Ari assumed that would be where he’d have to bite—the place where she was hurt. She’d never been a big fan of injections or needles and the idea of allowing the big Kindred to sink his deadly fangs into her flesh was frightening.
Still…if the alternative was having her eye fall out…
She reached up gingerly and patted around the base of her swollen left eye. Could he have been reading the X-ray wrong? Was she really in that much danger? She wasn’t having any of the symptoms he’d warned about but what if she started having double vision or getting blinding headaches or—the Goddess of Mercy forbid—what if her eye started sinking into its socket? What if—
“No indeed, Laundry’s not nearly the worse job in the joint,” Wheezer said cheerfully, interrupting her frantic thoughts.
“Oh?” Ari said, trying to drag her mind away from the morbid topic of possibly losing her eye. “What…what is the worst job then?”
“Oh shower cleaner’s no fun. Lots of dirtiness and filth because so many of the inmates use the shower as their pleasure center-like,” the old man said matter-of-factly. He made a fist with one hand and jerked it back and forth near his groin to illustrate his point. “And pot cleaner’s no fun either,” he continued as Ari felt her face get red. “Nor is latrine cleaner—that’s for those as have to use the communal toilets because they aren’t trustees.” He flicked a speck of imaginary dust off the sleeve of his green and blue striped trustee uniform with elaborate care. “But the very worst job has got to be muck-raker—so it has.”
“Muck-raker?” Ari shook her head. “Do I even want to know what that is?”
“It’s a punishment assignment, so it is and no mistake.” Wheezer nodded knowingly. “It’s for when one of the toilets gets clogged up. You have to go down into the overflow yard where the pipes pour out their filth and get it unclogged. Like being in a big metal cage full of shit, so it is. No fun, that!”
“No, it…doesn’t sound like it,” Ari said faintly. “So what do we do in the Laundry?”
“Oh, I’ll show you, my lad. You’ll see…you’ll learn…”
Laundry duty might not be the worst prison job but it certainly wasn’t the easiest either, Ari reflected after several back-breaking hours of labor. The huge industrial laundry room was in the bowls of the prison. It had seven huge washers but only three dryers. The constant heat the machinery generated meant that the metal walls were always sweating with condensation and the humidity had Ari’s prison jumpsuit sticking between her shoulder blades inside of fifteen minutes.
The most laborious step in the process came between taking the clothes from the washers and feeding them into one of the huge industrial dryers. Since the material was soaking wet, it had to be wrung out or pressed before it could safely go into a dryer.
“Or it could cause a short and fry us all! So it could, so it could,” Wheezer told her, cackling merrily at the thought.
In order to get the excess moisture out, the sodden jumpsuits were fed into several small clothes presses—none of which could do more than a single jumpsuit at a time. The suits had to be fed in, one by one, and then hand-cracked through the press in a process that wrung out the water before they were thrown into a rolling bin of uniforms ready for the dryer.
It was a backbreaking process that had Ari’s arms aching in no time since, as a newbie inmate, she was of course assigned the most difficult job. The inmates with more seniority loaded the washers and dryers or took turns on folding duty while Wheezer, as a trustee, only had to supervise.
“Why don’t they have a bigger clothes press?” Ari asked after what felt like hours of cranking wet, sodden garments through one of the hand-operated presses. “Something that can do more than one uniform at a time?”
“Oh, we do—we do.” He nodded vigorously, the dim overhead lights winking off his cracked oculars. “It’s just over there.”
He pointed to a huge drum-like machine in the corner of the laundry, to one side of the row of washers.
“But it’s broken, so it is. Stopped working more than a cycle ago and none of the lads who tried have had any luck fixing it. And of course the Yonnite Mistresses who own BleakHall ain’t going to buy us a new one—no they ‘ent! Why, what do they care if our arms break off cranking those presses?”
Ari wanted to point out that it was her arms about to break off—Wheezer did nothing but go around the room gossiping as far as she could see. His tongue was the only part of him that got any exercise.
