by Dusks, Rydre
My presence did not go unnoticed among the other prisoners on the shuttle. Many of them were Souloran, a few from GreyCross, but they all knew an Anli when they saw one despite my kind rarely leaving the forest.
"A blackie!" one of them shouted from the back when I'd first boarded the shuttle and was ushered into one of the seats. This, of course, caught the attention of most of the other inmates, and that stirred up plenty of questions.
"What'd you do, Anli? Ain't you a Strejc?" one of them called.
"Is Era just racist?" another asked.
I blocked out most of it. I wasn't 100% fluent in New Soul, the dominant language of Souloroh, but I understood most of the banter that was in Iasona. GreyCross was rather accepting of other races within its limits. Era had never come out and stated his preferences since he was a machine and most likely didn't care. I wasn't worried about the Iasona prisoners--my real worry came from Souloroh itself. Many Earthans migrated to Souloroh many years ago, giving the country Earth roots and languages... as well as a special disdain for race.
"You can't blame them for being curious," came a voice from the seat in front of me. It was in Iasona. I glanced up as the speaker shifted glassy hazel eyes over the top of his seat to look at me. "Today has been quite a day for captives."
I had my head turned toward the window, but I kept my eyes on him anyway.
"I'm G'tavei."
"Bless you." I then paused and frowned. "G'tavei? The hackerbot that infiltrated Saydea?"
The other rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, because I really look like a hackerbot," he said sarcastically. "Are you one of the victim Strejca that Saydea's lunatic vice president sent in there to chase phantoms?"
"I was. If you really are the G'tavei he was talking about, why are you here? Did you really have any affiliation with Saydea?"
He sighed. "Not purposefully. Saydea's workers ripped me out of my work one day and dragged me to a center for containment in their facility. The whole thing was a ploy to get Strejca to come inside and see what was going on. I hear the VP was searching for one in particular. Then once the VP was finished using me as bait, he pegged me as a human intruder and surrendered me to authorities. So I got tossed on this shuttle--they don't even know I'm not biological. Not sure why he didn't just have me destroyed."
"Most likely because that would mean you would be surrendered to the Strejca directly, and if Dentrin were attempting to fool the Strejca, he couldn't have us knowing that you actually existed. Your rights as a machine would be brought up, and you'd have first chance to speak in your defense. Way more than what humans have nowadays. What's going to happen if Roavo finds out about you?" I asked.
G'tavei shrugged. "I'll get destroyed, probably. I'm not supposed to be here--I'm just a big hunk of moving metal parts. I don't serve a purpose to Soulorans like I do Iasona."
"...So you have no connection at all with hacking into Saydea. It was all fake."
"If I were you, I would be angry too," G'tavei sympathized. "I'm not sure why you're here, but I hope it's a better reason than mine."
"My child was kidnapped. I failed to report it to the police," I uttered, deciding to give him the most basic answer.
He raised his highly realistic eyebrows. "You have an abducted kid? And they're sending you to prison? Sol, what has GreyCross turned into?"
I didn't respond to him, dropping my head against the window to watch the shuttle coast across the sands like a breeze.
It took a couple of hours to reach camp. By then it was mid-afternoon, and I, along with the rest of the prisoners, could feel the heat of the day through every part of the shuttle. GreyCross was relatively cool throughout most of the year. That may have been due to the smog in the air blocking out most of the sun, though. This heat was relentless and something I had never been used to. The shuttle doors opened, and a burly guard in uniform stepped into the vehicle. He called to the prisoners to stand and file out into a single line, and so we did as we were told. I saw a few defiant eyes, but for the most part everyone probably knew what they were getting into.
GreyCross, and in fact most of Iason, did not have prisons. The only "prisons" available were camps dispersed throughout northern Souloroh. Era had formed a trust with Souloroh many years ago to establish joint camps in the otherwise barren desert as much of Iason was uninhabitable. If Era wasn't ordering to have somebody killed, they usually went to Roavo or one of the other camps. Any kind of court system was a Souloran concept, and completely foreign to the Iasona.
