by Gavin Magson
The chief leant forwards in his chair, locking onto Ajax's eyes with an unwavering, hard stare. To Ajax an age passed before he relaxed back into his seat.
“So this was a simple robbery gone wrong? That is your story?” asked the chief.
“I'm not a common killer, I might have been down on my luck but I just needed some quick money. I've lost my job, I'm about to lose my lodgings, I needed the cash fast. I never thought this was going to happen, he wasn't supposed to wake up.”
“Fine, I can buy this story, but I did not lie about what would happen if I saw you one more time. You'll be in front of the judge tomorrow, enjoy your last night in my city. I suspect that you won't be seeing it again alive.”
They had at least removed his handcuffs before tossing him into a cell, Ajax barely managed to avoid landing on his shoulder. His first course of action was to finally pop the injured shoulder back in place, after surveying the dank cell for anything of use.
Ajax pushed against the corner of a wall, checking that there were no sharp protrusions that would worsen his condition. Satisfied he lent back and jerked his shoulder, cracking it against the corner and, with a loud snap, it was back into the socket. He roared out from the pain that erupted and heard the echoing laughter that followed from outside his cell. He collapsed to the bed and fell unconscious, his body’s natural defence against the pain.
When his cell door opened again Ajax was dragged out by three officers, still half asleep and struggling to get up to speed. He was chained to a line of criminals formed in the long corridor, its walls bleak and the prospects of release even bleaker. He was still stunned by the sudden wakeup call when they were marched up steep steps into the headquarters foyer. His eyes rapidly adjusted to the bright light, he had been left in darkness in his cell and once more his eyes watered.
It soon became apparent to him that all on the chain gang were awaiting trial. His eye had healed overnight, finally allowing him to open it and he wished it remained shut. Guns were trained on him and those along the line, the officers holding the weapons all wore the same stern expression. To attempt escape was a death sentence.
Ajax was expecting the queue to be dragged outside for transport, but soon realised as they were marched outside the building and lead along the street that the court was not far. The courthouse was the next building along, it's low roof a surprise to Ajax. It was certainly nowhere near as grand, dwarfed by the marble monstrosity they had just left. Two stone pillars, crudely carved and aged by the weather, framed a simple doorway. As one the line of men and women were walked through the archway, Ajax was barely aware of the sobbing and curses along the line, he filtered out the background noise and focused on remaining calm.
As the queue was led through the building Ajax surveyed those he was chained to. If he were the judge he would sentence each and every one of them to life simply on appearance alone, all were rough and guilty of something in their own right. He just hoped that he was not handed a death sentence, all the same he knew his chances of escape in that scenario were well beyond slim.
They were left queued up outside a battered set of wooden doors, awaiting their turn for sentencing. When the doors were opened by an officer the chain gang that had just been tried were rioting in their shackles, at least two were being beaten by batons in an attempt to keep them under control. An officer shoved Ajax forward, concertinaing the queue so all they could do was march forwards.
The court room was small, the only seats provided were for the judge and his aids, who sat behind thick wire mesh that went from floor to ceiling. The chain gang formed up in a line, Ajax held his head up and remained silent as those around him conveyed their anger, sorrow and anguish. Those foolish enough to shout or spit were silenced swiftly and painfully.
Several officers stood guard over the judge and watched as each defendant was called forward in turn. Ajax did not listen to the procession as judgement was passed, he could tell by the reactions the hammer evoked that none would avoid prison.
His name was called and Ajax stepped forwards, unwittingly dragging the nearest person either side with him. A charge was read and he pleaded guilty, just as Rine had advised he do. The judge paused as she processed the surprise; a guilty plea was rarer than gold in the slums. The sentence was a mere thirty years in the prison colony. Ajax did not flutter an eyelid.
Ajax was strapped into an unpadded seat on a dilapidated transport overfilled with convicts, all destined for the same fate in Justice One. He had not realised at the time that two men had been sentenced to death by the judge. Hearing their screams through the transporters underside as it dragged their bodies away from Sector Four and through the desert had been unpleasant, but they had ceased some time ago. That had been unexpected, but informative none the less.
He could turn his head just enough to see out of the nearest window, the only thing in sight was dune after dune, arid desert stretched out further than the eye could see. The battered transporter was flying low and fast, at times they would pass a village and a small sandstorm would roll through in their wake, angry curses screamed at them but unheard by the passengers.
They were strapped down in rows of three, a thin walkway divided the convicts in half and was patrolled by four guards, all sporting batons, pistols and automatic rifles. Each request for water landed the speaker with a swift crack of the baton, usually followed by howls of pain and screams from the nearest prisoners. Ajax knew now was the time to keep quiet, he could not risk any injury prior to arrival.
Each prisoner was wearing roughly the same clothes as they were when arrested, a few lost expensive boots or jewellery, anything that the guards felt they would not need in prison. No one had looked twice at what Ajax wore, the trousers muddied and torn, the once grey shirt now stained dark red from arterial blood. He noticed that the woman sat on his right was clutching something in her hand, her knuckles white from her tight grip.