But she was wise enough to hold her own tongue this time, remembering how her remarks to Tapper the day before had only made her situation worse. Maybe BleakHall was teaching her something about discretion—if so, it was certainly a hard way to learn that particular lesson.
“Can I have a look at the big press?” she asked Wheezer. “Maybe I can fix it.”
“Oh, handy with a tool-belt, are you, lad?” He gave her an interested look. “Sure, you can try, I suppose. But I’m afraid I mislike your chances, so I do. As I said, lots of lads had a crack at it back when it first broke and none could get it going again.”
“Let me just try,” Ari said. She’d always been handy with mechanical things and even if she couldn’t fix the beast of a machine sitting in the corner gathering dust, at least poking around in its works was better than this eternal cranking.
“Just as you please.” Wheezer nodded at her genially. “But if you need some tools, I’ll have to sign them out for you. Can’t have wrenches and hammers and the like just lying around in a Triple Max pen, don’t you know.”
“I guess not,” Ari said. “Well, let me see what I can see.”
She found the latch to open the side of the machine and began poking around inside. Wheezer helpfully held a glowstick over her head so she could see what she was doing. It took a little digging, but before long Ari found the problem.
They must not have very mechanically-minded inmates here, she thought. It’s nothing but a slipped belt!
Possibly none of the men who had tried to fix the machine had even seen the problem, though. It was far back in a corner behind the engine cover and Ari doubted any of their big hands would fit in such a tiny area.
She got her own hands black to the elbows with grease getting the belt back in place but it was worth it the moment she flipped the switch and watched the machine begin to chug.
“Well, I’m a nunky’s uncle, so I am!” Wheezer cried. “That’s a good job you did, lad. You’re a fix-it, so you are! A fix-it! I’ll be sure to tell Mukluk.”
“Um, all right. Thank you, I guess,” Ari said uncertainly. The other inmates gathered around to pat her on the back and the second load of jumpsuits they’d put in the washers was done in no time.
After her achievement, Ari was allowed to stand by Wheezer and talk instead of feeding the wet clothes into the machine she’d fixed. Since the old man seemed to know all about the prison and its inmates, she decided it was a good time to pick his brains.
“Wheezer,” she said as he watched the industrial-sized press at work. “Do you know of an inmate called Jak? Jak Blackthorn?”
“Heh?” Wheezer frowned at her. “Blackthorn?”
“He’s about a head taller than me,” Ari said. “Black hair and blue eyes—a shade lighter than mine. He’s in his twenties.”
“Oh, young fella with a little scar on the bridge of his nose just here?” Wheezer pointed to his own face to demonstrate and Ari nodded eagerly. Jak had gotten that scar playing tuk-ball with their father when he was just a kid and it had never really faded.
“Yes, that’s him! Do you know where he is? I’ve been looking for him in the Mess Hall but I haven’t seen him.”
“Were you in lock-up with him somewhere else?” Wheezer asked.
“Yes, exactly. Do you know where he is?”
“Well, now—I haven’t seen him in some time but we are on different floors. Last I heard he was assigned to the prison garden and that’s clear across the complex, so it is.”
“So you did see him? He is here?” Ari pressed, feeling her heart swell. The fact that she had yet to see her older brother had been gnawing at her mind. What if the information she’d been given was inaccurate? What if Jak was somewhere in another prison or even with another Mistress or something awful like that? But Wheezer’s words gave her hope.
“Yes, lad, of course. I don’t know exactly where he is but mayhap I can find out for you. Yes, mayhap I can.” The little old man nodded and smiled genially.
“Oh thank you, Wheezer!” For a moment, Ari almost threw her arms around him and hugged him. But she realized at the last minute this would be a girlish thing to do. And what if Wheezer felt her breasts when she pressed against him? Ugh—that would be too awkward and would cause all kinds of questions! She contented herself with grinning broadly at the old man and thanking him again.
