Prison Planet (THE RIM CONFEDERACY Book 3) (9 page)

Behind the five, lined up one on one, the Prison guards stood at ease yet still watching their charges with a focus that was razor sharp—no one wanted any kind of an issue in the warden’s offices, as that would be a career-ending move for sure!

Across from the bench where the convicts sat, the warden’s secretary tried very hard not to look at the men in front of her as she worked on her PDA and the large monitor on her desk. She knew what was to come was going to be hard on them but still couldn’t meet their eyes, so she partially hid behind the screen, not working on anything but still looking busy. A small buzzer that flashed on her PDA interrupted that effort, and she pulled her head up to look directly at the Prison guard major who stood off to one side.

“Major, the warden says to bring them in,” she said and watched as he snapped to attention and quarter-turned to the convicts and his men.

“Squad, ten-hut,” he said, and the guard team snapped to attention; however, each held a Needler in one hand that lay down beside their thighs.

“Convicts, rise and turn to the right,” the major said and saw they seemed to understand though the one named Jorgenson did turn to his left at first—then was turned around by the convict in front of him.

“Forward, march,” he said and the group of ten moved toward the double doors, now opened by the secretary, and entered the warden’s inner office. The cadence of their steps was anything but in sync, but eventually, they stood in front of the large desk behind which the warden of Max Island penitentiary sat staring at them with an impassive face.

The warden’s desk was of an unexpected design. Made here on the island in the Pod Plant, it was one of the control dashboards mounted on a set of pipe legs. It was yellow and more than nine feet long. Why it was used as a desk was something most visitors might have liked to ask, but one look at that permanent scowl on the warden’s face usually stopped every visitor cold just like now.

Warden Helmut Lorenz heaved his large portly stomach forward as he moved his creaking chair forward toward the lineup of convicts in front of him. White hair—fur really—that was long yet puffy over his temples framed his middle-aged lined face, and the Vandyke beard was as white as could be too. His hands, of course, were covered with the white fur of a Conclusion native now on Halberd.

He stared at the men lined up in front of him, and one by one, he seemed to take the measure of each, staring at their faces, clothing, and even looking over his desk at their shoes too. Sitting back, he turned to his guard major and said not a word but nodded to him.

“Warden, these are the five who attempted to escape from Cleanup Hall, Sir,” the Major said, his eyes straight ahead so as to never meet the warden’s gaze.

“We caught them at the first EL side channel at Ten-K, Sir, when the final weigh scales noted that the pod weighed more than it should—well past the range for that type, Sir. We DeParv-5’d them all, sorted them out up top, and then moved them back down to Max Island solitary ‘til today, Sir. Ready to mete out of their penalty, Sir,” the major said still reciting the story with no inflection, no character, nothing at all but the facts.

The warden nodded once more to his major and then looked at the lineup in front of him.

“Convicts are convicts because they have been found guilty of crimes here on the RIM. You were charged, tried, found guilty, and then sentenced to come here to Halberd,” he said, his voice still moderately accented even though he’d been here for over a decade.

Of course, not a single person had ever commented on that accent, as the native population of Conclusion was quasi-humanoid. Like few other planets in the galaxy, humans and the native aliens of Conclusion had been able to mate and reproduce, and that meant that often Conclusion natives were considered “less” than human if one thought that mattered.

One of the convicts looked at the others and then chose to speak though he too couldn’t look at the warden as he took a tiny step forward.

“Warden, I was innocent of the charges against me—and yes, I know that all the convicts must say that. But in my case, it’s true, Warden. So I was not really trying to escape, but instead I was trying to right a wrong. Sir. Warden,” he said and then half-stepped back in line.

No one moved or said anything for a full minute.

“As you said, all convicts have that same mantra. You are all guilty. And as you may have heard, on Halberd for almost 100 years, there has never been a successful prison escape. Not one. By no one. Ever. We don’t have fancy AI, or drones, or automatics. We have the basics and that’s enhanced by the EL itself. No convict has ever been on Pike Station nor will they—ever!” the warden said again, his accent making some of the words seem hard to discern, but the message was clear. Halberd was a prison where escape could never happen, and convicts might be expected to try but fail over, and over, and over.

