by James Goss
317: Actually, Doctor, could you be quiet? Just for a moment. I’m trying to eat this porridge.
428: Horrid, isn’t it?
317: Unspeakable.
[a pause]
317: There. Have your bowl back. I didn’t lick it clean. That would be undignified.
428: And the porridge doesn’t deserve it. The moment I leave here, I can tell you I’m going to be quite catty on TripAdvisor.
317: Would you like to see my library, Doctor? Well, I say ‘my’ library, but none of us have possessions any more. Although, naturally, as hardly anyone else uses it, you could, in all honesty argue that—
428: Lafcardio, take me to your library. They’ve ruined tables, chairs and food. I’d love to see what they do to books …
I watched the two of them shuffle away, exchanging furtive glances with their fellow prisoners. For a moment, my memory tugged, wondering what it would be like to go to Paris with those two. It sounded like a nice place.
Surprisingly, it had taken me a moment to recall Lafcardio. A harmless enough old man, he’d taken to the prison regime calmly, almost as though the university he taught at had just suffered severe cutbacks. He was an old friend, one of the ones it wasn’t worth breaking.
There were people like 428, people who, for their own good, had to be broken. And then there were those like 317 who just didn’t need it. They’d already meekly submitted. Further cruelty seemed pointless. Unless, of course, it had a very good purpose.
Bentley glanced at me, waiting for me to speak, to pass comment. I felt I had to say something. Just to get into her good books.
‘Oh, I know, 428’s guilty of at least three minor Protocol violations and technically he’s on hunger strike. But this is a good sign, Bentley. He’s passing from anger to …’
‘Acceptance?’ Bentley seemed almost mocking.
‘Well, ah …’ I found her attempt at irony unsettling. ‘At least, here we have the first signs of 428 coming to terms with his reality rather than denying it absolutely. And 317 is a good associate for him to have. Someone who embodies conformity. 428 can learn a lot from him.’
‘That’s very good, sir. But what if 317 were to learn a lot from 428?’
Bentley’s notion brought me up sharp. She was always right. I hated that.
The Custodian-Cam in the library sprang into life. The lights here were dark – just bright enough to allow prisoners to see the titles of the books but not bright enough to encourage prolonged reading. The place was also kept marginally colder than the rest of the Prison. Climates were carefully controlled in the communal areas. The only room colder than the library was the swimming pool. It is amazing how easily people can be manipulated by only the smallest variations in temperature.
One mistake in the early days of the Prison Protocols was that we kept the gymnasium slightly too warm and dry. The idea behind this was to promote a slight increase of weight loss and limb flexibility in order to decrease muscle injuries. In practice, the warm, arid atmosphere promoted aggression through mild dehydration. I queried this with HomeWorld and asked for normal temperature to be reinstated, but they responded that this was an interesting result. In the end I overruled them quietly and decreased the temperature to only a fraction above normal. I could not see the advantage in provoking the prisoners. After all, I do consider them my friends.
Which brings me back to the library. As they entered, 428 was gazing around the chamber. 317 was waiting, hands clasped together expectantly. In the end, it all got a bit much for him:
317: Well, what do you think?
428: Grim.
317: Oh.
428: I don’t mean to be offensive.
317: I’m sure.
428: But really, man. I’ve seen a better selection in a shut-down charity shop. Actually, it smells the same.
317: I see. I’m sorry to have wasted your—
428: Not at all.
428 stormed away, clearly furious. The Library Custodian swivelled to show 317 watching him go and then, slowly and sadly, walk around the shelves, patting some volumes defensively, and pulling others down, dusting them off.
So, 428 hadn’t made a friend after all. Good.
An hour or so later I was busy trying to update the expenditure allocations when I heard voices. I realised I hadn’t closed the video tab, and maximised it, swiftly banishing the minutiae of oxygen reprocessor catalysts.
The Library Custodian showed 317 standing in the library, waving frantically as 428 wove around him, gathering up books.