“You’re more than welcome, so you are,” Wheezer said, smiling at her enthusiasm. “And mayhap you’ll find ‘im yourself in the yard after lunch. Meal times are staggered but we all go out for yard time at the same time here at BleakHall.” He lowered his voice, though there were no guards around. “The Gods-damned Horvaths don’t like the outside air so they refuse to go out more than once a day.”
Ari’s heart soared even higher. Today after lunch, she would be certain to find Jak in the exercise yard. They would escape in her bubble and go directly home to Phobos.
We’ll be safe, she told herself. And we’ll never come back here and I won’t have to worry about whether I should let Lathe bite me or not because I can go see an eye surgeon on Phobos and get my orbital fracture fixed there.
The thought of leaving the big Kindred gave her pause and she found herself wondering what would happen to him when she was gone. Would he be upset to see her leave? Would he miss her?
Ari tried to put the thought out of her mind. Lathe could take care of himself, couldn’t he? And after all, the transport bubble was only good for two moderately sized people. It could never carry three-especially if one of them was as huge and muscular as Lathe.
Still, the thought of abandoning the big Kindred bothered her and wouldn’t leave her mind. The look on his face when she’d refused to let him bite her kept returning to her mind’s eye and Ari felt a little of her joy at her impending escape leak away, like air let out of a pinhole in a balloon.
Eighteen
Lunch, or Mid-Meal, as Lathe called it, was a silent affair.
Silent between Ari and Lathe, that was. Xolox the Sporran kept up a constant stream of burbling conversation with Gumper who answered back in slow monosyllables while Drumph punctuated the meal with shouts of, “Sad!” and tapped on his toy device as they all ate the dreadful slop the mechanical arms had glopped on their trays. But the big Kindred scarcely said a word to her.
Ari wondered if he was mad at her for not letting him bite her. But he wasn’t glaring or acting cold to her in any way. He just seemed withdrawn—inside himself somehow. As though he had some secret sorrow he couldn’t share.
It made her wish she could bring him out…could find out what was wrong and why he was so quiet. Then she realized what she was thinking.
What’s wrong with you, Ari? Are you starting to have some kind of feelings for him? she asked herself angrily. When you’re about to leave this place and you still don’t even know his true intentions? Not to mention the fact that everyone—including Lathe—thinks you’re a guy which is the way it has to stay. Stop being an idiot and forget about him.
But somehow she couldn’t.
When lunch was over, Mukluk blew a shrill note on a whistle he wore on a silk cord around his scaly neck and the prisoners all trooped out into the Rec Yard.
Ari looked eagerly for Jak, but she didn’t see her older brother. Several of the prison gangs had formed into teams and were playing some kind of simple game that appeared to involve two hoops and a ball and some other inmates appeared to be gambling in one of the corners. At the far end of the yard she saw a large collection of what appeared to be homemade weights—long metal poles with iron-brick blocks loaded on the ends of them. Inmates of all gang affiliations were working out here—it must be a kind of neutral zone.
Among the prisoners working out was Lathe.
Ari tried not to look but she couldn’t help herself—somehow her eyes were drawn to the big Kindred. He was lying on his back on a rough wooden bench and he was stripped to the waist, the top part of his prison jumpsuit pulled down and the arms tied around his narrow hips. This left his muscular chest and arms bare and she could see his pecs and biceps flex with each smooth lift as he pressed a bar full of heavy weights over his head.
Goddess, how strong is he, anyway? Those bricks have to weigh five times as much as me, Ari thought. Then she reminded herself she was supposed to be looking for her brother and forced herself to glance away.
The best way to find Jak, she decided, was to wander slowly around the perimeter of the Rec Yard, being careful to avoid obvious gang territories and steer clear of Tapper and his men. When she saw her brother, she would rush over to him and grab his arm with one hand while she activated her transport bubble with the other. They would be floating free of this horrible place before she knew it.
Trying to appear casual, Ari started wandering around the yard, keeping a sharp lookout for both her brother and trouble. She knew what to expect out here from her previous study of BleakHall’s blueprints, having called up every plan and layout possible on the big prison as she made her own plans for rescuing Jak. She knew the exact dimensions of the yard and more importantly, she knew what it lacked.
