by K M Lovold
“You’re gonna want to pay attention ’cause once I explain your job, that’s it, Mr. Pristine. You’re on your own.” Jack snapped his fingers, his rust-colored goatee still hanging at a point.
Ian folded his arms across his chest. “All right, all right. And stop calling me Mr. Pristine. It’s Ian. My name’s Ian.” Despite his forgotten memories, he did remember that.
Jack leaned back and barked a laugh, then wiped dust and mud off the rock, revealing a dirty gem that looked bluish and glass-like.
“What is it? Is this all everyone is doing around here? Digging up dusty rocks?” Everywhere Ian looked, prisoners were doing one of two things: digging and pounding into the ground or pushing piles of rocks in large, oversized carts and disappearing down over a ledge with them. To where, Ian could not see. “What’s the big deal about them?”
“Mr. Pristine—uh, I mean, Ian—this is memroth. It ain’t dusty rocks. Reathran is where memroth is mined and collected and then delivered to Earth so people can light their world.” Jack twinkled his fingers in the air, tossed the dirty memroth into one of the large carts next to them, then handed Ian a pick ax. “At least that’s what they’ll be doing before you know it. Now get to work.”
Ian clutched the ax in both hands and stared at the rock Jack hurled into the cart. Memroth? He stepped over and put his hand on it, curious about the texture.
“I’ve been told memroth is soon to make its way across the world.” Jack didn’t look at him but kept hitting the ground.
Ian shook his head at the impossible feel of the rock, rough and smooth at once. “What is this stuff?”
“This”—Jack picked up a different, smaller stone and held it above him—“is what will soon supply all the energy on Earth. Once this is cleaned up and all sparkly looking and then smashed into smithereens—which is what us prisoners do by the way, and have been doing for many years—it’s sent to Earth, where the brains down there turn it into fancy pods that will supply power to homes and cars and whatever else.”
Jack tossed it in the cart. “Least that’s what I’ve been told.” He took his pick ax and pounded it into the ground. “You follow me now. Ya see? Keep picking at the ground ’til ya find a glow. Don’t matter how bright or how dull. Once ya see it, you’ll know. And when ya do, come get me. Don’t, and I repeat, don’t pound on the memroth itself, only dirt around it.” Jack slammed the ax into the mountain again.
Ian glared at Jack’s ax as it struck the dirt again and again, his brain a buzz of questions and cloudiness. On top of all that, he was told something, or someone else, now controlled him.
Jack paused with his ax mid-air and gave Ian a pointed look. “Get to it, new Reaman.”
Ian hefted his tool, found a good grip, and swung. The ax drove into the mountain and pulled him toward it. He toppled over, dust billowing up. His body wasn’t functioning like it should.
Jack busted out laughing. “You’ll get used to it, new Reaman, you’ll get used to it. Ya just got here. You’re still adjusting to that new chemical flowing through those veins of yours. Plus, you’ve been asleep for a long time, too.”
Ian pushed to his feet, scraping off the dust and dirt from his knees. “How do you know so much about what I’ve just been through?” Ian slammed his ax into the dirt again, this time preparing himself for the impact and holding himself steady.
“’Cause I’ve been here a long time, man. Long time.” Rocks and dust broke and flew out around them as Jack pounded.
Ian found a workable rhythm, though his swings were one to Jack’s three. “What did you say earlier, about how we’re the only ones who can mine this stuff? Something about radiation?”
Jack stopped and wiped the sweat off his brow. “You ask a lot of questions. I guess it can help to make the time go. Otherwise, the never-ending ax on rock can eat ya up alive.” He swung again. “Not that time going by means anything here in Reathran, but still—”
“Less talk.” A man approached them. “More work.” He was tall, must’ve been six-two or six-three. He wore his black hair in a thick bun and leather bands circled his wrist. The buttons on the bracelets named the guy a guard.
Ian stepped away from the man, and Jack puffed up his chest and lifted his chin up to the man. “No worries, Keeper. I’ve got the new prisoner. You know how they are—askin’ a lot of questions.” Jack stared straight at the man.
“Yeah, yeah, I know how they are, but they don’t need to know too much, now, do they?” The “keeper” stepped up to Ian and glared at him. “So, you’re the new one, 4158.” He crossed his arms with a wide stance and peered at Ian, never blinking. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, new Reaman.”
Sweat dripped down Ian’s face, but his feet froze to the rocky ground. And then the keeper turned over his wrist and pressed a finger to one of the buttons on his leather band, and just like that, Ian gave himself over to the man. Nothing physically happened but he knew. He knew the keeper now had control over him. As if his entire body and soul knelt down in surrender while he continued to stand at attention.
“We own you now. You got that?” The keeper poked Ian’s chest. “With the push of a button, you have no control. You’ll never leave this place, there’s no escaping Reathran. That’s just a reminder.” He stepped away from Ian and stared at Jack. “You see to it that you keep him in line.” Then he nudged Jack’s chest. “And don’t go filling his mind with too much information. He doesn’t need to know the way of it when he’s just arrived. Got it?”