Ajax leant his head as close to the woman as he could manage, the chocker chaining him to his seat biting into his neck. “If that is small enough to swallow you should do it now, otherwise you will lose it as soon as we arrive.” his whispers gave the woman a start, when she turned to look at him her eyes were red from tears and her lip split. Her eyes darted around, checking his face for lies, or a threat; he knew not which.
She seemed to deliberate on his words for a moment before opening her palm, flicking the small gold band into her mouth and quickly swallowing it before a guard had chance to see. She mouthed, “Thank you.” to Ajax.
Ajax became aware of the transporter beginning to decelerate, which came in big sudden lurches rather than a smooth easing off the thrusters. He knew the guards were no rookies, they had taken seats moments before the ship began to slow and were opting for the heavily padded seats at the crafts front.
When he looked out of the window once more Ajax could not believe what his eyes could see, the schematics really did not do the prison justice. The desert seemed to halt abruptly, tall sand dunes suddenly levelled out and formed a perimeter around the expansive complex. Buildings that made Rine's slaughterhouse seem like a small shed glared sunlight from their roofs and stretched far into the distance. Other than by air he could not see how someone could reach the prison, there were no roads that snaked through the desert and they had not passed a town for some time.
Their transporter began to lose height, dropping towards an old landing platform among a line of similar crafts. Ajax tensed for what came, just as the engines cut out during their descent. All he could hear was the shrieks around him as panic briefly set in. With a thundering crash the aircraft bounced off the platform, jarring his whole body.
There were only a few prisoners who braced for the impact, a chorus of choking sounds came from dozen of throats as their collars cut into flesh. The harness strapping Ajax to his seat slackened as a guard at the ships front hit a release, finally allowing him to move his cramped muscles.
“Everyone out of your seats and mov
e to the rear doors, form a line when outside. Don't even think of escaping, we will gun you down.” said another of the guards, cocking his weapon.
Ajax struggled out of his seat and merged with the marching prisoners, their eyes downcast as reality sunk in. His head hit the low ceiling with a thud and he stooped down, cursing under his breath. He fought back tears as he neared the ships exit, the strong desert light was unbelievably intense as it reflected off the sands. He was left blind momentarily until his eyes adjusted.
There were many landing pads in sight and more ships could be seen stretching along the base of the dunes. All the prisoners were lined up, some forty odd Ajax estimated, outside of the nearest building and thankfully in its shadow. There was no escaping the intense desert heat, but what little shade on offer was welcomed by the dehydrated prisoners.
“Each and every one of you have been tried by a judge of Konar City, convicted for your crimes and sent to Justice One to serve your sentence. This will be the final resting place for most of you, so try and think of it as a new home. There is no escape,” the speaking guard indicated the desert behind him, “no one can survive the desert heat, nor the animals that would hunt you.
“Food and water is only rewarded to those who work for it. If you wish to live your only choice is to work in the factories or our mine. Attack a guard and you will die, try to escape and you will die. That is all.” the man turned on his heel and left, leaving the four officers from the transporter to guard over them.
The guards moved behind the line, their batons brought down on the prisoners legs until they all started to crumple to the sands. They had no choice but to take the beating, to rebel would sign their own death sentence. Through the pain Ajax heard a guard call out, “Trousers down, you are all being searched for contraband.”
This had little to do with searching for smuggled possessions and a lot more to do with humiliating the prisoners. Ajax could do little to fight the gloved fingers that turned out his pockets, combed through his hair and checked every orifice.
Anger rose in him as the younger female prisoners were singled out for extended searching, tears streamed down their faces as the vile guards abused the helpless women. He wished nothing more than to break his chains and fight back, but there was nothing he could do against the armed men. Ajax bit back his anger and struggled to keep it in check, he was enraged that he could do little but block out the cries.
When the ordeal finally came to an end the prisoners picked up what remained of their dignity and were marched onwards, into the large building with its low roof. Ajax had seen it from above, just before their rapid descent and was surprised that the long building was no more than two storeys high. They stepped through a smaller door to the side of the closed main entrance, which lead them along a short corridor teaming with automatic guns trained on the prisoners. One false move and the convoy would turn into a collection of human colanders.
When they stepped past the arsenal into the building Ajax saw that the entire floor was awash with activity as far as he could see. Large vehicles were being loaded with fabric, minerals and containers bearing markings he did not recognise. From his position in line Ajax could not see the furthest end, despite standing nearly a head above his fellow inmates.
Ajax only had a few moments to survey the hectic scene, the chains on his wrist bit as the line was lead towards a wide staircase. He hesitated on the top step; the descent into blackness sent a shiver up his spine. Ajax took his first step into Justice One.
The air was cooler down here, it felt refreshing on his glistening skin as the desert heat ebbed away. Ajax ran his hand along a rough wall, feeling coarse sand scrape off under his nails as he was dragged onwards. The staircase stopped suddenly on a mezzanine floor, through which the group could look down into a tunnel below. He could see people, hundreds of prisoners crossing the tunnel hurriedly in groups; the whistles and howls made them sound more animal than human.
