“Phew! What the
hell?” said Officer Angelo as he entered the prisoners processing hall on
G.O.D. 5 with Righteous Alchemy chained to his wrist. When they first arrived
on station he had breathed a sigh of relief to be in a clean and civilized
environment again after so long in the field; but he had forgotten what Central
Processing was like. The vast hall was heaving with bodies and the smell that
assailed his nostrils was atrocious. The duty officer at the door directing
traffic saw Officer Angelo’s expression.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “This is how the
prisoners get their revenge on us. There’s so much farting going on here it’s
like the fourth of July.”
He turned around and tried to shout above the noise.
“Will someone please crank up the air-con,” and turned
back to them.
“New prisoner?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Counter number five. Officer Harold.”
“Thanks,” said Officer Angelo and surged forward into the
crowd of policemen and their prisoners all waiting to be booked, jostling and
shouldering his way to counter number five. They were third in line at the
counter and so he settled down to endure at least another half hour of
olfactory hell. He tugged Righteous Alchemy closer to him and took a another
look at the black giant. They had made their miraculous escape from G.O.D. 4
without any trouble at all. No-one stopped them, no-one questioned them: it was
as if the Prophet, for all his imposing stature, had been quite invisible. He
had given no trouble at all, willingly following Officer Angelo wherever he led
them. No-one challenged them on the way out. No-one even seemed to notice them.
The escape-ship, an old refurbished shuttle-bus that was used for covert operations,
plus the pilot had been in position to pick them up which was a small miracle
in its own right seeing how overstretched the police department were. All in
all Officer Angelo was quite dumbstruck at how smoothly the whole operation had
gone.
“Next,” said an irritable voice.
“Officer Angelo,” he announced. “Docket 526RA. Prisoner
being transferred to Earth. Name: Righteous Alchemy. AKA the Prophet.”
“Hang on a moment,” said Officer Harold, and clattered
away at the computer terminal for a while. “Okay. He’s already in the
system…I’ve booked him on tonight’s transport. Dock 5B. 2200 hours.”
“Ok. Where can I put him till then?”
“Nowhere actually. Look around you. Bloody chaos today:
not a cell left I’m afraid. You’re going to have to stick with him till he
goes. There are some waiting rooms on the other side of C Wing…down there,” he
said pointing somewhere to the right. “Not much fun for you. Neither is the
food at the canteen; but we live to serve,” he said sardonically.
Officer Angelo gave him a semi-smile in return. This was a
policeman’s life. He was quite used to it.
“Oh, by the way,”
he said, just as Officer Angelo turned away. “Wanna do me a favour?”
“Sure,” he said.
“I got two leftovers from yesterday: also going to Earth
but there was no place for them on the transport this morning. A couple of
women: they’re taking up a twenty person cell and I can’t put any men in with
them. I need that space. You wouldn’t want to baby-sit them as well, would you?
Don’t think they’ll be any trouble. Hang on,” he said as he brought their file
up on the computer. “Here we go. A5-class detainees. They were prisoners on
their way to the Deep Penal Colony when a couple prisoners hijacked their
prison ship and made a run for it. No-one seriously hurt. Got as far as Delta
Centauri would you believe?” he said, squinting at the screen. “Didn’t resist
arrest….no signs of violent behaviour. Wanna take them?” he looked up again.
Officer Angelo hesitated for a moment. Two prisoners was
usually the limit for one officer.
“Make my life a lot easier,” pleaded Officer Harold.
“Ok. Where are they?”
“Down the hall. Transit lounge, Cell 7. Here’s the key.
Sign here,” he said and slapped down the key before Officer Angelo could change
his mind.
“Thanks a lot…..Yes! I’m coming. Hold your hair on….” he
said, mumbling this last under his breath.
Officer Angelo picked up the key with a sigh, turned and
made his way to the exit door, the huge black man following him like a
lumbering bear, people eddying around in his wake.
N
Righteous Alchemy stared with large unseeing eyes at the
two lady prisoners trying to freshen up over a little steel water fountain
against the wall: the smaller of the two ducking behind the other, furtively
trying to wash beneath her prison overall without showing too much bare flesh,
quite convinced that the big black man could still see her even though she knew
he was blind.
“Are you sure he can’t see anything?” asked the larger of
the two women. Thanks to the overcrowded conditions aboard the prison
transports the women had been unable to wash properly for many days now. As a
result she had a skin rash in all her sensitive places. She was irritable and
looking for a fight.
“He can’t see a thing,” said Officer Angelo, studiously
averting his own eyes, but still keeping track of them in his peripheral
vision.
“Yeah, well tell him to turn around. It’s creepy.”
“My apologies,” said Righteous. “I didn’t realize I was
staring,” and turned the other way.
The two women went about their task in lacklustre silence.
They had hardly said a word since their capture. During the hijack they had got
their hopes up pretty high and for a while they thought they were going to make
it…..and they nearly did, except for a piece of blind bad luck and a federation
cruiser that was patrolling where it shouldn’t have been. Now they were on
their way to earth to be tried for ‘Crimes Against The State’. They knew this
was the end of the line for them.
“Hey, bignose, when we gonna get a shower?” asked the big
woman, knowing she was asking the impossible, but just trying to be difficult.
“Please call me Angelo,” he responded.
“Why. You trying to get close to me?” she said
challengingly.
He smiled wryly at the thought and shook his head.
“Yeah, I don’t recommend it at the moment,” she murmured,
scratching at her left armpit.
“Are you done yet?” Officer Angelo was waiting patiently
for them to finish so he could put their wristlocks back on again.
The large woman threw him a searching glance. She was big
boned, with large calloused hands and stood well balanced with her feet apart,
like a sailor on a rolling ship in a storm. Officer Angelo knew he was going to
have to watch her. She was heavily muscled and looked like she could more than
handle herself in a fight. He didn’t actually fancy his chances taking her on one
to one. She looked like she could wipe the floor with him. He had to employ all
of his self-control not to let his hand slip down and pat his gun reassuringly.
“What’s the hurry then big boy? We making you nervous?”
She had a sallow complexion that usually comes from a bad
diet and poor working conditions, with pockmarks on her face and neck. She also
had the flat face of a third or fourth generation ore-belt miner and her calm
assessing eyes told him she missed nothing. This was a very capable woman, used
to working in dangerous situations…as all space miners were.
The younger one was small and slightly plump, with
delicate features that could be called beautiful if you could see them through
all the makeup. Nice as apple pie and as thick as the crust; she wore garish
lipstick, heavy purple eye shadow and tons of powder and rouge that made her
look every centimetre the cheap whore she was. Briefly he wondered what she had
been doing on a lifer jail-boat. Null-whores were by design passive and
non-violent. Very few of them ever committed any sort of crime. Not even theft.
It was a puzzle for him to ponder over.
HAVE DUTCH AND SWEET MARY BEEN RECAPTURED? WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THEM NOW?