428: I’m really sorry. I must apologise. I can only express my sincerest regrets for my earlier behaviour. Here, catch.
317: I never could catch.
428: Oh dear. Neither could I.
317: Well then, why did you throw it?
428: Because I live in hope of meeting someone who can catch. They’d be handy. There we go. Look, hardly any damage to the book at all. I can easily fix the spine.
317: What’s brought about this change of heart, Doctor, may I ask? What do you want?
428: To make amends. To find out why. What’s marvellous about this sad collection is that it exists at all. Am I correct?
317: Well, yes. Initially the idea was that all prisoners would have access to books via the TransNet link. But, when that proved—
428: Slower than sending a text message in Somerset, yes …
317: Well, I took it upon myself. I went to see the Governor.
428: You’re a brave man.
[He pulled a face and I bristled a bit.]
317: He was very understanding, actually. I explained that we had little to read. He approached the HomeWorld Authorities, who regretted that nothing, alas could be done. But the Governor – well …
428: Are you going to make me like him?
317: A bit. Perhaps. Together, we approached the prison population, and asked if any of them had brought physical books with them as possessions that they would be willing to loan. It was agreed that any books in the personal valuables store could be donated as well. Also, the Guardians were allowed to pass on books that they no longer required to the library, which was very kind of them.
428: Yes. Funny that. You don’t really think of them as readers.
317: On the contrary. One of them, Guardian Donaldson, actually discovered a loophole. Obviously, our relatives could not send us books.
428: Oh no. Perish the thought of that.
317: But Donaldson could order up books and have them sent to her by shuttle. And then, so long as the Guardians read them, they could then—
428: Be passed on to the library. Good old Donaldson. I like the sound of him.
317: You can meet later. She’s rather lovely.
428: Oh, she? Right. Of course. Her! That Donaldson. Yes. A woman who likes books. The best kind.
317: Very much so. She spent a huge amount of her salary on them. She even discovered that a fair amount of the library at the university I lecture at – sorry, used to lecture at – was being … disposed of for a reasonable sum. So she ordered that. Pretty much filled a shuttle.
428: Oh. Is this going to have an unhappy ending? I’m not sure how I feel about those.
317: No, no. Well. Not exactly. Someone in shipping queried this. But only after they’d been despatched. The Governor, actually much to his regret, was forced to act. For all his … peculiarities, he means well. Reluctantly, he closed off the loophole. Well, some of it. Guards can still donate books to us. Just not whole libraries.
428: Which is silly. You’re supposed to have access to books.
317: Well, yes. The Governor did try and raise that, I believe.
428: [a long sigh that I could hear from my office] How did that go?
317: Oh, badly. A new sub-contractor looked at installing private TransNet terminals that would give us fast access. Our relatives could pay for the bandwidth. But then, of course, the media back on HomeWorld found out that they were effectively charging us for reading …
and, in the face of the outcry … the plan was scrapped.
428: Rather than just give you a nicer modem that worked?
317: HomeWorld’s funny like that. But then, that’s why I’m in prison.
428: So, what you’re telling me that all of these books – these marvellous, shoddy, tatty, and frequently unreadable books – are the result of human ingenuity and kindness? Of prisoners and guards working together to make life a tiny bit more bearable?
317: Yes. I even have this Custodian here – [clang!] allocated to do the filing. In the early days it just did it alphabetically, but I’ve recently taught it proper library filing.
428: The ancient art of the Dewey Decimal?
317: Quite so.
428: Marvellous. The whole really is greater than the sum of its parts. Tell you what, my amazing Lafcardio, I’m going to celebrate this by borrowing one of these books and reading it. Let’s see … Jeffrey Archer? Goodness me. Perhaps not. ‘Moll Flanders, now a television series starring …’ Good grief. Just how old are these books? The selection here is completely random.
317: A lot of HomeWorld’s books were shipped out as unwanted ballast from Old Old Earth. In return for minerals. They’re all very weary junk.
