Prisoners of Paradise

by Brandon Lars Erikson

  “What do you mean by that?” Audrey asked in polite but demanding manner.

  He chuckled light-heartedly and Audrey felt trapped. She didn’t want to talk about this right now.

  She decided to change the subject. “Moke, Captain Harris will be here soon. Do we have enough targets now to justify the mission?”

  Moke sighed. “Operation Shade will proceed as planned…even though I don’t like it…even though…I don’t approve of it.”

  Audrey tried to smile as she listened to him. Moke felt a heavy feeling in his gut. “Things are different now Audrey. We have a whole new set of priorities to face. We have to catch, The Evil…I think they have broken into factions now, or maybe have formed sleeper cells. I really don’t know, but I know Jacob had given his co-conspirators orders to use violence as a solution. However, based on those phone calls Jack was getting, I believe there must be faction who refused to engage in violent activities. They must have broken away from the main group after Jacob gave his order to set that bomb off at the stadium…we’ll find those people…we’ll put pressure on them. We’ll make their minds numb if need be and crush their very souls if we have to…one of them will tell me who was responsible for my sister’s death.”

  “Moke…what I meant was…” Audrey stammered as she found herself becoming worried. “Since Captain Harris will be here soon, I suggest you try to plan a way to make your peace with him…”

  Moke turned a bit sour as he said, “Please, Agent Winters…let’s don’t talk about that…”

  “No damn it!” Audrey whispered in a harsh voice, “Moke…I want to know what is going on. I want to know what is making you act this way…please tell me about your friend…why are you so afraid of him?”

  “Go home, Audrey,” Moke’s soft voice pierced her like an arrow from the darkness. Audrey felt a bit stunned as she saw Moke stand up and brush the sand from his pants. The moon was at his back. His face was completely covered in shadows.

  Feeling like she had crossed the line, Audrey stammered, “But…sir…” She bit her lip and thought to herself, “Why do I have this feeling that you are keeping something from me?”

  “We’re going to have a long day tomorrow.” He said softly, sadly. He felt like a man on the edge of defeat as he thought, “there are things I cannot tell you, Audrey…my plan need to be kept secret for now…”

  She saw the darkness around him as he began walking toward his mother’s house. Audrey felt her fingernails digging into her palms as she made her hands into tight, angry fists. Things were looking as bleak as they could possibly get.

  Chapter 30

  Location: Prisoner storage area…the EMS Signet…Deep space.

  Standard Ship Time: 1100 Hours.

  “They say that when the mind is in a coma, ya have a lot of time to think. Looks like I got plenty of time to do just that.”

  Jhett Jonez could see nothing but blackness. He could hear nothing but silence. For the first time in several months, or even years, he felt alone. The last thing he had remembered, before blacking out, was the feeling of pressure that came from being strapped to the medical table, along the sensation of a needle entering his arm. Right before the anesthesia took effect, Jhett remembered crossing his fingers, and feeling nothing but a sense of calm pass over him. So far, it had been a pleasant trip.

  “Yeah, we had a good thing going…but we screwed up. We had a good little scam going with Marco. He had figured out a way to insert Bronson Petrilock into Makula’s organization. Bronson was posing as a rich socialite from Earth. Marco gave him cash to flash and names to drop. Soon, Makula was eating out of his hand. The big gangster always dreamed about smuggling Cutz to Earth and making big money…Bronson’s smooth talking had Makula tricked into thinking that we were actually helping him out.”

  Jhett couldn’t even feel himself breath, it was like his mind was disconnected from his body, but still active as it recalled the events that led him to his current incarceration.

