Ari swallowed. Well, it sounded like her new boss had a very literal hands-off policy. It was a good thing she wasn’t even remotely tempted by porn.
“Thanks for the warning,” she told Wheezer. “But honestly, I promise I’ll just do my job and leave all of Mr. Stubbins’, uh products alone.”
“Ah, I know you will. You’re a good lad—a good lad.” And Wheezer clapped her on the back again. He sighed regretfully. “Of course, I’ll be sorry to see you go but being a fix-it is a big step up, so it is. Hopefully you’ll get more status and you won’t have to hide in Medic’s shadow so much.”
“I’m not hiding in his shadow,” Ari protested, feeling irritated.
“Yes, you are lad and it’s good he’s willing to let you,” Wheezer said seriously. “I heard about what happened in the trustee showers today. If Medic hadn’t stood by you, you’d be Tapper’s bum-boy by now and that you would.”
Ari had to admit he was right. She might have been able to get in a few Ton-kwa kicks or moves against Tapper but in the end she was pretty certain the rest of the prisoners would have taken her down. Tapper held a lot of sway here at BleakHall—the other trustees wouldn’t have tolerated her disrespecting him.
“That’s true, I guess,” she said in a low voice. “I just wish Tapper would leave me alone! Why can’t he just move on down his list and bother somebody else?” Not that she wished Tapper’s attentions on anyone else but still, it seemed he had been focused on her since she had gotten to BleakHall and she wished the sweaty, hairy gang boss would just move on.
“I think what draws him is the idea that you’re a virgin-like,” Wheezer said thoughtfully. “You really shouldn’t have told him Medic didn’t take you. The whole of the prison was sure he would after what they thought they saw in the Rec Yard yesterday.”
“What do you mean what they thought they saw?” Ari demanded, remembering what Tapper had said. “Lathe—I mean Medic—and I weren’t doing anything. I was upset and he was, um, comforting me.”
“Well you know that and Medic knows that and I know that because I was watching Medic’s back, so I was,” Wheezer said, nodding. “But all the rest of the prison knows is that you and Medic were in the fuck-and-suck corner for a goodish amount of time. Nobody could see much because Medic’s such a big, tall fellow, so he is. But being as where you were and how close you were, everybody just kind of assumed.”
“Well, they shouldn’t,” Ari protested. “I never…I didn’t…” She broke off, feeling her cheeks get hot with a guilty blush. No, she hadn’t done what the rest of the BleakHall inmates assumed she had with Lathe, but she had done more than she should have the night before. Especially if she wanted to keep her secret from the big Kindred.
I didn’t mean to, though! she protested to herself. How could I know that letting him bite me would make me come?
It was such a mess. She’d been trying to end it all and instead she’d started something she wasn’t sure she could stop or control with Lathe.
“Doesn’t matter whether you did what Tapper said or no,” Wheezer told her, breaking her guilty chain of thought. “The fact is, ‘tis better to let the other inmates think so. If they believe that Medic is protecting you out of love rather than just pity, they’re much more likely to steer clear of you and let you be.”
“Do you really think so?” Ari frowned. “Why would that be?”
“Because a man in love will fight to his last breath to protect what’s precious to him. Whereas a man who’s just playing the big brother to a newbie because he feels sorry for the little guy getting picked on, well… He’s much more likely to get tired of the job and eventually turn a blind eye if the newbie gets roughed-up a bit-like,” Wheezer explained. “Does that make sense to you, boy?”
Actually, it did. And it made Ari wonder how Lathe really felt about her. Why was he actually protecting her in the first place? Did he just feel sorry for her and would he eventually get tired of running interference to keep Tapper off her?
“You’d better stay as close to Medic as you can,” Wheezer went on, apparently in lecture mode. “Yes, you should! And it wouldn’t hurt to let the rest of the inmates in the prison see the two of you together in the way they thought you was together on the yard yesterday, if you take my meaning.”
“I do,” Ari whispered numbly. “Thank you, Wheezer. You’ve…certainly given me a lot to think about.”