He held out a hand and ticked off a single finger.

"Prison life on Halberd is the most we could offer here on the RIM—and that everyone would agree on. We do not have cells for our convicts. We instead give them all apartment-like residences. You can eat in the Prison mess, you can cook your own food, or even have stewards, should you provide them for your own use, and we, of course, supply the food. You have full access, once you've earned it, to the Island ... to our beaches, to our walking and hiking trails. We do require that you work, however, in the Pod Plant to help produce our only product that keeps all of this up and running."

He ticked off another finger.

"Some, who have been convicted even of the most serious crimes, still live like the ones here with the most bland of crimes; murderers live right beside thieves; fraud artists beside treasonous citizens; and yes, in your case as I remember, extortion of some seniors—the rules are the same. You will be treated as human or alien beings like anyone else—with the simple condition that you must serve your time here on Halberd. Less serious crimes as set by the RIM Council go to the Farm Prison with more opportunities to be with the general city population."

He fingered his ring finger lastly.

"Those of you who get sent here to Max Island get the same benevolent privileges that we provide for all our convicts with one condition—that you do not try to escape. You have all tried and failed at that as has everyone else in the last 100 years."

He slapped his hand down, and it clunked the large hollow desk as he rose to face the convicts who now looked him in the face as what was coming was their fate for trying to escape.

“As of now, you five will return back to solitary, and each of you will spend the next six months there. No exceptions. But more than that, you will lose that which you—which every single convict on Halberd—hold most dear. You will lose all Ansible privileges for a full year. No exceptions—“

The same convict who had spoken out screamed in rage and tried to make a jump toward the warden who still stood behind that huge dashboard desk. The convict fell in an instant as the guard behind him shot him with his Needler. A Needler usually could not kill a target, but what it did do was to suddenly push every single nerve in the target’s body to full-blown activity-slash-rage, and that made all the muscles in the body spasm and caused instant incapacity and pain, intense pain. So much of the body seized up that a person hit with a Needler ray couldn’t even yell, cry out, or make any sound, as the throat too was spasmed up.

The warden looked down at the convict who was thrashing as much as he could, still shackled in the line with the others, and waited. A full five minutes later, the convict quieted down and lay in a puddle of sweat and urine, another side effect of a Needler ray.

"As you know, we allow you the opportunity to have your family be a part of your time spent here via the Ansible connections, which you have full access to twenty-four-seven. The single most important thing we learned over the past few thousand years in prison theory was that if we can provide family access to our convicts, their time is much easier to live through. Easier to handle. Easier to stomach."

He nodded to the five men who stood dejectedly in front of him.

“As I said, no Ansible. No exceptions and yes, this will be a hard year on you all,” the warden said and then turned his head to the guard major still at attention in front of him.

“Major, escort these convicts back to solitary. Cut the rations of the man who was needled by half for the next month. Inform administration of the penalty for these five and ensure that I get confirmation as well. Dismissed,” he said, sat his bulk back into the chair that groaned, and leaned back to watch them leave his office.

Losing the Ansible privileges was surely the worst penalty a convict could stomach as it meant they could no longer sit and visit with family, friends, and lovers anywhere in the Confederacy. Using the Ansible was a normal right of any convict to enjoy, and it was a right the warden often used to gain compliance and subjugate those convicts who rebelled in any way, shape, or form.

His office now clear, he looked over to his right to see out the windows that looked down on the rest of the penitentiary and the island.

From here, he couldn’t actually see the large yard that lay between the various domed residence cellblocks, but he could see the far domed Royal residence and a couple of the lesser residences too. Far over to the right, if he stretched a bit to see, lay the docks and mooring stations for boats, past which the pod bridge lay that moved their finished pods over to the mainland. To the left, beyond his vision right now, lay the rest of the penitentiary with its medical wards, solitary confinement facilities, orientation, and incoming convict holding apartments. And it was to those solitary facilities that the recent group of convicts was now being marched to, and they would be held there for six more months.