  “Bronson seemed to be the perfect front guy with the perfect plan. In the meantime, we had Herb scooping the angles with the computers and security systems that were in the buildings we had to break into. Herb took care of the technical shit. Herb even got us hooked up with our own satellite… the spy in the sky. It started off a well- planned, real professional job. We helped Marco track down Makani shipments and helped him locate a few urban Cutz processing labs. Marco then flashes some more cash and some of the goons, who were making Cutz for Makula, were soon producing some of it on the side for Marco. Pretty soon, we had nearly a ton of the shit. Bloke and I were in charge of the part of the operation that involved finding the dope heads in the city who would store the stuff for us, until we were able to steal a ship to take it to Earth. I figured that with all the heat we were under, why risk storing it in a warehouse that Makula might find it all in…nobody would suspect the personal safes in the apartments, and with Herb being able to disrupt the security cameras, it seemed like a good idea. But then, somehow, the wires and ambitions got crossed.”

  ‘When the scam was first hatched, the plan was to take everything we stole from Makula to Earth without him knowing about it. Using Bronson’s acting job as a smokescreen, Marco hooked up Makula with Loko Kalaheva, the entertainment guru who had a rock star leaving for Earth on a corporate spaceship, with an expedite pass. Bronson soon had Makula and Loko eating out his hand. He convinced them both that they were legitimate business partners, and then, he started filling both their heads full of wild ideas to ensure they would start to distrust each other, thus providing a distraction while we stole from them both. But before we could get our act together, a bunch of the shit we stole, was stolen from us, and got sold right in what Makula would consider to be his prime turf. What a mess…the relationship we had hoped to foster with the Pilikoa family soon started to unravel after that.”

  ‘I had no idea what Marco really had planned, apparently stealing Makula’s customers and cutting into his profits wasn’t enough for him. We didn’t know what was really happening out there in the forests of the Sacred House Reservation until much later. I guess Marco got a little greedy and started giving those angry kids some guns and ammo. I guess Marco figured to himself, ‘Why simply steal from the guy, when we could take him out of the picture completely, and have two planetary markets all to ourselves?’ Me and Bloke were just stupid enough to go along with that idiotic line of thinking. Pretty soon, after a few deliveries to the boys in the jungle, Makula’s Makani supply line starts to dry up…and pretty soon, his patience starts to wear thin. We didn’t figure that a lion, who is being backed into a corner, would show his claws so soon.

  ‘This was yet another example of how a good thing like, Capitalism…and the profitable enterprises, along with beneficial social advances it can bring, just goes to shit when some assholes at the top get too greedy. Marco’s mentality was the same kind of greedy, self-centered thinking that eventually destroyed a place on Earth known as the United States of America, and it is the exact same line of reasoning that will eventually erode any chance for any kind of real freedom to exist on Ailana. Well, at any rate, things got outta hand pretty quickly after the incident outside that nightclub. When the shit hit the fan, we started tracking down the dope heads we thought we could trust. What a mess that was. We got the ship… we had everything…we…”

  Jhett’s body shuttered as his mind began to contemplate the real reason for his present situation.

  “We didn’t know that we were being double crossed and scammed by someone else who knew what Marco was doing. We didn’t know our plan was going to be hijacked by someone who knew a lot more than Marco did about doing business on Ailana. Some loose lips sunk our ships. Someone else had their eyes on our prize…and they fooled us into handing it over to them after we worked so hard to get it. And if I ever get a hold of those assholes that played us for fools and patsies, it’s gonna be a real mess.
Now I’m not too sure who ‘THEY’ are. But they also say that when the brain is in a coma…the most easily recallable emotion…is rage…I sure hope…that THEY…were right.”

  Bloke awoke in total darkness and realized that his heart had begun pumping quite rapidly. He felt pain in his chest and his breathing had become almost frantic. His mind was not quiet. There were no pictures registering there was only sound.

  In his mind, he heard the sound of a woman’s voice. “Daddy’s home! Come quickly!”

  Bloke felt his entire body jolt with a spasm.

  “Daddy’s home!”

  His eyes shot open and he began to wheeze. The plastic mask, over his nose and mouth, delivered just enough oxygen to his lungs to keep his vital functions operating. The dizzy, light-headed sensation he was feeling soon became a pounding migraine. He began to gag and felt his body go into convulsions.