The sun washed over me as I exited the shuttle and stepped out on the hard, sandy ground. Several guards stood by the massive gates the vehicle had just entered through. The gates themselves gave off a soft electric hum, which I was not surprised at all by. A man dressed in more casual clothes stood with the guards. One look at him told me that he was the lead figure in this terribly hot and unforgiving desert.
As the other prisoners and I stood in a line, the warden walked along the row to look at all of us. He stopped by G'tavei for only a moment before moving on. I was impressed with G'tavei's ability to pass as human. He was certainly more than life-like. The warden stopped in front of me, looking me in the eyes, then down at my clothes. He was a man with greys around his hairline and a hard, rocky face. He wasn't as tall as I was, and he carried a bit of extra weight.
"A GreyCross Streck," he said. His Souloran speech and accent shattered the delicate pronunciation of my profession like priceless pottery. When he'd opened his mouth, his visible teeth were black from chew. He stank of it. Callous eyes moved back to my face, and I gazed back at his sun-weathered expression, trying to read what he was thinking. "Looks like I've got a black sheep in this flock."
As he continued on his way, I shot a glance at G'tavei, who only looked back at me calmly. I wanted so badly to go to someone for help, but I knew that at this point I was on my own.
Once the man had finished his stroll a buzz came from somewhere behind us, and the gates slowly closed. The guards flanked our line and led us further inside the camp, stopping us only after the gates had come to a complete close behind us.
"An official welcome to Camp Roavo," said one of the guards. His voice carried a metal ring to it, and G'tavei, who'd changed positions to stand behind me, made a sound of disgust.
"It's guys like him that give perfections like me a bad name," he mumbled just audibly enough for me to hear.
"Inmate boarding will be found toward the back of the camp, past the convenience store." The guard pointed with one arm down the dirt road we stood on.
I hadn't realized before, but as I looked around I saw that Roavo was what appeared to be a ghost town. The buildings were mostly in shambles, and it was clear that no one had lived here as residents for a very long time.
"To the right is the warden's cabin and office. No one is to go inside unless prompted to by one of the guards. Daily work schedules are being created for each of you as I speak, and you will all soon be called inside the warden's cabin for inspection. Any questions or concerns will be ignored. For now, remain in single file outside the cabin. When your name is called, enter and remain silent and still until prompted otherwise."
The guard walked to the door of the cabin and disappeared inside for a moment. I glanced behind me at the other guards, who were all the same robotic model. There were three of them behind us, and they were all armed with hefty-looking guns. They made no motion and no noise. G'tavei twisted and rattled his cuffs a little, but for the most part our line was also as silent as death.
One by one the prisoners were called into the cabin, then left wearing maybe half the clothes they began with while carrying grey uniforms and satchels.
"G'tavei Brotheresa," the guard called, and G'tavei stepped inside. A few minutes later he came back out carrying the same gear as the other prisoners. He looked satisfied to have passed inspection, and gave me a thumbs-up as he passed, headed out toward the tents near the edge of the ghost town.
Several others went in and
passed inspection before my name was called. "Crow Hightower," the guard announced. I rolled my eyes. My real name was Kro Seaada OrrVieh. "Crow Hightower" was only an alias for the Strejca, as most Strejca, aside from Insidd and Va'th, went by fake surnames. The New Soul word "crow" stuck when Kajaru took me in, as he was the first to start calling me such. Others picked it up after I’d joined the Strejca. However, it had never been my real name, and I was not impressed that the authorities in Roavo hadn’t even managed to figure out my legal one.
I walked inside the cabin trying to keep straight and confident, although the cuffs on my wrists hurt badly at this point. The inside was homey and cool, smelling of wood finish, and I took a moment to examine the walls as I passed into the office room. There were a lot of pictures of the warden and most likely his wife, and a few books on shelves. His office was nothing special, but his desk was wide and decorated with a couple skinny stacks of papers and another book. The warden himself sat behind it, jotting something down as the guard led me into the middle of the room and undid my bonds. Relief flooded back into my limbs as I pulled my arms forward to clutch at my wrists.
