I jolt awake as a shiver wracks my body; the cold touch of the polished cement floor has seeped into my bones.
I push up off the ground, my hands and arms oddly pale in the stark light falling from the single, illuminative panel that makes up the ceiling.
The powershields that separated us overnight have gone, but most of the women still lie in their spots, asleep or simply unwilling to move. The woman who’s dressed in just her underwear sits in one corner, curled in a ball with legs pressed against her chest, head resting on her knees. Her limbs are bone-thin, and her black hair is streaked with white. She looks both juvenile and middle-aged, like living in this place has somehow aged her rapidly and rendered her childlike, dependent on authority figures for everything.
A larger woman sits on the cell’s only toilet. She sees me looking and glares, then opens her legs and wipes herself, holding my gaze in an aggressive, animalistic display.
I shake my head and stand, then step over three prone women as I walk to the shield wall enclosing the front of the cell. I turn back to face the woman on the toilet, give her a smile and a small wave, then step backward through the powershield. My whole body tingles, a surge of energy passing through me, igniting nerves in bizarre sensation.
The woman’s face goes slack, her lips parting as her mouth hangs open. I spin away and start off at a jog.
Headless envoys man the sections of wall between cells, all on standby, the human guards likely working the daylight half of the Sphere. If the androids see me pass them, they aren’t smart enough to realize I shouldn’t be out of my cell this early.
I reach the stairs and bound down, footfalls gonging gently as I descend. A thin smile spreads across my face as I jog. It feels good to be moving, it feels necessary.
* * *
I shadow an envoy transferring from my wing to the core of the Maximum Security site. I stick close as it walks through the open steel door and slip through just before it clangs shut.
The central hub is beginning to stir, the hum of mechanical labor building with the approach of artificial dawn. I tail another envoy with my head low, acting like it’s escorting me somewhere. When the envoy peels off into one of the clinic rooms, I switch to another. This one takes me through the reinforced door to what I guess is the men’s wing.
Just like on the other side, it opens onto a corridor walled entirely in glass. Dull sunlight reflects off rich green leaves. If the prison wakes with Homan’s sun, then I’ve got only minutes before the guards catch me.
The male prisoners are awake, and when I reach the cells a dull murmur of conversation ripples through the block. I approach the nearest lockup and push through the shield, startling an older man sat by the wall.
“Do you know Mookie?” I ask, voice quiet.
He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to think, but he stays silent.
“Does anyone know Mookie?” I ask, louder this time.
The men all turn and look at me. One of the prisoners says, “How the fuck?” Another just mumbles, “Emperor’s crack hair.” If they know anything, they’re too startled by finding me in their cell to say.
I duck out, and the men move as if caught in my orbit, drifting to the powershield to watch me slip into the next cell.
“Mookie?” I say. The men stare blankly, and I step back out.
At the far end of the block an envoy’s head lights up as the guards start their rounds.
“What the hell?” she says when she sees me. She starts running. The envoy’s forearm opens, armor segments parting as a stun-baton emerges to jut perpendicular from its wrist.
“I know Mookie.” A raspy voice speaks up.
I turn and see a wall of gaunt faces staring at me, unable to tell who spoke. “Where is he?” I ask, but no one answers.
The guard is almost on me now. I lift my arm and shove the envoy so hard it sails through the air. The collar around my neck reacts; skin burns and electricity sparks through my body. I collapse as the android crashes to the ground with a metallic clatter.
* * *
By the time the guards drag me back to the cell, I can almost walk under my own power. Almost.
The prisoners must be at breakfast now, because the other women’s cell blocks are all empty. Not mine—it’s packed with as many screws as prisoners, the women lined up against the back wall, the guards facing opposite.
Doctor Rathnam stands between the two groups, riding a guard envoy now, but somehow looking less authoritative in the armored android than in a medical one.
“Sergeant Ramirez!” Rathnam barks. “How did this happen?”
A guard steps forward, an older woman with as many facial tattoos as wrinkles showing in her holo-projection. She scans me up and down, then settles on my wrist.
“Sir,” she says, “this device allowed the prisoner to escape. It should have been found and removed at induction.”
I smirk at Rathnam.
The sergeant takes the bracelet off and snaps it in half. Losing one of my few reminders of Sera hurts more than I thought it would.
