Breakout

by David Ryker

  Sloane stood and left the room without another word. When he reached the corridor, he felt something resonate inside him, coming simultaneously from both himself and the entity that shared his mind. It was something quite familiar to him, but a totally new experience for his passenger.

  It was doubt.

  19

  The mess hall looked the same as it always had, but there was a different vibe to it the next morning when Quinn and his crew sat down to their trays of breakfast slop. The peace treaty he’d brokered had been in effect for less than a day, but the level of tension in the room already seemed lower.

  Ironically, he was going to have to ramp the tension back up soon, or at least the appearance of it.

  “It’s strange to nae have anyone starin’ at us in here,” Maggott said through a mouthful of food. “Almost unnervin’.”

  “Amazing what you get used to after a couple of years inside,” said Bishop. “People staring at you, not showering alone, watching your warden piss his pants. That kind of thing.”

  “Ix-nay on the iss-pay,” Quinn hissed from the corner of his mouth. “We don’t need that getting out into the open, at least not yet.”

  “Easy for you to say. You didn’t see it.”

  Quinn glanced up to the mezzanine. It was Tait and Ridley on duty again, which meant he was very likely to end up on the wrong end of a shock rifle blast before the meal was over. But there was nothing he could do about that except hope.

  Around them, the Saints and Yandare members seemed uncharacteristically subdued, which meant that Ulysses and Sally had done their job and brought them up to speed on what they were planning. There were no details yet, of course, but for now, the order of the day was to keep your nose clean and don’t start any drama. Don’t rock the boat, no matter how much you think prison politics might demand it.

  As he was scanning the mess, he locked eyes briefly with Ulysses, who nodded somberly. Quinn nodded back.

  “All right,” he sighed. “Might as well get this over with. You ready for it, Dev?”

  Schuster tossed his spoon into his tray with a clank and glared at Quinn.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he breathed. “Just gonna apologize in advance, sir.”

  “Give it your best shot, Sergeant,” Quinn growled back, pushing himself up from the table and backing away.

  Schuster followed until the two were a couple of meters away from the rest of Jarheads, in an empty area. Quinn squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

  “So that’s it?” he said in a voice loud enough to carry. “I’m in the Can for a day and you think you can just leave the Jarheads?”

  “What can I say, man?” Schuster shrugged. “I got a job now. Fuck you and your pretend gang. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be in here!”

  That hit Quinn like an arrow, even though he’d known it was coming.

  “So you really are joining the other side?” he hollered. “You’re gonna start stroking the guards’ dicks?”

  “Hey, fuck you! I’m using my brain, which is more than I ever did with you assholes!”

  Maggott rose from the table on cue, then sat down again when Quinn motioned for him to stand down.

  “I don’t need any help with this little traitor,” he growled.

  “You’re the traitor!” Schuster launched forward and plowed into Quinn’s chest, knocking him backward. Quinn pretended to lose his footing while Schuster cocked his right fist back. Quinn gave an almost imperceptible nod to show he was ready.

  No one else saw the wince on Schuster’s face as he let loose with a haymaker directly into Quinn’s nose. His former commander’s head snapped backward, spraying crimson droplets across the floor for a two-meter radius.

  Quinn dropped to one knee, feigning confusion from the blow. Schuster closed the gap between them and began raining kicks into Quinn’s midsection, pulling each one at the last second to make it look like he was delivering more damage than he was. They had to make this fight look as convincing as possible, so that the guards would shut it down.

  But they weren’t moving. Schuster raised his fists and bent down toward Quinn, who was on the floor.

  “Nothing’s happening,” he hissed.

  “Use a tray.”

  Schuster’s eyes widened. “You sure?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  With that, Quinn swung at Schuster’s groin, pulling his punch but still landing with enough force that he was pretty sure Schuster’s reaction was real.

  “Roger that,” Schuster growled, stumbling toward the table and grabbing the tray that still held the remains of his breakfast slop. Like everything on the station, it was made of steel so that it would respond to the magnetic forces that could be called upon to keep things in place if need be.

  Quinn staggered to his feet, leaving himself wide open for the blow. This time there was no apology in Schuster’s face as he wound up like Casey at the bat and swung the tray square into Quinn’s face.

  Quinn flew backward with an effort worthy of the comical wrestlers that used to be so popular with his great-grandparents’ generation. He landed flat on his back and gave one last kick before turning his head to the side and closing his eyes.

  “You want some?” he heard Schuster bark from above him.

  Come on, come on.

  Long seconds ticked past as Schuster traded verbal jabs with Bishop and Maggott, until Quinn finally heard the door that led into the mess from the mezzanine shoosh open.

  “All right, enough,” Tait said.

  Quinn waited to hear the electric growling of a shock rifle being charged, but it never came.

  Thank heaven for small favors.

  “Get down to engineering on the double,” said Ridley, sounding bored. “Sloane has important work to do.”

  “What about him?” Quinn held back a wince as Tait swung the toe of a boot into his calf muscle.