"So..." the warden started. "Crow Hightower... an Iasona Streck originally from the Gasaidiatt. You were adopted by a Streck 'Kaharoo Tohoroo...?'" He snorted at the name. "Went to GreyCross schools, then your adoptive father died, and you took up Streck work. Huh. Records look good... Seems like these crimes are your first to ever commit. A four-year sentence for failing to report crimes as a witness, fleeing authorities, damaging military weaponry, and disobeying Law Forty-two." He finally looked up at me, eyes like ice. "My name is Radley Stone. You will address me as Mr. Stone only, understood?" He didn't wait for my answer, distracted after looking at my tailcoat. "Guard, remove his trench coat. The Strecks have special equipment and weapons in there. He could be covered in knives and guns."
"Es ‘Strejca,’" I uttered.
"Excuse me?"
"Te correcto pronouncing es ‘Strejca.’"
Stone leaned back in his chair, gazing at me in a particularly calculating manner. "Listen here, I ain't Iasona, and I don't speak the language. I don't care how your profession is pronounced. You're in here because you're a criminal, and as a criminal, you better shut up and do as you're told or else you won't last long here. You may be special in Iason because you're black, but here you're just another slobbering dog."
I seethed but forced a smirk and placed a hand to my ear, leaning in a little and copying his tone. "Ecsene sta? I ain't Souloran, and I don't speak the language. Iasona or Anli only."
Stone's curled upper lip was satisfactory as the guard removed my coat and dropped it to the floor. It jingled and clunked heavily.
"And search this cheeky bastard's pants pockets as well," the warden added.
The guard removed my bike chaps and dug into my pockets, pulling out my phone, a pocketknife, and a small clay charm that Toanwar had helped Stelliot make for me about a week previously. It said "Sta Lovere Uva Papa" across the front in sloppy green lettering, which was "I Love You Dada" in New Soul. As the guard dropped the things as well as the charm to the floor, my cocky side faded and I bit back tears, reminded of my little boy.
"I'm gonna keep an eye on you specifically," said Stone. "Before you leave my office, Hightower, you better make sure you're walking out with a different attitude."
"OrrVieh," I corrected him yet again. I knew it would only get me into deeper trouble, but I needed it. I liked seeing his face burn red from frustration.
He paused.
"If you insist on me acting like anoter one of your dogs, you should no address me with my Strejc name. My Anli lasta name es OrrVieh, and I know you want reminding constantly that I am black, so use it." My New Soul was basic, and my accent was probably too thick for as fast as I spoke, but it was enough for the other man to understand.
Stone's face certainly did get rather red. He waited a moment before rising from his chair and rounding the desk, coming in front of me. I was taller than him by a couple of inches, and felt twice as intimidating even without my hunting gear on. I purposefully stared over him.
"You listen to me, you pretentious Iasona dog. You might feel like you're above everyone else right now, but if you keep up an attitude like that, execution will be the nicest thing we will do to you."
"I don't feel like I am above aniona but you," I remarked calmly. I was completely out of line--I knew I was. But working under Scarsar Insidd taught me not to take crap from anybody... authoritative figure or not. Dominance and confidence were what gave way to superior amounts of willpower, and I planned to use every bit of mine for the time that I was here, whether it was for four years or not.
Stone didn't hit me like I thought he would. He had his arm half raised in a threat to backhand me, but he went no further than that. Instead, he changed his finger position to a point directed toward my nose.
"Watch it," was all he said, and he walked back to his desk. "Take the kit and your clothes from the guard and go find a tent to get dressed in. Rules and orders will be given out in a half hour."
With that, I was dismissed, and only glanced woefully at my coat and personal items crumpled in a heap on the floor once more before claiming a folded uniform and a satchel from the guard at the door. But I paused before leaving and turned back to look at the man at the desk.
"Oh... Mr. Stone."
He looked up from under his furrowed brow.
