by Paul Darrow
On the way to the court, Paroch slipped Avon a small piece of stiff backed paper. Concealing it, Avon did not dare even to glance at it until certain he would be unobserved.
The Federation system of justice ran smoothly. Raher, with Paroch in attendance, plus an assortment of Iron Guards, escorted Avon from the court directly to the waiting prison spaceship. Many prisoners were already aboard, others were still being processed.
Raher watched the pathetic figures for a moment. “The beginning of the end for all of you,” he said.
Avon did not speak. His expression was grim.
“I will now hand you over to the tender mercies of the prison officer of this ship.” Raher said with relish. “Take my advice and keep a low profile. He has an unenviable reputation for cruelty.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
Prison ship guards came to relieve Raher of his charge. “Goodbye,” he said, “I won’t wish you luck. Yours has just run out!”
Avon nodded. He cast a sideways glance at Paroch and winked.
The prison ship officers, weary of their task, but reasonably tolerant provided he caused them to no trouble, took him up the ramp that led into the main hold of the aircraft. Convicts were milling about searching for living space for the interminable, deadly journey to come.
Close to one of very few portholes, a big man was held in a chair by iron clamps. A guard nodded in his direction. “We expect trouble from that one.”
“Why him in particular?” Avon asked.
“He’s one of those human rights activists. A real rabble rouser. With a bit of bad luck, he won’t last the trip. Behave yourself and you just might.”
Avon nodded meekly.
Once left to his own devices, he found himself a quiet corner on the prison deck. No one seemed to be paying him any attention and he had seated himself in such a way that the surveillance monitors could hardly see what he was doing. He took out the blocked paper that Paroch had surreptitiously passed to him. Upon it was a diagram in miniature of the complete layout of the prison ship. There were details of all computers carried aboard, of all controls, of all surveillance techniques. It was an escaper’s charter.
He looked around him. In the midst of a sad example of defeated, hopeless humanity, with the smell of fear and degradation in his nostrils, with the whimpers of discontent in his ears, for no apparent reason, Avon smiled.
THE END?
Contents
Prologue
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Part Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Part Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Part Four
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten