by Shea Oliver
After packing Celestina’s luggage into the lower part of the tube, the porter closed the padded, flat bed-like surface. He offered her a hand to help her climb in. Like practically everyone who traveled via tube, she hated the experience. However, it was more than worth the expense to pay for this “first-class” treatment.
Other tube stations offered significantly fewer amenities. Passenger’s luggage would be pressure-packed in luggage tubes, often arriving hours or days after the passenger was transported through. In those standard-class stations, passengers were sorted by size and packed to maximize the numbers of people in the very tight spaces of the tubes. Of course, each person had his or her own space, but some tubes had been configured to stack three or even four skinny people together.
She sat on the bed surface, watching the activity around her. It was constant activity, but because of the price she paid, it was pampered, constant activity. An employee with a large pushcart came down the walkway, stopping at each tube. When she stopped in front of where Celestina was sitting, the employee, smiling, greeted her very cheerfully.
“My esteemed Chief Executive Minster, it is an honor to have you traveling with us again,” the employee began.
“Thank you. I wouldn’t travel to Zoranth any other way,” replied Celestina.
“You are very kind. May I offer you a cocktail while you wait?”
“No thank you. It’s nerve-racking enough to be closed into this tube, without adding anything to my bladder.”
The employee, smiling a broad, knowing smile, affirmed, “I completely understand. Please allow me to review the safety information and your options.”
She reviewed with Celestina how to lie within the tube and close the hatch if she didn’t want to wait for it to automatically close. Then she confirmed that Celestina was correctly positioned in the tube for the actual ride through the portal itself. She pointed out that on the hinged side of the tube there was a handrest with a single button. If at any time, after the tube was closed, Celestina should experience any significant claustrophobia or panic attack, simply pushing the button would release an aerosol sedative near her head. One breath and she would sleep like a baby until the tube was opened in Zoranth. Speaking or yelling the word “help” would also release the sedative.
The temptation was always huge to push that button, but Celestina hated being out of control, and a sedative would do just that. She watched as the hatches on nearby tubes began to close. In the distance she heard a man yell, “I fucking hate that!” She correctly assumed it was someone arriving into the station from Zoranth.
A voice from a speaker inside her tube told her they would be departing soon. She was instructed to lie down, and the safety procedures were repeated again. The bed was padded enough to be comfortable, but not enough to ease the tension Celestina felt as the door closed. A dim light went on inside her tube, but a terrible sensation of entrapment began seeping into her mind. The voice came on again, asking if she would like to listen to any music. While she could have picked any type of music, musician, or even relaxing sounds, she declined. Closing her eyes, she made a mental note to someday find out why no one had ever thought to put windows in these horrid canisters.
The tube left the station, quickly accelerated on its way to the building that housed the portal itself, and then slowed as it entered the building. While the ride was smooth, she could still feel the tube being transferred between the rail-like guides and being coupled to other tubes.
A few moments later, the voice piped in again, “Please prepare for safety enclosure and portal transport.” Celestina felt her body clinch up as the inside of the tube began to shrink. A soft, pliable material swelled out from the walls of the tube, formfitting and pressing against everything but her face. It was like being incased in some type of foam. She could press against the material, and it would give way, but the harder she pressed, the less it gave. It was simply a shock absorber for the rapid acceleration on this side of the portal and the rapid braking on the other side of the portal.
Then it began. A momentary tug, as the tube began to move, followed by an explosion of speed. While the ride itself was only a matter of seconds, the experience of moving through the portal was different than anything else in the universe. The sensation of rapid acceleration is suddenly replaced by an eerie feeling of absolute calm. It is like floating, weightless in a vast ocean of tingling sensations. Time itself feels almost indefinable, like you have always existed, yet never been real. A wave of relaxation sweeps across your being, only to be replaced by a nearly indescribable feeling of suction. It is like you are the very last bit of a milkshake at the bottom of a glass that is violently sucked through a straw. Your body feels completely atomized and pulled through a tiny opening. Then, almost as if it had never happened, you feel the tube quickly decelerating.
About eight minutes later, Celestina’s tube door opened, and she quickly climbed out. She managed to refrain from screaming what the man on the Koranth side of the portal had yelled, but she was close. Like most, she hated the experience of portal travel. Employees were moving quickly up and down the walkways, carrying trays of shot glasses, like restaurant servers. As one came close, she grabbed one of the glasses and threw back her head to quickly swallow. The liquid had a slight burning sensation as it went down her throat, but within a minute she felt her heart rate slowing and breathing returning to normal.
Within an hour, she had cleared through security, customs, and the standard biological scans. Her shuttle was waiting and departed for the city of Dorando, the home city of Scharbigot Canchorus, one of the two Zoranth-based Ministers. Their relationship had been rather adversarial, but that was about to change. While she was to be on Zoranth for over a month, the meeting with Scharbigot was very time-sensitive.
Scharbigot Canchorus’ office was a rather plain affair, situated on the eighteen floor of a reasonably nice, but affordable building in Dorando. This was to be expected. The religion that Scharbigot followed was a conservative one of self-restraint, hard work, and modesty. He had risen to power partially based on his popularity with those of his own faith, and those of similar faiths. He was seen as a dedicated family man and an advocate for the average citizen. In Celestina’s mind, this would be one delicious meeting.
Scharbigot came across his office to greet her as she walked through the door. He was cordial, but weary, as he thought she was nothing more than a crafty snake. He gestured to a set of comfortable chairs and moved towards them. Once they were seated, and appropriate beverages served, he began to talk about some of the Ministry’s business, but she interrupted him.
“Minister Canchorus, I have some information of a personal nature that I need to share with you. You will want to turn off any recording or monitoring devices,” she stated bluntly.
He looked perplexed, but tapped a few places on a nearby table, and replied, “Okay, please continue.”
She held her face completely emotionless, making sure she didn’t smile. “I am sorry to bring you this news, but your son is being held at the Purostinov Justice Processing Center. His execution is scheduled for tomorrow.”
For a moment, he hesitated. A look of shock swept across his face, but was quickly replaced with a false calm demeanor. “This is impossible. I had breakfast with my son this morning. He is here on Zoranth, not on Koranth. You must be mistaken.”
A sinister smile crept across her face, as she pushed and swiped a device that was strapped to her wrist like a watch. A three-dimensional, holographic image of the head of a young man sprang up above the device. “No, not your legitimate son here on Zoranth, but this one.”
Shock spread across his face again, and for a moment he thought that his heart had stopped beating. The image that he was seeing was indeed one of his sons. It just happened to be from another family, a secret family. His religion was quite opposed to more than one wife, as were the laws in practically every country on both planets. He closed his eyes, knowing that he was trapped and
realizing that something terrible must have happened to his son.
“Your son attacked another man in a nightclub, and the other man died of his wounds. Your son is scheduled for execution tomorrow,” Celestina reported.
While many would have condemned him for having two wives, he loved them both and loved all of his children. This was devastating news. He was a man of power and influence. Perhaps he could use this to change the situation and save his son. Of course, this would mean that his wives would find out about one another, along with the entire world. The media frenzy would be brutal. He would certainly lose his position as Minister, and his reputation would be destroyed. His mind kicked into overdrive, trying to figure out how to deal with everything that was flooding into it all at once.
Celestina let everything soak in for a few moments and then authoritatively offered, “There is a simple way to save your son, your marriages, your position, and your reputation.”
“I doubt that. He only has one day.” He paused for a moment, letting out a deep sigh, “What can be done?”
She explained, “It is very simple. One of the board members of Purostinov owes me a very, very big favor. I can simply have your son’s execution delayed indefinitely. Perhaps, we could even have him transferred to a decent facility for containment.”
Scharbigot closed his eyes for a moment, realizing there was absolutely nothing he could do, but trust that Celestina could help. “Please, I’ll do anything to save my son. What do you want?”
The sinister smile had left Celestina’s face, to be replaced by one of resolute determination and an absolute coldness that sent a shiver down Scharbigot’s spine. “You’ll receive two proposals that I will present at the next meeting of the Ministry. You will wholeheartedly and enthusiastically support these proposals, along with any other proposals that I present.”
He understood what had just happened. She was offering him the life of his son, along with the ability to keep his life from exploding all around him. The cost was very simple and straightforward—he would have to become her pawn.
“My dear Lady Chief Executive Minister,” he let out in a long sigh, “you appear to have my soul in your hands, and, with it, my vote.”
Chapter 10
Paying Your Debts
Kadamba realized that he was trembling uncontrollably—like every joint in his body was being rattled against itself. His lungs needed oxygen, but each breath came in a terrible staccato fashion that simply rattled his bones even harder. It was hard to believe that he could have any tears left, but they kept flowing.
The meeting with Ocampo Rasmussen was over. In the space of a few minutes, he had decided his own fate. It was a choice of three different deaths. Nothing felt real. As his sobs began to subside, he sat up. He was back in his cell, or box, or whatever it was. The cell had returned to the stacks of other cells. It didn’t seem like anyone was watching him. He tried to calm himself and figure out what had just happened.
The perky voice suddenly broke the silence. “Thank you for allowing the Purostinov Justice Processing Center to process you. Please prepare for transport.”
Again he watched as the box began to move backwards out of the stacks of cells. As it had before, the box that he was in began changing and shrinking to become shaped exactly like a coffin, forcing Kadamba into a prone position. The transparent end of the box disappeared, and Kadamba simply lay there, accepting his fate. He began crying again as he felt the box shrinking even more tightly around him. Then a strange scent appeared in the air, and Kadamba became unconscious.
He awoke to two male voices. His surroundings were strange, almost feeling like a doctor’s office or operating room. As the fog began to lift, he realized that he was tightly strapped down to a narrow table, only slightly wider than his body. His arms were stretched out on extensions that came out from the table. His palms were up, and thin straps tightly held his wrists, elbows, and biceps.
“Good morning,” one of the male voices flatly stated. Both men were dressed in a uniform of some type. Their clothing was black and fairly tightfitting. One of the men looked down on Kadamba, trying to analyze and measure what type of person was strapped to the table.
“Seriously, Argosia, you’ll owe me even more,” the other man asserted. This man seemed colder. His face was slightly chubby, and his eyes seemed to have a malice about them. He stepped over and looked down on Kadamba, letting out a small chuckle. The long scar that stretched across his forehead seemed to mimic his cruel grin.
“We’ll see about that,” replied the man named Argosia.
Kadamba realized that he was completely naked. The processing center uniform was gone, and he was cold. He let out a shiver.
“You’ll appreciate the cold in a few moments,” the man with the scar noted coldly. “What did Ocampo tell you was going to happen here?”
Kadamba didn’t understand. He looked at the man with obvious confusion on his face.
The man continued, “What did your processing representative tell you would happen when you got here?”
“I don’t understand the question,” Kadamba replied honestly, “I had three choices. This was my choice.”
The man without the scar, Argosia, cut in before Kadamba could say much more, asking, “Did Ocampo explain what would happen when you arrived?”
“No, she said nothing,” admitted Kadamba.
Argosia, releasing a long sigh, looked at the man with the scar, who was beginning to laugh. When his laugh subsided, he began talking again. “I told you so. That bitch is one cold-hearted monster. I like her a lot. I think she would skewer half her so-called ‘clients” if they’d let her. Of course, she left out a detail or two about what happens when you arrive here. Complete disclosure wouldn’t be her style. Actually, I’m not even sure that the Crime Review Committee requires what is about to happen. Ocampo probably just adds it to be cruel.”
Argosia looked down at Kadamba, who began to tremble. “Hang on, kid.” He reached for something, but the guard with the scar batted his hand away, pointing to the door. Argosia, shaking his head, walked out of the room.