"You will never break me."
His face scrunched with another snarl, but I took my leave before he could say another word to me.
The walk to the tents was hot just like everything else in the Rove Desert. The tents themselves were certainly nothing special. Several prisoners were already bustling in and out of theirs, glancing defensively my way as I passed as if to protect their selected homes from intruders. I walked a good distance, nearing the end of the stationed tents on the left most row, when G'tavei poked his head out from a tent flap, golden highlights in his hair looking blaring in the sun.
"Hey, trooper. In here. I've already staked our fort!"
I raised an eyebrow as I ducked and entered the tent. "Are we five years old now?" I wondered as I looked around at the new shabby living space. The tent was tall enough to stand straight up in, but six strides would reach me to the back netted window. It was still small, and only gave enough space for two cots that were already set up, along with a small corner for me to pile my clothing and set down my satchel.
"No, but this place needs a little life," G'tavei replied. He was already dressed in his prison wardrobe. Now that the sun wasn't so bright I could sit down on the cot and look at him closer. His hair was in a strange kind of mohawk style but was too long on the sides to really be called one. Freckles danced across his nose, giving him a childlike accent to match his boyish features. He was very well designed, and if I hadn't been so familiar with Zlade's own glassy eyes, I would have completely believed that G'tavei were human.
"G'tavei," I asked. "What type of model are you?"
G'tavei eyed me curiously for a moment before answering. "I'm a Class A model with some hacking skills, hence the reason I was labeled a hackerbot," he finally replied as I stripped off my shirt and took off my boots. "But a bug in my programming put me in the 'not for sale' category."
I set my clothing aside sadly and began donning the new outfit. “What type of bug?”
He tilted his head toward the tent flap. “I have a personality error. It gives me some incredibly random identity problems. One minute I’ll be a jerk, the next a saint. Mr. Voelwrath tried fixing it but eventually had to move on to other projects.”
“So you’re a VR Machinic."
G'tavei nodded.
"Toanwar's my godfather," I added.
G'tavei's eyelids widened. "Truly? Small world, yeah?"
"Not really. Toanwar's released over a hundred Machinics since working in the Tower."
"A hundred Machinics in a city holding almost five million people. I
n my opinion, it's a slim chance to meet someone like me."
"Unless Toanwar Voelwrath is my godfather," I restated, and he shrugged.
The grey top fit rather well after I zipped it up, and it breathed comfortably but was basic for a uniform. The pants were a little more on the loose side in the legs, but were meant to be tucked into my new pair of matching boots. The boots were stiff, and certainly the most uncomfortable piece of the set.
"Don't you look spiffy," G'tavei mentioned once I'd finished. "Hungry? There are a ton of energy bars in my bag that I'm not going to use."
"Maybe later," I uttered, standing and stowing my street clothes under my cot. "Before they start dishing out rules, I'm going to go explore."
G'tavei was at the exit of the tent before I could even turn around to face it. "You don't want to do that. I saw guards all over the place when I was walking here. Didn't you? They probably have cameras and all sorts of things to watch inmates."
I slumped my shoulders. He did have a point. Without my Strejc gear, I wasn't much when up against armed opponents. Most of the guards were robotic, but sometimes that gave them even more of an advantage.
"This place looks deceptively escapable," I mumbled, nudging past G'tavei to look out across the vast stretch of desert past our tent. The fence was a good distance off--perhaps a quarter-mile. For a moment I wondered why Roavo was so big, then figured that there was a good use for that much space. It could be there for training. Or on a grimmer note, it could be hiding hundreds of bodies.
"Oh, what the hell? Let's go exploring!" G'tavei suddenly declared and dove out the tent flap.
I barely managed to grab his uniform to stop him. My arm jerked hard at the pulling force of two hundred extra pounds of metal. "No, you're right," I gasped. "It's best to wait until they give out the orders and work schedules. We can manage our time around that."
G'tavei's shoulders dropped much like mine had, and he gave a massive, gusty sigh. "Okay, fine."