“Well, I like you, Ari-lad.” The old inmate clapped her on the back with one hard, wrinkled claw and grinned. “Now, I’m supposed to send you off to Stubbins now. So just you be a good lad and run over to the main stairwell by the entrance to the Mess Hall—that’s where the Spice Lords set up shop.”
“But…how can I get there?” Ari asked. “I don’t have trustee status to let me open doors between the different parts of the prison the way you and Medic do.”
“True enough. Though Mukluk promised to put you in the system soon.” Wheezer nodded. “Well, I’ll walk you over myself, then, so I will. Come on.” And with a nod at his second-in-command—an inmate with loose, hanging, rubbery lips and drooping eyelids—he led Ari out of the Laundry and down the metal hallway towards her new work assignment.
Twenty-Four
Lathe waited until he was safely alone in the Infirmary to check on the nanites’ progress. Going into the supply closet, he moved the cleaning equipment—a broom and a mop with light, non-lethal aluminum handles, some weak cleaning solution that couldn’t be used to poison anyone because it was so diluted, and a bucket of rags and soft sponges—also non-lethal. Under the bucket was a ragged bit of carpeting that had been there since before Lathe got to BleakHall.
Under it, was something which hadn’t been there until he arrived. A hole just big enough to admit a male with his dimensions—he had programmed the nanites exactly—led down into the darkness. Reaching for the prison ID tag imbedded in his flesh, just between his clavicles, Lathe tapped a special sequence with the tip of his index finger.
At once, the nanites responded. A pattern of silent vibrations played through the ID, informing Lathe that the nanites were working at eighty percent capacity at the moment, digging and flattening exactly two cubic feet of soil a day and lengthening the tunnel by a commensurate amount. At this cautious rate of speed, they avoided tripping the sensors that were all around BleakHall and were attuned to such escape attempts. Which meant the tunnel would be ready for use in five or six days.
Lathe hesitated, then tapped a code on his ID, increasing the nanites’ speed to ninety percent. It was pushing things a little but should still be within the safe limits—just under the level of digging that would trip the prison’s sensors. He was taking a bit of a chance but he wanted to be out of here sooner rather than later. The scene today between Ari and Tapper convinced him that he needed to get the lad away from BleakHall as soon as possible.
For a moment he wondered when he should tell Ari they were going. Should he wait until the night of the escape? Or should he warn the boy ahead of time? Let him know they would soon be running for their lives? Should he—
“Medic? Medic where are you? Zzhould be here,” a gravelly alien voice called from the front of the Infirmary.
Quickly, Lathe replaced the ragged bit of carpet and the rest of the paraphernalia that camouflaged the hole. Grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and a rag as cover, he exited the supply closet, trying to look cool and collected though his heart was slamming against his ribs.
Mukluk was standing there waiting for him, an impatient look on his reptilian face. As always when he saw the head guard, Lathe felt the skin at the back of his neck prickle. He couldn’t be sure but he had a feeling that Mukluk must have had a hand in his brother Thonolan’s death.
It’s probably a good thing I’m not sure, he told himself grimly. If I knew he was the one who had killed Thonolan, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from wringing his scaly neck!
“Yes?” he said shortly, keeping his murderous thoughts to himself
as he uncapped the disinfectant and began swabbing the cracked plasti-cover of his exam table with the rag. “What do you want, Mukluk?”
“Izz not what I want, Medic,” the big Horvath growled. “Izz what the Mizztrezzez want.”
“What?” Lathe frowned. “What do you mean? What Mistresses?”
“Mizztrezzez on BleakHall Board of Directorzz,” Mukluk said. “They are vizziting tomorrow night—having a meeting. But zzeveral of them are not bringing their body zzlaves.”
“Oh?” Lathe frowned. He knew, of course, that the Yonnite Mistresses on the BleakHall Board—most of whom had monetary stakes in the prison—met at least once a cycle, sometimes more, but he had never been present at one of their meetings before. “So why are you telling me this?” he asked Mukluk.
The lizard guard’s forked tongue shot out and swiped in a leisurely way over one yellow, slitted eyeball.
“We need zzerving zzlaves,” he told Lathe. “You and your new little friend will zzerve.”