The man with the scar looked down on Kadamba and then suddenly drove his fist into Kadamba’s gut. “Sucks to be you, boy that hurt, but this is going to hurt like hell. I know you didn’t know this is what would happen, but welcome to the Morphinia Containment Company, Jeorseral Facility—your prison for the next twenty-five years—although I doubt you’ll make it six months, shitbag.”
The man walked out of the room, leaving Kadamba completely alone. The lights went out, and for a few moments it was pitch black. He realized that the men had been betting on whether he knew what was going to happen next. Ocampo had only told him twenty-five years in prison. He knew whatever was coming would be terrible.
Then a humming noise began, and Kadamba heard something mechanical moving in the room. He let out a scream as the burning sensation hit the inside of his forearm. Looking over, he could see a laser beam burning his arm. The pain was excruciating. He was being branded by the laser. It moved down his left arm, as if it was writing something. The smell of his own burning flesh hit him. He began to heave in between his own screams, but there was nothing left in his stomach.
It went dark again, and Kadamba cried out in agony. He had never felt anything so painful in his life. The smell was terrible. He felt himself begin to sob again. Then the room lit up again as the laser burned into his right inside forearm. Kadamba released another wail. He tried to fight the straps that held his body but couldn’t move. He could only screech in pain, until he passed out again.
When Kadamba awoke, it was dark. Not pitch black, but still dark. He realized he wasn’t strapped down. His body was on something soft, or at least, slightly soft, like a bed. For a split second, he began to think that he was waking from a nightmare. Certainly, he must be in his own bed. As he sat up, he realized his arms felt like they were on fire. The memory of the branding came flooding back. He was in prison, obviously somewh
ere in Jeorseral, located thousands and thousands of miles from Stujorkian City in another country.
He was in a cell. It was much bigger than the one at the Purostinov Justice Processing Center. It must have been ten feet by eight feet, and it was obvious that he could stand up, which he did. One end of the cell appeared to have an open door, so he walked towards it. The force field covering the doorway sizzled when he hit it, sending a mild shock through his body. He sat down on the bed and tried to gingerly touch the burned places on his arms, but they were too tender. Kadamba realized there was a blanket on the bed. He lay down, covered himself with the blanket, and began to softly cry. The only thing he could think was why he didn’t pick the trial and death. Maybe it would have been better.
Ka opened his eyes. He was back at Schmarlo’s Landing, but completely alone. There was no one anywhere that he could see. He looked down. His arms weren’t burnt. He began walking around. This was the first time he had seen the Landing without at least a hundred people here. He walked to the area that was popular with the teenagers. The silence was almost deafening. He could hear each of his own footsteps. The food vendor carts were empty. No food.
Then he thought he heard a cough, or maybe it was a sniffle. He couldn’t place where it came from. Then it happened again, this time, a little louder. Ka began walking, then jogging. Hearing it again, he began running in the direction from which he was sure it was coming.
The buzzing sound awoke Kadamba, and he bolted straight up in his bed. It had been a dream. He wasn’t on Schmarlo’s Landing. He was in prison. The pain in his arms was nearly unbearable. He pushed back the tears, knowing he had to get a grip on what was happening. He looked around. The cell was absolutely barren, except for a single, neatly folded, red garment on the floor.
It was like the prison uniform, except that it was short-legged and short-sleeved. It didn’t matter. Kadamba felt exposed. He figured at least one person had walked by the cell, and he didn’t want to be naked anymore. He stuck his feet through the hole in the back, and similar to the justice center uniform, the back closed itself, and the uniform shrunk to a snug fit. Reaching around, he felt a little button at the top of the closure. He immediately thought about the pole that attached to the prison uniforms at the Purostinov Justice Processing Center that enabled the guards to move him around like livestock of some kind. He touched the button and was relieved when the back simply opened. He touched the bottom of the closure, and the opening resealed itself. Maybe, just maybe, he would not be led around on the end of pole.