  “What are you gonna do? What’s gonna happen?!” The female voice coming from the blackened dream said to him in a cute, motherly voice. Bloke felt tears welling up in his eyes.

  “No!” He shouted.

  The claustrophobia had fully set in. His head turned violently from left to right, the feeding tube that was inserted in his throat, began to feel as if it was choking him.

  The voice would not stop. “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!”

  “NO!”

  His left leg gave a powerful upward kick and his toes struck the ceiling of the containment unit. He began to pound the ceiling with his fists as hard as he could. His eyes could only see the blackness. His brain began to ache from oxygen deprivation and sweat began to pour off his skin as his rage became uncontrollable.

  “You are like a butterfly in a cocoon,” The sweet, motherly voice said in the back of his mind. “Don’t let the things those other kids say hurt your feelings, they don’t know how special you really are. Daddy’s home! Don’t you want to see Daddy?!”

  The build-up of deoxygenated blood in his brain began to burn. His lungs seemed as if they were on fire. He braced himself against the ceiling of the containment unit using his massive arms. His legs began to kick wildly at the solid structure that was in front of them. He raised his legs as high as he could and then with every bit of force he could muster, he brought his massive feet crashing down.

  He heard a metallic click. He kicked again and again, over and over as the voice seemed to screech from the darkness.

  “Daddy’s home!”

  WHAM!

  Bloke kicked as hard as he could and made contact with the solid surface directly in front of his feet. He pounded relentlessly like a jackhammer on adrenaline.

  “Daddy’s home!”

  WHAM!

  “Daddy’s home!” A sense of frustrated urgency began to build within him. His ears rang as he let out a roaring scream.

  “Daddy’s home!”

  WHAM!

  “Daddy’s home!”

  WHAM!

  Suddenly, his burning eyes realized that rays of light were flooding the containment unit. Bloke pushed with his arms and began sliding towards it. He felt a rush of cold air and the painful sensation of landing on his back. As he lay on the grated floor, gasping for air, he could hear a voice in the back of his mind calling to him.

  “Come back…come back and help us free the Prisoners of Paradise.”

  “Holy freakin’ shit…” Bloke whispered and began coughing violently for a few moments as his lungs adjusted to the new air supply. He looked around and saw what he had fallen out of. It was a small storage space, just big enough for a body in a prone position. The containment unit had a shiny metal door that he had kicked open and left a dent in.

  On either side of him, Bloke noticed that there were well over one hundred of these storage spaces, and except for the one he had just fallen out of. All the doors where shut. They were sealed with electronic and mechanical locks. They were stacked three on top of each other. Bloke had fallen out of one of the spaces on top.

  “Ya gotta be freakin’ kidding me,” Bloke thought as realized that he was on a prison transport ship and he had been locked inside the containment unit while in an induced coma. He moaned softly to himself. The nightmare was fading, but his heart was still pounding. His head ached, his muscles burned from lactic acid overload. He looked down at his chest. His yellow tank top was gone, and replaced with a bright orange shirt, courtesy of RAYNARD Prisons Inc.

  Bloke began to feel sensation returning to his arms and legs. As he lifted his left knee, he noticed his fatigue pants were also gone, replaced with loose orange pants made of a thin material. His large, heavy boots had also been confiscated, replaced with a pair of white sneakers.

  Bloke then felt a familiar pain in his stomach. Hunger.

  “HEY!” A high pitched voice cried out from behind him.

  Bloke rolled over and saw a small man in a gray uniform standing a few meters away from him.

  The man’s face was a mask of horror as he cried out, “WHAT IN THE HELL?!”

  Bloke roared as he leapt off the floor.

  The man froze and had no conscious thoughts as Bloke grabbed his head and bashed it against the door of a containment unit. The impact of the man’s head left a large blood stain on the stainless steel door.

  “WATSON!”