428: ‘Unwanted ballast?’ That’s a terrible thing to say about books. You may as well heat an orphanage with them. Imagine that – Earth’s discarded ballast becomes your precious archive. And here we go … ‘I Hate Mondays by Garfield’. Always got to love a book by a cat. This will be brilliant. I’ll take it.
317: Well, if you insist.
428: I do. Hello! [The Library Custodian is tapped.] I’m borrowing this little book, tin donkey. Hope that’s OK. And you, have a good day, 317.
317: I will Doctor.
428: Thank you Lafcardio. You know what you’ve done? You’ve given me hope. And you. [He taps the robot again.] You keep up the good work.
‘What’s he up to?’ Bentley had appeared and was watching over my shoulder. I jumped, despite myself, spilling a cup of tea. We became lost for a few moments in a flurry of cleaning up and rescuing paperwork.
‘You really don’t have to do this,’ I assured her.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. But then she would. She was, I noticed, using my draft report to soak up a massive spillage. I would have stopped her, but that seemed churlish.
A minute or two passed of fussing and tutting and then we stood back to admire our handiwork.
‘I I suppose I could have asked a Custodian to take care of it. But it would simply have set fire to the desk.’
Bentley didn’t laugh, but then again, she didn’t argue. A small victory. ‘My apologies, I’m sure, for disturbing you, Governor.’
‘Not at all.’ I decided I could afford to be magnanimous. After all, this might prove a check to that unfortunate habit of hers of sneaking into my office unannounced. She never knocked. In many ways, sodden progress reports aside, this was a bonus. So, with a rueful shake of the head, I changed the subject.
‘Not at all, not at all – you were as fascinated by the Doctor and – by 428 and 317 as I was, weren’t you?’ I tried to sound open and inviting. I noticed that Bentley had gone back to not quite looking at me. Shame.
Bentley’s eyes were fixed on the screen showing 317 pottering around his empty library, fussing over his sorry collection of books, rearranging them and talking to them like pets.
‘What’s 428 up to? That’s my question,’ I said. ‘Could there be something hidden in that library that he needs, eh?’
‘I think he merely needs a friend,’ said Bentley.
‘What?’ I asked her. And then I thought about it. ‘Oh.’
We continued to watch 317 in the library.
Bentley coughed delicately. ‘With your permission, Governor, I have a suggestion …’
*
‘No manacles this time, eh?’ 428 was louder than most people I encountered here. Despite being escorted in the grip of two Custodians, he seemed to almost saunter into the room. Like he didn’t really care what impression he made, as though he wouldn’t be here the rest of his life, as though he would simply one day stroll away and never give us a backward glance. Well, I was going to help him come to ground. With a bump.
‘No, no manacles, 428,’ I assured him, leaning back expansively. ‘Please sit down.’
‘Oh, this is an honour,’ he shrugged himself free of the Custodians and settled himself in the chair. He looked around the room. ‘This is nice, isn’t it. Yes, nice.’ He was somehow being sardonic. I could sense italics around much of what he said. ‘Your flowers need watering.’
‘They don’t, alas, flourish here. Not as a rule.’
428 clucked. ‘Lack of sunlight. Lack of proper gravity. Lack of … well, anything that really encourages living things to really live. Do you like it here?’
I blinked. ‘It is not my duty to like it. It is my duty to obey the Protocols and ensure that everyone here lives harmoniously.’
428 had stopped listening halfway through the sentence. ‘Do you miss it back home?’
I spread out my hands candidly. ‘I can barely remember that. I cannot return to HomeWorld. This is my home now. Believe me, 428, once you become used to it, it has a certain tranquillity.’
428 was looking at me. He was looking straight at me. Unconsciously, I wanted to turn away, but instead I set my gaze and smiled.