This twigged a memory of the incoming Ansible message from Juno and the RIM Council received earlier in the day. “Six months ... six months,” he repeated as he scrolled through items in his INBOX until he found the message.

A minute later, he closed his PDA off and sat back wondering
how one could celebrate Halberd’s 100 years of no escape via a big party.
And as he knew more than most, the reputation didn’t stop the convicts from trying—like the five he’d just had in the office.

#

“Seventeen, check?” the Prison Guard lieutenant said as he looked down at the tablet he held and then up at the XO.

“Seventeen it is,” the XO said, making a note on his own PDA and clicking the submit button. Whirling on his heel, he took the three steps to reach his captain and came to attention. Beside him already in front of the Admiral, another RIM Navy captain stood at attention, and he stepped up to present himself.

“Sir, all prisoners tendered, received, and marked as delivered,” he said and saluted as he snapped his heel down on the tarmac.

Tanner nodded, saluted back, and then turned on his own heel to face the admiral. He was as spit and polished as he could be having taken some time during the drop out of FTL to the last Impulse Drive push down to the landing port on Andros to straighten his appearance. Once they had touched down, the
Marwick
Provost Guards had rounded up the convicts from their brig, shackled them, and herded them down to the landing tarmac.

Tanner and his group of officers had spent a few minutes doing the final tendering of their charges. Now that the Prison had accepted the convicts, Tanner and his group had only one more duty at their entry to Halberd.

Rear Admiral Higgins saluted back to Tanner and then waited while the final convicts were shepherded onto the black pod that was their transport and moved off to orientation and their check-ins. As the pod pulled away, he straightened his shoulders and faced the captain in front of him.

“Captain Tanner Scott, your orders, if you will,” he said and held out his hand.

Tanner retrieved a sheaf of papers from his hip pocket and handed them to the admiral who was the ranking Navy staff officer on Halberd. While the papers were actually the orders themselves, both of the men knew what they said without the paperwork to back those orders up.

The admiral tucked the sheaf into his own inner lapel pocket and nodded to Tanner.

“You are hereby charged with the duty of being the ranking Navy fleet line officer stationed here on Halberd for the next full twelve months. I accept your transfer to my command and hereby release the RN Gunnar to return to Juno for their next assignment.”

The admiral fished out another sheaf of papers to hand to Captain Aden Conway who stood beside Tanner.

“Good having you here on Halberd, Captain. My report will say that too ... safe voyage back to Juno,” the admiral said with a smile and unexpectedly shoved out his hand to shake hands with the departing Captain, and Tanner noted that his counterpart was as surprised as he was.

“Sir, yes, Sir. Permission to depart, Sir?” Conway said and grinned at his now ex-boss.

“Granted, Captain. Fly safe,” the admiral said and saluted to his departing friend.

As the number of Navy men dwindled, Tanner still stood at attention and waited.

Admiral Higgins nodded to the backs of the RN Gunnar crew who were striding toward their ship that lay halfway across the tarmac and then looked at Tanner.

“Good captain. Serious yet compassionate. Great to have had him here on Halberd. His crew posed no troubles—well, no more than most other Navy men on an annual duty mission. Will miss him, and now ... I have you, Captain. Anything to say for yourself?” he said as his eyes narrowed, and he half-cocked his head to one side as if to say, “talk to me.”

“Sir, no, Sir,” Tanner said and stood rock still.

“Admiral McQueen has been in touch with me—about you and your ‘special mission’ here on Halberd. I know you’re a drunk. And I know that either you give up the bottle in the next year or you’re done. I’ll drum you out of the RIM Navy myself if I find you fail in any way in the next year. This will not be easy—I do recognize that, Scott, but you either cure yourself or you’re out of the Navy. Out forever. No second chances. Got that, Captain?” he barked, and even the few
Marwick
officers who also stood at attention just a few feet away flinched.