  “Get him up to the infirmary,” said Ridley. “I thought he’d put up more of a fight. But whatever, we can’t have him bleeding all over everything. Apparently Bloom is keeping track of all that shit now.”

  Tait called Maggott over and the two men hoisted Quinn off the floor. He felt Maggott’s wide deltoid muscle press against his abdomen as the big man dropped him over his shoulder for the trip to the infirmary.

  Mission accomplished, he thought, opening one eye for just a moment. The Saints and Yandares were laughing openly. Quinn wasn’t sure if they were doing it as a natural reaction, or if they’d been told to by Ulysses and Sally, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Whatever kept the guards from getting suspicious.

  He just hoped it would all be worth it.

  Kevin Sloane and the companion in his mind were waiting when Dev Schuster arrived in the engineering section, and they walked over to greet him at the entrance.

  Sloane nodded to the guard, Tait, who had arrived with the inmate.

  “Why is he being escorted?” Sloane asked.

  “He was in an altercation in the mess right before this, sir. I felt it was best.”

  “He is late.”

  Sloane watched Tait fidget. His face is larger in proportion to his cranium than the rest of your species, his passenger noted in his mind.

  “I, uh, apologize,” said Tait. “Won’t happen again.”

  Sloane turned away and headed toward the center of the engineering section, where his fully attenuated assistants went about performing their tasks under his direct mental control.

  “Follow,” he said to the inmate, who was called Schuster.

  Behind him, the door shooshed open and closed as the guard left the area. Schuster’s bootheels clocked against the metal floor as he jogged to catch up.

  “What are we doing today, sir?”

  “My work here must not be delayed,” said Sloane, ignoring the question. “No other delays in your arrival will be tolerated.”

  “Uh, I apologize, sir,” said Schuster. “I had a fight with Quinn.”

  “
Quinn.” Sloane’s passenger brought up an image of the man. Tall, wide jaw, blue eyes, muscular. “Your cellmate. He was on the mission to the surface when the meteorites struck.”

  “That’s him. We got in a fight and I knocked him out.”

  The passenger started to turn its attention to the task at hand, but Sloane asserted some pressure to continue the conversation, and it acquiesced. It was beginning to learn the value of satisfying curiosity.

  “Why did you fight Quinn?” he asked. “He is your commander. Your friend.”

  “He’s no friend of mine,” Schuster said in a low tone.

  “That is a sudden change in your relationship. What was the impetus behind it?”

  “He was trying to keep me from helping you with this mission. Said he didn’t want me cooperating with the guards. I told him that I wanted to work with you.”

  Sloane nodded. “There is general animosity amongst the inmate population toward those in positions of authority. His attitude is understandable.”

  Schuster blinked at him. “I don’t think it is. I think his attitude is bullshit.”

  Bovine excrement? Sloane explained it to his passenger.

  “I am curious,” Sloane said. “Why you do not share Quinn’s assessment of working with me? You receive no compensation for your efforts.”

  “Sure I do. I’m learning a lot from you. I never had the chance to go to school, and…” Schuster looked away. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t care about that.”

  “Continue.” The passenger was as curious about the answer as Sloane, which was interesting in itself.

  “It’s just that… well, I grew up in the slums of Mumbai. School wasn’t really an option. I mean, primary school, sure, but most of the time we were jammed into rooms where we were practically sitting on top of each other. There were times when teachers didn’t show up for days at a time, and sometimes they’d just disappear with no explanation and we’d have a new teacher who didn’t know any of us, and everything would start all over again.”

  Sloane nodded. “That is fascinating. Your situation was chaotic.”

  “Well, that’s one word for it.” Schuster had stopped at his workstation. “It was different in the Towers, of course. But it was always next to impossible to get resources for the slums. Food was always the priority, and heat. Education was always an afterthought. I read as much as I could get my hands on from the free archives, but that’s not the same as having a teacher.”

  Sloane felt his passenger asking him to describe the emotion they were suddenly experiencing. Excitement, he replied.

  “You have a curious mind, then,” Sloane said, eyes wide. “You seek knowledge that I can provide to you.”

  “Exactly!” Schuster was grinning. “I want to learn everything I can from you. What you’re doing here—I think it’s incredibly important. And I want to help in any way I can.”

  This one is different from the others, said the voice in Sloane’s head. Attenuation makes them compliant, but this one has… I do not know the term.

  Imagination, Sloane answered. That is why I chose him. He can offer new information and suggest alternatives, once he is fully informed.

  The voice paused. This is a new experience.

  Yes, Sloane replied, feeling their shared new emotion. It is exciting.

  I believe I now understand Kergan better. We should continue.

  “Your assistance will be valuable,” he said to the brown man. “What do you need to increase your contribution?”

  Schuster paused a moment. “Uhm, I guess I should start with knowing what we’re doing next?”

  “The Raft transports have been retrofitted and are ready to begin refining the surface for extraction.”

  “Extraction of what, sir? I’m dying to find out.”

  Dying? Do not allow this inmate to expire.

  Sloane explained the phrase to his passenger.

  “The element is not on your periodic table.”