‘How are you enjoying escaping?’ I asked him. He had very much continued to do so, wandering the prison with the casualness of a feline. He had even disabled, briefly, the Custodian we had placed outside his door, waking it up only on his return with a cheery tap and a wave. 428 was not taking The Prison seriously. That would change.
428 had begun humming, so I repeated the question. 428 gave it every appearance of serious consideration, and then he leaned forward, candidly. ‘As you said, it’s a hobby, really, sir. After all, every man must have a hobby. The lower security levels, they’re the easy bits. It’s getting beyond a certain point, that’s really tricky. But I’ll get there. Honestly, if you hadn’t incinerated Clara’s mobile, I could have shown you Candy Crush. Now that’s annoying.’
‘Clara?’
‘Clara.’ He did not want to discuss it further. So I felt perfectly comfortable in not telling him about his female visitor. Good. A weak spot. I made a note of it. ‘I’ll buy her a new one when I get out,’ He shuddered. ‘The Dalek Emperor is nothing compared to your average mobile phone sales assistant. Ach, maybe I’ll just stay here the rest of my life, eh? Less bother.’
I leaned forward. ‘You will stay here the rest of your life, 428. You appear to be having trouble accepting that.’
428 nodded. ‘I do. So I do.’
‘Well, I’m going to help you,’ I told him.
‘Thumbscrews?’ he rubbed his hands with excitement.
‘No. What do you take us for? I’m going to make you an offer.’
‘Really?’
‘Tables and chairs.’
428 looked at me curiously.
‘You expressed a wish that the canteen had tables and chairs. Here is my bargain. If you stay in your cell during lockdown for the next three days and nights … then the canteen may have tables and chairs.’
‘You’re bribing me with furniture?’ 428 appeared delighted, as though this had never been tried before.
‘Tables and chairs. You have my word, 428.’
He nodded. ‘All right then. We have a bargain.’ Then his face set hard as ice. ‘Just one thing. My name. It’s not binding unless you call me by my name.’
The request annoyed me. It clearly wasn’t a real name. It was little better than 428. And, yet considering the things that had been done in it, it hurt me to do it.
‘Doctor,’ I smiled sweetly. ‘Stay in your cell when you’re supposed to for three days and nights and the canteen will have tables and chairs.’
428 leaned across the table and shook my hand, staring into my eyes. There was a silence for a long
moment, broken only by the Custodians going to Warning Mode.
‘Done,’ said 428.
5
The first two days and nights of 428’s agreement passed without incident. I mentioned this to Bentley, but she set her lips thinly and left to file a TransNet report. And then, on the third night …
No one knew exactly how the fire started. But somewhere in the book stack, between biographies and fiction. Paper smoulders and smokes first, which should have set off an alarm. But there was no alarm. Not until the first book burst neatly into flame and then the fire spread. In Dewey Decimal order.
The news spread around the Prison just as fast. Even though it was the middle of the night and everyone was locked down, still the news spread. Gossip travels faster than fires here. The alarms helped, rousing people from troubled dreams to smoke-filled corridors.
Prisoner 428 appeared at the window-grille of his cell, talking directly to the Custodian guarding the corridor. It was one of the newer models. One fitted with a basic vocal system.
‘The situation is under control.’
‘What situation?’
‘There is a fire. The situation is under control.’
‘Where is the fire? Where!’ 428 was alert, already suspicious.
‘The Prison library.’
428 stood at the window of his cell, a caged lion snarling. Only, I watched the footage again later and, actually, he didn’t snarl or shout. And yet, if you’d asked me, I’d have said he’d done both. He just stood there, quite calmly.
‘Where is Lafcardio?’ he asked eventually.
The Custodian did not reply.
428 repeated his question. And then, with a weary sigh of resignation, vanished from the window of his cell. A moment later, the door popped open and the Custodian’s camera went blank. As it did so, 428 muttered something bitterly.
‘Tables and chairs.’
When 428 arrived outside the library, a phalanx of Custodians had gathered, forming a barrier to the open door belching smoke.