Lathe felt his heart leap in his chest. Here was a chance not only to record the brutality that went on at BleakHall, but the actual words of the Mistresses who ran it! He couldn’t have asked for better evidence of corruption to show to the Yonnite Sacred Seven. And now Mukluk was offering it to him for free. Still, he kept his face neutral as he answered.
“And why are Ari and I being given this honor? Are you afraid Tapper would try to cut someone’s throat if you let him out among the Mistresses?”
Mukluk made a gravelly buzzing-humming sound of dissatisfaction deep in his scaly throat.
“You are one of the only prizzoners we have that doezzn’t hate femalezz,” he admitted at last. “And the boy izz too young to hate azz the older malezz do.”
“We’ll serve,” Lathe said shortly. “Tomorrow night is it? What time? And where?”
“The upper confernze room in the private wing after lightzz out,” Mukluk informed him.
“After lights out?” Lathe frowned. “And how the hell are we supposed to get up there without being devoured by lashers?” The lashers wouldn’t bother him, of course but Ari was a different story.
Mukluk made an impatient noise at the back of his throat.
“I will zzet the climate control zzyztem not to blow the cold air until fifteen minutezz after the lazzst zzhip hazz left. That zzhould give you plenty of time to get from the private wing back down to your zzell.”
“Thirty minutes,” Lathe said firmly. “We might have to clean up afterwards.” As a matter of fact, he had hacked into the prison’s control system and written a small override to the climate system himself, when he’d first come to BleakHall. He’d thought it might be necessary if he had to bring other prisoners out with him when he left. But he had never tested it and he preferred not to have to now.
Mukluk lashed his heavy tail in annoyance.
“Very well. Thirty minutezz but not a zzecond more.”
“Fine—that should be sufficient.” Lathe nodded. “We’ll be there.”
“Zzee that you are.” With a flicker of his forked tongue, Mukluk turned and left the Infirmary.
Lathe watched him go, trying to control his excitement. Finally he would get incontrovertible proof that the Yonnites running BleakHall were corrupt! When he finally got out of this hellhole, he would have enough evidence to prosecute every last one of them.
Which was exactly what he planned to do.
Thonolan, my brother—you shall be avenged!
Twenty-Five
“So you’re the new fix-it, are you? Wheezer says you’re good. He’d better be right.”
Stubbins, Ari’s new boss, was a short, squat troll of a man with bristly black hair and bushy caterpillar-like eyebrows drawn low over narrow, suspicious blue eyes. He was sitting in the stairwell leaning on a folding table placed in the stairwell with the stump of a thick nico-stick smoldering in an ashtray at his side. He ignored it, however, in favor of cleaning his fingernails with a long, sharp piece of metal which looked suspiciously like a knife to Ari. She’d been under the impression that the inmates weren’t allowed to have weapons but she wasn’t exactly surprised to see the rules being broken. Stubbins was surrounded by other members of his gang—all of them heavily tattooed and ferocious looking.
“Yes, Mr. Stubbins,” she said, nodding her head respectfully. “I’ll do my very best for you.”
“The way I hear it, the one you’re doing your best for is Medic—down on your knees in the Rec Yard sucking his shaft, were you?” Stubbins looked up, fixing her with a bright blue gaze, his fingers still busy with the knife.
Words of denial rose hotly to her lips but Ari remembered Wheezer’s advice about letting the other inmates believe what they wanted about herself and Lathe. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed her anger down with difficulty.
“I promise my private life won’t affect my work, Sir,” she said stiffly. “I’m a hard worker.”
“A hard worker. Yes, that’s what I heard.” Stubbins roared with laughter and the other members of the Spice Lords gang laughed with him, their shouts echoing in the stairwell.
“A hard worker—that’s him! Workin’ his mouth and ass on Medic’s pole, that is!” one of the men chortled.
“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about this one stealin’ the pussy mags and vids like the last fix-it did,” another one of the gang members told Stubbins. “He won’t care about pussy when he’s too busy handling Medic’s cock.”
