Page 20 of Escape from Nova Nine
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NOVA NINE FACILITY • GDAT 3243.120
Zade shuffled along at the end of the slow-moving queue of prisoners toward the food service counters. He was too brain-dead to remember the names of the prisoners in front of him, and too tired to look at their nametags. They didn’t seem inclined to look at his, either. Exhaustion had a way of killing conviviality.
Was it good or bad that he couldn’t smell anything over the sour scent of his own body? Chem showers every five days never seemed to do the job. His lower back was mad about working debris cleanup for the whole shift with a new workgroup that didn’t trust the noob. Clamping down his empathic talent to protect himself from the crowd was giving him a headache.
The mine had reorganized the shift schedule since losing six prisoners, a guard, and a bunch of equipment to the blowout three days ago. Consequently, the remaining prisoners were working fifteen-hour shifts with reconfigured workgroups and unfamiliar equipment. And currently crammed into the dining hall all at once.
That might be why the mine temporarily resorted to handing out emergency-ration mealpacks. A lot quicker to serve than fresh-cooked food from the asteroid’s hydroponic farm. Mealpack flavors and textures were rarely pleasant, but they didn’t throw his digestive system off kilter, either.
Mealtimes used to mean social time with Julke, but she’d sent him on a mission. Something had changed in her since blowout day. She seemed more engaged. Even lugubrious Lantham had commented. Zade counted himself lucky the mine still considered him Julke’s trainee and hadn’t separated them.
His brief time in the Abyss had changed him, too. The big void intrigued him. Instincts honed by a lifetime of getting out of sticky situations told him it was important.
The rock griffins amazed him. He’d actually seen flickering alien images in his mind and felt mercurial emotions. It was the closest he’d probably ever come to knowing what telepathy felt like.
He longed to try his talent on the common griffins in the human habitation area, but he didn’t dare. If they came to him, they’d be easy targets for trigger-happy dolts like Dajoya.
And none of it would have happened without Julke. Despite her palpable terror of the Abyss, she’d given him the space to try his “charm gift” talent on the griffins. Plus covered for him when it worked better than he’d ever imagined. The least he could do in return was ferret out information for her. He’d been doing his own data gathering, anyway. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t told him why she wanted it. It was enough for him that she did.
He took the mealpack and water pouch from the stacks and clutched them close as he left the counter area, evaluating the open spaces.
As always, his eyes looked for Julke. She was sitting in the middle of a long table, mealpack in front of her, and interacting with a couple of the long-timer prisoners. One of them he knew to be Volksstam.
His feet wanted to take him to her. He knew next to nothing about her people and wanted to learn more. The CGC entertainment industry romanticized them for profit but kept the insulting name. Indie traders and freight haulers hated them as thieves, and jackers hated the competition. CGC military leaders scapegoated the pirate clan, much like Nova Nine’s guards blamed the griffins for everything. The truth was likely much more fascinating.
Resolutely, he turned away and chose a table on the other side of the hall near a corner. He was one of the last to sit, after sliding down the bench to make sure he could see Julke. He’d never seen another prisoner bother her, but he wanted to be aware if someone tried. If his luck held, the crowd would thin out and he could start a casual chat with—
Three long alert tones reverberated in the hall, bringing all conversion to a halt. A flash flood of the bitter lavender of fear threatened to overwhelm his containment. The prisoners set down their utensils. Kitchen staff and guards stood ramrod straight. All heads turned toward the hall’s sets of double doors.
A moment later, they irised open all at once.
Two warden’s guardians in red mech suits marched in and took positions near the doors. Their blank expressions matched their uncanny stillness once they stopped.
Seven enforcers in gold tunics and black pants and boots followed. They fanned out in between the rows of tables stood, eyes flicking to every movement from the prisoners.
Kanogan strode into the room and stopped in the center of the traffic area, feet apart, fists on his hips. The enveloping red robe’s fluttering hem pooled around his feet. The distortion hood made his face unreadable, but his body language said he enjoyed being the center of attention.
Two more gold-and-black uniforms stationed themselves on either side of the warden, one pace behind. Protectors, the other prisoners had called them. Rumor said the thick collars they each wore would instantly kill the wearer if they got too far from Kanogan.
The last three people to enter walked in with casual confidence that bordered on arrogance. The diagonal red sashes they wore matched the color of the warden’s flowing purity cloak. The extra spike of fear in the room confirmed Zade’s impression they were likely the warden’s infamous elite interrogation team. He clamped down hard on his empath talent and put a dull expression on his face. Nothing to see and no one of interest in his corner of the hall.
After a moment of silence, Kanogan spoke. “I have some announcements, but first, it has come to my attention that we have a star in our midst who has been hiding his light.” His amplified voice sounded warm, almost playful. “Mr. Waorani, please stand up. Don’t be shy.”
Zade froze, striving to keep as still as a stealth griffin. Waorani had been the tattooed man in the group he’d been caught with in the space station. The other two recruits had died in the blowout, leaving only himself and Waorani as the last noobs.
When no one stood, two enforcers converged on the man and forced him to stand, tightly gripping his arms. Zade was only one table away. The man’s fear and rage pounded against Zade’s containment, demanding to be acknowledged.
Kanogan continued expansively. “Mr. Waorani is a sifter, but he modestly claimed only a low-level talent. A little bird told us he’s actually top-level, and CPS Institute trained.” He waved both gloved hands in presentation style. “Congratulations! I’m promoting you to my staff.”
“I refuse.” Waorani’s forceful words echoed off the walls.
Kanogan’s head turned toward Waorani. “Well, that’s unexpected. Most new prisoners jump at the chance.” He sounded like a teacher disappointed in a student. “Perhaps we can change your mind.”
The two enforcers dragged Waorani out from the tables and forced him to kneel several meters before Kanogan. From Zade’s vantage point, all he could see was Waorani’s head and shoulders.
The warden gestured. The interrogators stepped forward. One closed her eyes.