  Schuster snapped his fingers. “I knew it! So is it part of the superactinide series?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “Uh, can you tell me something more about it, then?”

  “Your science cannot conceive of it at this point in time.”

  Schuster simply stared at him, and Sloane suddenly realized he probably shouldn’t have said that. But ultimately the inmate had no means of doing anything about it, so it was of no consequence.

  “The atomic number is higher than the current understanding of physics allows,” he said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Sloane concentrated, trying to think of a way to explain the inconceivable. “The element exists partially in subspace. It vibrates on more than one plane simultaneously. This is one of the reasons it has not been detected or postulated by your physicists.”

  Schuster blinked several times, his wide brown eyes dancing.

  “Whoa,” he breathed. “That’s… I don’t even know what that is.”

  “The element has been detected by your modified drones under the craters created by the meteorite strikes. We must remove large amounts of soil around the deposit in order to extract it.”

  “That’s why you put the plasma cannons on the Rafts!” Sloane grinned. “Okay, I’m starting to get it now. But the big question, obviously, is what do we do with the element once we have it?”

  Sloane and his passenger conferred for a moment before motioning Schuster to a wall-mounted holo-projector. Sloane manipulated a keypad and a spherical schematic suddenly appeared in the air in front of them.

  “We will construct this,” he said.

  Schuster studied it from every angle. “Sorry, sir, I’m at a loss here. What is this thing?”

  “An amplifier,” said Sloane. “It is the beginning of the next stage in human evolution.”

  Schuster stared at him in silence once again. Sloane was beginning to wonder if he had overestimated the man’s intelligence.

  “We must assemble a specific team to extract the element,” he said. “Will your recent animosity toward Quinn prevent you from functioning together?”

  “Uh, no. I can put it aside. I’m sure Quinn can, too. If it’s for, you know, the greater good. Does he have to be part of them team, then?”

  “Him. The giant. The other who was with you on the surface. Also the woman with the surgical enhancements.”

  “Senpai Sally. We, uh, we just call her Sally.”

  “Yes. They must accompany the expedition.”

  Schuster gave him a sidelong glance. “What if they don’t want to?”

  “Their desires are of no consequence,” said Sloane, and on this he and his passenger were in complete agreement. “The next phase of this operation must begin immediately.” He turned to Schuster. “And with your assistance, it shall.”

  20

  Chelsea Bloom gingerly dabbed at the blood on his nose with an alcohol wipe. Quinn didn’t show it on his face, but she could tell by the way he gripped the bars on either side of his gurney that it stung like hell.

  “You deserve it,” she scolded him. “Picking a fight with one of your own men. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking I needed to get in here and see you,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Chelsea’s stomach dropped. Oh, shit, she thought. I stood up for him with the warden and now he has a crush on me.

  The first thought that followed, crazy as it was, was that her father would find out and disown her. The second was that it was just her luck that an incredibly attractive guy was finally hitting on her, and he was a fucking prison inmate.

  “Look, uh, Quinn,” she stammered. “You know that can’t happen.”

  “What can’t happen?”

  “You know. This.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, his blackened eyes narrowing.

  She blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s something really strange happening on this station, and I nee
d your help to figure out what it is and what we can do to stop it.”

  “Oh.” She felt a blush rise in her cheeks, but it disappeared when Quinn’s words actually sank in. “What do you mean, strange? And what makes you think I’m going to do anything for you? In case you didn’t realize it, Quinn, we’re on opposing teams. Yes, I reported some dereliction of duty to the warden, but I don’t make it a habit of listening to the grievances of inmates. Now sit still.”

  He did as he was told while she smeared a clear paste over the split skin on the bridge of his nose. She waited a moment before touching the goop with a thin stylus that sent a tiny electrical charge through it. Instantly it dried, pulling the skin together.

  “This will peel off in the shower in a few days,” she said.

  “I know, I used thousands of them in the war.” Quinn pushed himself into a sitting position. “You were in the war, right? I remember you mentioning it once. You actually saw combat? Treated the wounded?”

  “What of it?” she asked warily.

  “That’s honorable service,” he said. “Especially for someone from a Global Family.”

  “What would you know about it?” But Chelsea already knew the answer. The Bloom name was well known around the world, and inmates had access to the Internet.

  “I know that most people from your circumstances never see a battlefield, unless it’s from the air, or worse, a monitor on an orbiting war station. For them, military service, even in wartime, is just window-dressing for people who want to advance a political career.”

  She gave him a sardonic smile. “Well, it looks like you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you, Sergeant? Oh, sorry, that’s right, you’re not a sergeant anymore. You lost your rank when you were court-martialed for treason.”

  If her words cut Quinn, it didn’t show in his face. Even so, she instantly regretted them.

  “Look, Quinn—”

  “Can I finish?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “You’re not like most people from your circumstances. You’ve seen the reality of war. You know what death looks like, you’ve heard the sound of an incoming drone that’s got you in its sights. You’ve been in places where people struggle just to stay alive every day. People who don’t even understand the reasons there’s a war in the first place.”