“All right now, boys—cut the lad a break.” Stubbins wiped tears of mirth from the corner of one sharp blue eye and took a puff on his nico-stick. “We shouldn’t tease ‘im so on his first day.” His face went suddenly serious as he stared at Ari. “Fix’it’s have a lot of responsibility, lad. You’re on your own and you have tools that can be lethal.” The silver knife in his hands flickered as he flipped it into the air and caught it—all without looking since his gaze never left Ari’s face. “Plus you have the same access as a trustee. Wheezer says you can be trusted even though you’re new. I say he’d better be right or you’ll be sorry. Am I making myself clear?”
Ari swallowed hard, remembering Wheezer’s tale of how the last fix-it had lost his hand.
“Absolutely, Mr. Stubbins, Sir,” she said respectfully, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “I can handle the responsibility—I promise.”
“You’d better, lad.” He frowned at her. “You go and do the job I tell you to do and you come right back and report—got it? You don’t go anywhere else in the prison and you bring back the tools I give you in perfect working order—tools which you will use only on the machinery you’re supposed to fix and not on other inmates.”
“But…what if someone takes the tools?” Ari blurted. “I mean, I would never do anything wrong but—”
“Of course you wouldn’t do nothin’ wrong—none of us would,” Stubbins said dryly. “That’s why we’re all locked up here in fuckin’ BleakHall.”
There was a roar of laugher again which he cut off with an abrupt movement of his knife-hand.
“But you don’t have to worry about someone taking your tools, lad,” he told Ari. “Every time you check them out, they’re coded only to you. Anyone else who tries to touch them…well, they’d better not for reasons that will be clear in a minute. Want to see?”
“Oh, no! I…I’d really rather not,” Ari protested quickly. “I’ll take your word for it, Sir.”
“Pretty words, lad, but you need to know first-hand why nobody can take your tools.” There was a grim practicality in Stubbins’s grizzled face as he spoke. He jerked his head at one of his gang. “Hey Tubby—bring out the tool chest.”
“You got it, boss.” A large inmate with a round belly that distended the front of his orange and blue striped jumpsuit, hauled out a heavy looking dull red box with padded handles. Placing it carefully on the folding table in front of Stubbins, he backed respectfully away.
“Here we go.” The Spice Lords boss rose and flipped open the r
ed metal lid. Inside were rows of dull silver metal tools, all with red handles.
Hammers and wrenches, screw-drivers and spanners all stared back at Ari when she looked down into the box. They would have seemed innocent enough to her back on Phobos but here they gleamed with a grim lethality. Any one of them could be used as a murder weapon and she was certain they would be if one of the other inmates got them away from her. Stubbins seemed certain that couldn’t happen but how could he be for sure? How—?
“Catch.” Stubbins picked up a small wrench and tossed it in Ari’s direction. She caught it reflexively and then gasped as a painful electric shock went through her fingertips and up her arm, numbing her from fingers to elbow.
“Oh!” She dropped the wrench with a clatter amid the trollish roaring laughter of the Spice Lords members.
“See there—what did I tell you?” Stubbins bent to retrieve the wrench himself. “A shock like that’ll will pop your balls like corn in a hot pan, lad! And don’t think any would-be thieves can defend against it either. Wearin’ rubber gloves or any other kind of protection doesn’t work. The shock’s insulation proof—it travels through anything if someone who isn’t meant to touch a tool grabs one.”
“I see.” Ari shook her shocked hand, trying to coax some life back into it.
“No you don’t lad, but you will…you will. The minute some idiot newbie who don’t know the rules tries to grab your hammer, you’ll see.”
“If the new fix-it’s not too busy grabbing Medic’s hammer to notice, that is,” roared one of the gang members. Laugher erupted, predictably, Ari thought.
She was getting tired of the insinuations and not-very-subtle double entendres but she knew it was best to bear them in silence, though she itched to shoot back a sharp reply.
“Now then,” Stubbins continued when the laughter died down. “Here’s the way the system works: I get a work order—we call them ‘kites’ around here—from one of the other trustees. I determine what tools you’ll need and I send you down with them to fix what’s broken.” He glared at Ari. “You go fix whatever it is and then come directly back and return my tools. No going all around in between jobs, stirring the shit with the other inmates. Just do your job right and come directly back here. Understand?”
Imprisoned Page 17