Chapter THREE
The Watch Commander drew a hand weapon from therack, adjusted the power to low stun, and checkedthe safety. He slipped the sidearm into the sheathat his waist and scanned the monitors displayinghis areas of jurisdiction.
The agri-ecol bays and industrial shops of theGuardian Station were orderly and busy. Theofficer's fingers ranged the console's keys.Aud-viz transmissions from passageways, wardrooms,and work and recreation areas slipped across thescreens in rapid succession. Inmates and guardsmoved about, operated equipment, or worked attheir benches, each, in his or her own way, puttingin their time on the station's business.
A keystroke brought up the eight people boardingthe Station through the lower air lock. Two werestation guards, their weapons sheathed butretainer clips disengaged for instant withdrawal.
A slight adjustment brought into sharp focus theclosed features of the three men and three womenin dun-colored coveralls, under escort. He studiedtheir faces for a moment and turned away. Thebank of screens shut down as he stepped acrossthe doorway of the cubicle that served him as bothcommand post and sleeping quarters. He strodebriskly toward a hatch at the far end of thepassageway.
The lead guard, who had appeared a moment beforeon the screen, stepped off the ladder leadingfrom the lower level and glided forward in the lightpseudo-gravity followed by the six prisoners hehad escorted from the transport. The prisoners,without constraints, walked silently. All had their hairtrimmed uniformly close to their heads. The men'sfaces were as hairless as the faces of the women.
The second guard brought up the rear.
The forward guard came abreast the WatchCommander, stopped, barked a command to halt,and turned to face his charges. They knottedforward, not anticipating the order, separatedand spaced themselves.
"OK, inmates," the guard grinned, "up againstthe bulkhead, please. Relax. You're gonna get theofficial greeting to this paradise of the outback."
Swinging about, he tossed a perfunctory salutein the officer's direction. At ease againstthe opposite bulkhead, he watched benignly ashis charges shuffled about and lined up in noparticular order. The guard at the other endstood astride the passageway in a casual stance.
The Watch Commander cleared his throat witha slight cough to focus their attention.
"I'm Lieutenant Malcolm," he said. "I run theReception Center on this station. You may ormay not know where you are; let's be certainthat you do."
The six faces stared at him. One of the men inthe lineup, third from the head, shifted his gazefrom the officer to the guards and back again.A bit above medium height, ropy necked andthick-shouldered he gave the impression of a maleat ease, confident but wary. Below his gray-blackbristle of close-cropped hair and space-bleachedbrows his deep-set green eyes moved on to calmlyscan the deck, bulkheads and corridor. He returnedeyes to the officer and the guards. He had the airof a leader.
The officer drew a deep breath and continued."The manifest of the transport from which you justdisembarked listed you as 'cargo' transferred tothis station from the temporary holding jails ofEarth, Luna or Mars, or wherever you were beingheld. Don't let being recorded as 'cargo' botheryou. Official visitors and guests are passengers,prisoners are cargo. If the transport's brigs werecramped, that's the name of the game; they're notbuilt for comfort. Each of you did get a separatecell on board, I understand. In that respect, atleast, you all got better than routine treatment."
The last remark raised sardonic eyebrows on twofaces in the line. The rest remained impassive.
Malcolm paused, then continued.
"Be prepared to be here for a while. You know yourcommitment period. Whatever happens to you heredepends on your attitude and your compliance withorders, and on decisions by those conducting yourrehabilitation."
Pacing the line he stopped before each prisonerand stared at him or her from under bushy blackeyebrows. Relaxed against the wall, or tenseand erect, they returned his gaze. Inspectioncompleted, he nodded at the guard astride thepassageway and turned back to address the line.
"You are inmates in the Social RehabilitationCenter of Guardian Station 15, about five millionkay outbound from the Asteroid Belt's rim, or whatwas the Belt before the space-miners got throughwith it. This station was the mining operationscenter for this sector.
"Our internal security is good. We've had noattempts at breakout in a dozen years. In theattempt that was made before then, the inmatedidn't clear the sector. When it was over, I mightadd, he was a bit the worse for the experience."
Malcolm paused to let his words sink in.
"This prison," he continued, "is where the rehabsystem confines its high-risk and special treatmentprisoners. Inmates include persons convicted ofpiracy of spacecraft, smuggling controlled mineralsand other substances, theft of government andimportant private properties, hijacking, espionage,armed robbery, gun-running to insurgents andterrorists in the Outer Region, and murder. That'sthe short list."
The prisoner's faces remained expressionless.
"Bear in mind..." the Lieutenant reached the end ofthe line and reversed direction, "that although theGuardian Stations are along the border between theInner and Outer Regions, we're far from isolated.For example, this station's present orbitalcoordinates accommodate Inner Region traffic to thePlanet Pluto Special Zone through both normal spaceand spunnel express.
"Escorted Inner Region convoys regularly passthrough this sector on their way to the Slingshotconstruction site. They include high-mass-loadedcontainer ships, construction rigs under towand objects too large for the spunnel are routedthrough this sector when we're lined up.