Rathnam pulls the envoy’s waver sidearm from its holster and points it at the line of prisoners. “What did you think would happen, Mariam?” he says, sounding disappointed. He doesn’t wait for an answer; he pulls the trigger and there’s a sound like a robotic critter squeaking, following by a wet pock.
I don’t even know the woman’s name, but she’s dead and toppling forward impossibly slow. She has brown hair, green eyes, and a gaping head wound.
“I told you what would happen if you used your powers.”
I grab Rathnam’s envoy and crush it, those useless plates of armor buckling as its internal machinery sparks and dies. The shock is less brutal this time, but still I scream as electricity lights up my insides. I fall to the ground panting, brought down to the level of Rathnam’s envoy and his victim.
The larger woman drops to her knees beside the corpse, face twisted in anguish.
“You should not continue to test me,” Rathnam bellows from a different android. This one points its weapon at the kneeling woman, but Ramirez steps forward.
“You don’t need to kill Kirino too, sir; I think Xi has learned her lesson.”
I look up and struggle to focus on the guard. Her holo-projection has close-cropped hair, which reminds me of Trix, which makes me think of Mookie. Remember: you came here to save him, not to kill these women.
I breathe in deep, trying to force my anger down, to imagine it seeping out through the soles of my feet.
“I expected better from a sergeant, Ramirez,” Rathnam says, holstering his weapon.
“But sir, I didn’t—”
“Stockton,” Rathnam says, ignoring the woman, “you are now promoted to sergeant. Corporal Ramirez, you will be reassigned.”
Rathnam’s face disappears, and the newly promoted sergeant walks along the row of inmates, his face stony, eyes glinting with excitement. “Your new cellmate, Mariam Xi, is a mass murderer and a terrorist; Cortez here is only her latest victim,” he says, motioning to the dead woman on the ground, her wound cauterized black around the edges but steadily leaking gore. “Either Xi behaves, or she will kill you all. You should encourage her to behave.” He lets that hang in the air a moment. “Dismissed.”
The guards about-face and leave, and after a few moments the women move away from the wall, giving Kirino and the corpse of Cortez a wide berth as they filter slowly through the cell opening.
A hand touches my arm; the woman in her underwear, crouching beside me with one arm across her chest.
“We’re late for breakfast,” she says, helping me up from the ground.
“Sorry,” I say; “that’s my fault too.”
Even this close, I can’t guess at her age. The skin of her face is discolored and slack, but there’s something in her eyes—something like hope or kindness. I feel the sudden urge to give her my shirt, or my pants, but something tells me that would only make her more of a target.
We start down the hall, and she asks in a quiet voice, “Where did you go?”
“To the men’s wing, to look for a friend of mine.”
“I’m Ali,” she says, like the mention of a friend reminded her she should introduce herself.
“Mars,” I say.
“Is it true that you killed a lot of people?”
“I killed a lot of MEPHISTO, not sure that counts.” I grin and turn to look at Ali, and she smiles. I lean in closer. “What are you in for?”
She’s silent for a second. “I come from Easa. I was arrested when MEPHISTO was sent in to quell the situation there.”
“You were part of the revolt?” I ask.
She shakes her head minutely. “Protests, petitions, that sort of thing.”
“That’s all?”
“It was enough for them to bring me here.”
I’ve seen footage from Easa: the protests labelled as riots, the crackdown, the trials. I can imagine Ali, back before this place turned her hair white, projecting holo-banners on skyscrapers, hacking city loudspeakers to blast protest messages, thinking her citizenship meant she could safely criticize the empire.
“I was expecting anarchists and terrorists here, not protesters.”
“They called me a ‘dangerous agitator,’” she says in her mouse-small voice, and we both laugh.
“Easa was years ago; have you been here all this time?”
Ali nods.
“If you know some people here, maybe you could help me find my friend? Get the word out that I’m looking for him?”
Ali looks at me, eyes tight, like she’s trying to decide if she should get involved or not. After a moment she says, “Okay.”
When we reach the cafeteria, every head turns to face me. Word must have already spread about the way I crushed Rathnam’s envoy, about how I “killed” Cortez.
I’ve spent my whole life as a pariah, but never so publicly. It’s almost funny.
Take a good look, ladies, because I won’t be here for long.