’m not anything anymore. The court martial made sure of that.”

  “All right, then, Napoleon.”

  “It’s just Lee. Or better yet, Quinn.”

  “Do you agree with Ulysses’ assessment, Lee? It was just tempers flaring and you’ve learned your lesson?”

  He gave her a half-grin. “Yes, ma’am. Now I’d love to get out of here.”

  “Me, too,” said Ulysses. “I’m so hungry I could eat the stink off’n a skunk. They never fed us.”

  Chelsea frowned at that and glanced at her wrist display. A few taps on the keyboard called up the schedule for the solitary cells, and the results confirmed what Ulysses had said.

  “You three have been in here for eighteen hours without food,” she said. “That’s against regulations. The longest you’re supposed to go between meals is six hours.”

  “Welcome to the other side of Oberon One.” Quinn shrugged. “That’s life in the Can.”

  “You think the guards give a shit ‘bout us?” asked Ulysses. “You need t’examine yer own head.”

  To Chelsea’s right, a noise came from inside Sally’s cell. The Yandare leader was lying on her side, facing the wall, her back to the clear door, mumbling something. Chelsea got up from her chair and took three steps toward the cell door.

  “Sally?” she said quietly, not wanting to startle her out of her sleep if she could help it. “Everything—”

  Before she could finish, Sally had spun off the bench and launched herself at the door, striking it with a resounding thud. That, combined with a shrill scream that echoed through the corridor, almost made Chelsea’s bladder let go. She responded with an involuntary shriek of her own as she stumbled backward and landed on her ass in the corridor.

  “Sally!” Quinn shouted. “Stand down!”

  “I told ya!” cried Ulysses. “Shit. House. Rat!”

  Chelsea’s heart hammered in her chest as she watched Sally’s huge eyes close and her mouth stretch wide into a grin that almost split her face in two.

  “Wake up, Dr. Bloom,” Sally cooed. “Rise and shine.”

  Chelsea fought back her body’s natural reaction to the shock as she pulled herself from the floor. It took an effort, but she managed to smile. She wasn’t going to let a prisoner know how rattled she’d really been.

  “Good one, Sally,” she said, keeping her tone light and swiping at the dust on the rear of her uniform. “You really got me.”

  Sally bowed deeply from the waist. “You honor me, Doctor.”

  “I’m not a doc… never mind,” she sighed. “All right, I suppose you three are as normal as you’re ever going to get. I’ll contact the shift supervisor and authorize your release.”

  “Much appreciated,” said Quinn. He seemed sincere enough, as he usually did. Not for the first time, Chelsea wondered if there was a chance his story about being innocent might actually be true.

  “You gonna tell her about—” Ulysses began, but Quinn cut him off.

  “Shut up, Ulysses,” he said. “Let Officer Bloom go about her business. She has work to do.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she saw the expression on Ulysses’ face. He looked angry.

  “Tell me about what?”

  “Nothin,’” he said. “Just tell whoever’s in charge that I don’t ‘preciate not gettin’ fed.”

  She took one more look at them all before turning off the recorder on her wristband and heading down
the corridor, wondering if she’d ever know what was really going on between the three of them.

  As it turned out, she would soon know that, and a lot more as well.

  “Y’ever tell me to shut up again, you best bend over and kiss yer ass good-bye,” Ulysses growled once Bloom was out of earshot.

  Quinn knew it wasn’t an idle threat, and that Ulysses could easily follow through on it if he chose to, but he was too angry to care.

  “What should I have done?” he snapped. “Bloom works for SkyLode. We have to assume everything we say to her will make its way to Farrell.”

  “Quinn is right,” Sally said matter-of-factly. “We should kill her at the soonest opportunity.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant at all, Sally. Bloom isn’t like most of the others, but then again, neither was Sloane before things changed. I’m saying we have to keep an eye on her. That’s all.”

  “Please be clear from now on,” Sally said. There was a distinct pout in her tone.

  “I dunno,” said Ulysses. “I’m ‘bout to the point where I think all of ‘em need to be killed. We should be takin’ over this here station.”

  Jesus, what have I aligned myself with? Quinn ran a hand over his stubbly hair.

  “Bloom is different from the others,” he said. “The fact that she noticed we hadn’t been fed shows she at least cares about our welfare.”

  “Perhaps she was simply acting,” said Sally. “I would be, if I were in her position.”

  “You were trained to do it. Bloom wasn’t.”

  Sally’s eyes narrowed. “That might be what she wants you to believe.”

  Quinn sighed. Trying to reason with Sally was pointless. All he could do was bulldoze his way through it and hope she would tag along instead of trying to take the lead.

  Officer Boychuk was the guard who showed up an hour later to release them. If he bore a grudge from the incident in the gym that had landed the three in the Can, he didn’t show it.

  But as he activated the releases on the cell doors, Quinn thought the man showed something out of the ordinary. A second later and the three were standing in the corridor, glancing at each other in confusion.