Unlike most maximum security prisons, there were no watchtowers in the corners of this yard. The Horvaths who ran BleakHall were indoor creatures with a dread of wide open, outdoor spaces. Being outside affected all but the hardiest of them the same way being in a tight, locked space affected Ari. They hated it.
So instead of watchtowers where armed guards could watch for escape attempts and shoot the would-be escapees, the entire vast, fifty-foot wall of the Rec Yard was covered in electrified and barbed razor wire. To attempt to climb it was death by electrification or at the very least, the loss of your fingers and toes and any other body parts that came in contact with the micro-thin edged wire.
But Ari didn’t need to climb the wall or even get anywhere near it. All she needed was a clear blue sky and her brother within touching distance so she could activate the transport bubble. As long as there were no guard towers with guards using projectile weapons that could burst the fragile bubble, there was nothing to stop her.
Well, the sky is good, anyway, she thought, looking up at the steely gray cloud cover overhead. It might not be blue but it was certainly wide open. Freedom was so close she could almost taste it.
As she was looking up, she saw a bird overhead diving towards the Rec Yard. Glancing to see what it was aiming for, she saw that a massive prisoner was holding up a crust of bread he’d apparently saved from his meal.
“Here, boy,” he called coaxingly and whistled. “Here boy, come on down, why don’t you?”
That’s nice, I guess, Ari thought uncertainly. She wondered if the prisoner was trying to make friends with the bird out of loneliness. Or maybe he had tamed it to carry messages for him? Either way it was kind of heartwarming to think that even the hardened felons that populated BleakHall could have tender feelings for an animal.
But just as the thought entered her mind, the bird dived down into the Rec Yard…or tried to anyway. The moment it got level with the top of the wall—which was about fifty feet above their heads—there was a flash like lightning and the bird made a horrible, strangled squawking sound. It seemed to catch on fire for an instant, then it fell, smoking to the feet of the huge prisoner who had a big smile on his lumpish face.
Ari was shocked but the inmate who had called to the bird didn’t seem upset or surprised at all.
“Ah, fresh meat,” he growled hungrily. Stuffing the crust he’d used as a
lure into his pocket, he began ripping charred feathers out of the dead bird before taking a huge bite out of its still-smoking flesh.
“He got another one, so he did. That’s Wayboid for you—allus hungry,” came Wheezer’s familiar voice in her ear.
Ari still didn’t understand what was going on.
“What happened?” she asked, trying not to watch how the huge convict Wheezer had called “Wayboid” was tearing into the charred bird flesh. “How did he know the bird was going to be hit by lightning?”
A small part of her brain tried to tell her she was missing something here—some vital information—but she didn’t want to hear it.
“Hit by lightning?” Wheezer broke out into a gasping laugh. “Why bless me, lad—that warn’t no lightning—no it twarn’t!”
“What was it then?” Ari demanded. “I saw what happened to that poor bird—it looked like it was electrified and then it caught on fire. What else could cause that but lightning?”
“Why, the invisi-laser ceiling the Yonnite Mistresses had installed last solar month, that’s what,” Wheezer exclaimed.
“What? Why?” Ari looked up into the seemingly-clear sky, her mind churning in panic as she tried to process this new development.
“Oh, there was some concern over a high-risk prisoner—a real animal he is—that was comin’ in from Priux Prime. The more dangerous the prisoner, the more the Yonnites get paid for keepin’ ‘im, you understand. But the Priux Prime Minister refused to send ‘im unless there was absolutely no likelihood of him ever escaping.” He snorted laughter. “As if anything—man or beast—could go up fifty feet of electrified razor wire. Still, to keep the Priuxs happy, the Mistresses installed the laser ceiling. And Wayboid’s been getting a bit of extra protein ever since.”
“Do…” Ari’s lips were so dry she had to lick them twice before she could go on. “Do the lasers extend over the entire Rec Yard? Or is it just a…a few beams here and there?”
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