At the floors far end was a ceiling high gate, not enough of a gap under or between the thick iron bars for a human to consider escape. The officers accompanied them up to the gate where one man unlocked the chains as the others trained their guns on the prisoners. Once the gate swung open they were corralled through and the guards made a hasty retreat. When the last prisoner was beyond the gate it closed and they were left to fend for themselves.
Ajax was not sure if the gates even had time to lock behind him before the first punch was thrown. A burly man in ragged clothes detached himself from the shadows and attacked the prisoner nearest to him. More men filtered out from a variety of cover offered by the underground tunnel, charging at the group with handmade weapons raised overhead.
The first man to reach Ajax died quickly, the hand carved knife quickly dislodged from his grip and driven through his eye, straight into the brain. Ajax pulled the blade free and dropped to one knee as another charged at him with a cudgel. He rammed the blade into flesh and watched the man collapse, clutching at his ruined leg. He died with a blood curdling scream when the rough blade plunged through his chest and carved its way to his heart.
The crude stone blade snapped as it hit bone, crumbling in his hand. Ajax cursed its decease owner and discarded the handle, picking up the cudgel instead. The weapon had a good weight to it, someone had done a better job in its construction.
The woman he had sat next to during his flight was flat against a wall, screaming as a bestial figure advanced on her with a hungry look in his eyes and rape on the mind. Ajax ran between the pitched skirmishes and brought the cudgel down with force on her assailant’s skull, dropping him instantly. The woman looked like she was about to thank Ajax when her eyes flared wide and she began to stammer.
He spun just in time to block the thundering blow, a tall man swung a long wooden club dangerously at head height. The man was young and inexperienced, he went to swing his club again and gave Ajax all the opening he needed. The cudgel came down on his left forearm with a wet snap, breaking bone that pierced skin in a spurt of blood and cartilage. His howl reverberated off the walls as the would-be attacker clutched his ruined arm. Ajax moved quickly to grip the screaming man's head in the crook of his arm and twisted until a soft crunch confirmed the kill.
The screams and cries of the battle ceased suddenly and Ajax heard rapidly retreating footsteps; the few remaining attackers had fled back into the gloom. He turned around and saw all eyes on him and could only imagine the thoughts behind them. He had not expected to have killed five minutes after arrival in Justice One, though he knew he could not have avoided it for long.
Fresh blood was becoming a permanent addition to his clothes, he flicked off a chunk of flesh from his shirt and walked over to the nearest body. Ajax began riffling through the deceased man's pockets, ignoring the numerous attempts prisoners tried to make eye contact with him.
No one spoke, they just watched him at work until he had finished. Ajax stood up from searching the last man and looked at the scared faces staring back at him. He walked away down the tunnel, heading deeper underground. Before ten paces he could hear footsteps; he did not look back to check how many followed him.
Chapter 19
Ilya's chest was on fire, her lungs pure agony. As she ran through the night time streets her breathing came through in hard, ragged breaths. Her pursuers were catching, she could hear their pounding footfalls getting closer by the second. She turned sharply down an alleyway and reacted fast to dodge a homeless man cooking something putrid over his small fire.
Ilya heard someone fall heavily behind her. She savoured her modicum of luck, they must not have been as nimble and had collided with the unwitting obstruction. Curses rang out as she pumped her legs harder, willing her tiring body to go faster. She finally reached the alleys end, a tall light marked the start of another street. A passer-by was almost flattened as a woman rushed past, three figures close behind.
Ilya had spent the last few minutes of the chase thinking solely about her stupid mistake, tr
ying to rob the wrong people had obviously not paid off. In her youth she had been a renowned card hustler, winning plenty of bets and getting in some serious trouble; back then it had seemed so effortless to evade anyone who realised her tricks.
In her mind Ilya cursed herself for getting out of shape, only a few years ago her speed would have seen her clear of the pursuers and back to the orphanage in time for supper. There was little choice left for her, flight was off the cards.
Ilya rounded a corner, hammering on the brakes to flatten against the wall, her leg outstretched. A figure came bolting past and she swiped the legs from under the man, sending him careening through the air. She did not stop to watch the aftermath, but hearing his loud cries of pain was enough for her. Ilya landed two punches on the woman who quickly followed her downed colleague, but it was a losing battle.
Once the last man had caught up Ilya was fighting two at a time, her only advantage her thin frame and fast reflexes. Hands grabbed her arms and pushed them against the wall, leaving Ilya defenceless to the body blows that caused her to grunt and howl with pain.
A hover passed their turning, but the attackers did not even halt their onslaught as lights illuminated them all. Ilya heard the click of a switch blade being pulled out; it was time to pay for her mistakes. She closed her eyes and braced for the piercing blow, but it never came. The hands holding her arms back released and she opened her eyes in shock.
The hover was parked up at the roadside, the door left open as its passenger was fighting off her assailants. Ilya watched him in motion, hardly believing this smartly dressed man could fight like a true brawler. He easily blocked a wild knife swing with his forearm and landed a satisfying punch to the woman's gut, winding her so much that she dropped to both knees.