"Sometimes they stop to pick up and dischargepassengers and cargo, or technicians to service ourspecialized posts along the way and at destination.We may have a half-dozen or so spacecraft alongsideat any one time, just doing their jobs. When themoored ships are perceived as crowded, inmatesdream of stowing away to somewhere else. That'sno more than a dream; don't underestimate oursurveillance systems. You've been warned."
He pointed at one prisoner, then another in ajabbing gesture.
"Our job is custodianship of those who can't adjustto the realities of our society, and rehabilitationand training of those who can be helped,eventually, to return to the outside world. Thereare other options for inmates who have specialattributes. You will learn more of those in time."
Pausing, he scratched at his jaw.
"You are sojourners among us, and transient," heclosed. "We will not abuse you; on the other hand,we will not coddle you. We tell all new inmates, asI'm now telling you: cooperate, and you'll find yourstay tolerable, resist, and take the consequences."
A stern, hard stare, a shrug and his featuresrelaxed.
"OK, that's the official greeting for allnewcomers. I know you've all had a long, boringtrip on a beat-up transport. I expect you'll wantto unwind a bit."
He glanced at the forward guard, back againstthe bulkhead, and turned back to the prisoners.
"First, we'll get you into some decent quarters,and let you clean up and rest. Get to know eachother; you'll be together for a long time.
"The guards will escort you to your corecompartment. Normally, you would have startedorientation and psy-phys testing immediately.Your schedule is different. Your first orientationlecture will be in two hours. Sergeant Jenkins," hemotioned the lead guard forward, "will escort you toand from orientation. Don't play games with him; heknows them all."
"All yours, Jenks," he said. "Move 'em out."
Jenkins came forward, pointed to a hatch furtheralong the passageway.
"Follow me."
Lieutenant Malcolm stepped aside. He watched theline move past silently and climb the companionwayout of sight. None looked back.
Lining up in loose formation at the head of thecompanionway and responding to Jenkins signal theprisoners started along a passageway. The otherguard brought up the rear.
They crossed spidery overpasses that spanned busyworkshops and agriculture bays under cultivation.People and servic
e robots moved about; the newprisoners drew few glances.
Jenkins drew them to a halt in a wide corridor.Ahead was a shimmering force field. He murmuredwords and placed the palm of his hand on a dullcomposite plate embedded in the wall. The forcefield faded to a haze. They passed through, andthe haze resumed its shimmer behind them.
A portal came into view up ahead.
Jenkins motioned toward it and stepped aside as theprisoners passed him and on through the opening.The guards did not follow.
Of a sudden minus their escorts, the inmatesclustered inside the entry and stared about.
The compartment was generous by space habitatstandards. Well-lighted, it stretched ten metersfrom wall to opposite wall. Parallel in the centerof the room a double line of four gray tables stoodfused to the deck, each with benches on each longside, similarly immobilized. Evenly spaced alongthe wall were curtained sleep-privacy enclosures.Behind partitions on opposite sides of thecompartment were entries to two standardwash-lavs. The furnishings were functional and clean.
One after the other, the prisoners drifted off toinspect the enclosures. All were back in less thana minute; they silently kept distance from eachother.
The inmate who had so carefully examined thecorridor while Malcolm talked, leaned against oneof the tables and crossed his arms. He repeated hisscan of the compartment, but this time one sectorat a time, turning to take it all in yet pass overeach cell-mate that entered his field of vision. Hismovements gave the group a focus; it was easierthan to just stare at the walls and the austerefurnishings.
"I don't get this," the table-leaner locked armsacross his chest as he spoke with a puzzledexpression on his face. His voice was low, flat yetcourteous. "We may as well get the formalities outof the way. Who are we? Names will do for starters.I'm Brad."
Faces relaxed a mite. One of the women sat on abench. The ice may have cracked, but the silenceheld. Brad had their attention.
Seconds passed.
"Hodak."
The word welled up as a growl, low and rumblingfrom a squat, muscular man. His deeply embeddedeyes circled the room from under a boulder-browthat bridged the space beneath his bald pate toblend with the stub nose, wide mouth and crinkledskin of a seemingly amiable face.
"I'm Zolan," said the third male. He was of mediumheight, slight of build, waxy features and a highbrow with the pallid complexion of a spacer. Asalert and tense as a coiled spring, Zolan leanedagainst a bulkhead, eyes moving rapidly fromBrad to Hodak to the walls to fix on an oppositebulkhead.
"That takes care of the men." A woman's voice,melodious, dulcet. "I'm Adari."
Sturdy, tightly curled hair and chocolate-tonedskin. Her soft, rounded features were dimpled,cheerful, animated. Standing near a sleepenclosure, her grin was infectious. She broughtlong-absent grins, twinkles and nods from theothers.
Repeating her name slowly, she smiled invitinglyat the petite woman seated on a nearby bench.
"My, aren't we cautious," the little one said asshe looked up and returned Adari's grin. "I amKumiko," she shifted her eyes to take in theothers, "and I regret to say that I am notparticularly pleased to be among you." Shepaused, looked down. "Nothing personal, mindyou, it's just that I did have other hopes."
Eyes shifted to the last of the group. Tall andslender, olive-skinned, she paced the narrow spacebetween the wall and the cell's central section.Her turn, no longer to be put off.
"Myra," she said flatly.
The silence closed back in.