  Bloke was startled by the other man’s voice crying out, “Watson! Are you alright?”

  Bloke looked down at the man he had just killed, the nametag on his shirt read; Watson.

  “Watson? OH SHIT! Somebody! Help us!”

  Bloke whirled around and saw Watson’s partner shouting, “Oh shit!”

  With lightning fast reflexes, Bloke grabbed the man’s head and gave it a quick twist. His neck snapped as if it were a dry twig. Bloke released his grip and the dead man bounced slightly as he hit the floor.

  Bloke chuckled in a low, heinous tone and walked out of the door that led to the crew quarters. In a lazy breach of protocol, Watson and his partner, had left it open. The gray of the ship’s main prisoner holding bay gave way to a hallway with tan walls and maroon carpeting.

  Bloke looked to his right and saw a weapons holding locker mounted on the wall. It opened with a few impacts from his battering ram-like fist as he smiled and said, “Your goddamned plan might work after all, Jhett…it’s your lucky day.”

  Bloke picked up a couple of handguns and began walking down the hall.

  Location: The Galley of the EMS Signet

  Standard Ship Time: 1107 Hours.

  “So the wife catches me showering with the dish soap,” Stan Hawkins said as he munched on popcorn, with his mouth wide open. “I says to her, ‘what’s the big deal? Soap is soap!’ Am I right on this one?”

  “I would say you are correct, tell the bitch to shut up and do the dishes,” another man at the table said in between bites of carrot jerky.

  “That’s it!” Navigator Chris Baltus said in a frustrated voice. “If those two jackasses aren’t back in five more minutes, divvy up their chips and deal this hand over.”

  “What the hell is takin’ em’ so long?” A technician named Bob Franless said as he reached across the table and grabbed another handful of stale popcorn.

  All four men at the table appeared bored. They had been en route for nearly a week now and the monotonous part of the trip was now fully in affect. The ship had been placed on auto-pilot and for the next five days, until they arrived at the prison colony on Farcry, there was nothing to do but play poker and tend to the prisoners’ needs, which were few. Four times a day, the containment units needed to be checked and their fluids changed. But other than that, this job was a cruise.

  Navigator Chris Baltus began reaching for his soda can, when light above the door flashed. The pinging sound that signaled someone was opening it rang out with a low, bell-like tone.

  “There they are,” Stan Hawkins
said he picked up his cards. He shook his head as he remembered how Watson and Smelkor had both frantically called a time out, laid their cards on the table, and ran out because they had forgotten to check the vitals at eleven hundred hours.

  “Idiots,” He said as he shook his head.

  Hawkins turned around and was about ready to yell out something derogatory about the two guys who had been nicknamed “Moe” and “Curly” by the rest of the crew. However, when the door opened, Hawkins found himself looking at a very large man, who was dressed in a prisoner’s uniform, and holding a pair of LINX 1200 laser pistols.

  Hawkins soon realized that he was also looking straight down one of the barrels.

  “OH SHIT!” Someone yelled as the four men leapt to their feet.

  Bloke smirked, and began firing.

  Hawkins took the first shot to the chest and was knocked off his feet, landing flat on his back. Franless felt his throat exploding. His eyes bugged out of his head as he grabbed the flowing wound on his neck. He gagged a couple of times and fell to the floor.

  “Get a com!” Captain Rupins yelled as he felt a laser bolt rip through his chest. He didn’t have time to think of another order as the top of his head was ripped clean off by Bloke’s next shot. Rupins saw his second navigator, Glenn Mosser, lying next to him. Blood was poured out of his forehead. Rupins felt his extremities go numb and his eyes rolled up in the back of his sockets as he let out his last breath.

  Bloke surveyed his handiwork. “One, two, three, four…” He thought, “The two back there makes…six. These vessels have a crew of…seven.”

  Bloke’s smile slowly grew until it stretched from ear to ear as he activated the body heat sensor in his cranial computer and began walking again.