Jack’s air of confidence seemed to evaporate, standing tall and straight. “You got it, Keeper. Won’t go fillin’ new Reaman with too much information.” He stared at the guard, who pressed his finger to a button on his leather band again.
Ian came back to himself, and it looked as if Jack had, too. Then the keeper turned and strode away from them, his thick boots crunching on the ground, expelling dust with each step, his radio making a static sound.
Ian scanned the area and noticed many other keepers like him pacing amongst the prisoners, their hands clutched behind their backs, some watching the others, some yelling at them. They all wore the leather bands and had radios fastened to their belts.
Ian let out a deep breath, and Jack started hacking at the mountain again.
“Jack.” Ian’s head swam and he put his hand to the wall of rock in front of him to steady himself. “What was the meaning of that? How do they do that to us? Is it really necessary? What’s with this controlling of us? It’s not humane.”
“New Reaman.” Jack dropped his ax and yanked at a piece of rock that must’ve been memroth, his muscles bulging through his leather shirt as he worked. “There’s nothing humane about this place. But no time to talk about that now. You’ll get your chance to learn more, I promise ya that, but not now. Not with all the eyes of the keepers staring at ya.” He motioned to Ian with his chin. “If ya haven’t noticed, there’s a lot of ’em staring at ya. That’s ’cause you’re new.” He returned to tugging the rock, which broke loose. He tossed it to Ian. “Wipe the dirt off that, will ya? Then throw it into the cart and try and find your own. We need to make our quota for the day, and if you don’t, I don’t, since I’m in charge of teachin’ ya.” He sniffed loudly. “At least for now.”
Ian caught the eye of a keeper not too far off. The man’s eyes narrowed at him, causing the hair on his neck to stand on end. He did as Jack said and rubbed dirt off the memroth, then returned to his pick ax and began walloping the wall of rock, searching for any sign of memroth. He stole another look at the keeper, who now stood next to another one. They both glared at him.
Again, Ian’s mind flooded with questions, but he focused on the job at hand. He wasn’t going to stay here. He didn’t care what Jack or any of these keepers said. They didn’t own him. He clenched his teeth. They would never own him.
****
Earth, years earlier
Ian and Malaki walked swiftly, side by side, in perfect step with each other. They app
roached the meeting room. Miniscule green lasers scanned both their eyes, and the door slid open. They stepped through and it closed behind them. Locked. No one could enter this room except for those in The Circle.
Ian took a deep breath. They were the first ones here.
“Welp. Let’s get ready.” Malaki looked at his watch and tugged his suit coat.
Ian laid his digital tablet on the oblong table where he always sat, just to the right of the head. Ten dark green cushioned chairs were situated around it. Several paintings decorated the walls, landscapes of the shorelines of Canyon Lake and Lake Sinclair, along with a few plaques and awards and markers of the company’s pride and prosperity. One lone photo of the ten men hung at the far end of the room.
They’d have to take a new photo soon. They always needed ten to complete The Circle.
Ian strode to the small kitchen area off the main room. “I’ll get coffee brewing.” He began scooping grounds into the coffee pot. “You get the water.”
Since no one else was allowed in this room, none of their assistants could prep it and get things ready for their meetings. Whoever arrived first took care of those duties. Usually that was Henry Nash, since he was the newest member of The Circle—only a six-year member—but Ian and Malaki arrived first this time. On purpose.
Malaki filled the crystal pitcher with ice and water, setting it in the center of the table, along with ten glasses.
Ian turned the coffee pot on. Soon the room would be filled with the scent of freshly brewed Columbian.
Malaki put his fists on his hips, sighing loudly. Nerves. “I just want to get this meeting over with.”
“Me as well.” Ian pulled out his chair and fell into it, clenching his hands then loosening them. “We already know who we want, and we’ve talked about it within The Circle a few times already, so the vote should be easy enough.” He checked his watch.
“True. It’s not like we haven’t done this a few times already, but this time it just feels – it feels different.” Malaki sat in his usual spot, to the left of the head of the table, opposite Ian.
Ian rubbed the middle of his forehead. “That’s because everything’s going to change after this. Everything.”
Malaki jumped up and paced. “I hate that we’re doing this when Stanton hasn’t even been laid to rest yet.”
“I agree.” Ian nodded. “But we have–”
The door slid open, and Henry Nash entered the room. He was younger than Ian, only thirty-nine, with blond, slicked-back hair and fair skin. He’d grown up in a wealthy family in Cumberland Foreside in Maine. He’d graduated with honors in Mathematical Physics from Harvard University.
“Oh, hi. You beat me.” Henry set his tablet and a notepad with a few pens at his place at the table and strode to the kitchen. “You have everything ready. Well done. Thank you.” He joined them at the table, glimpsing his phone. “How are you men doing?”
“Great.” Malaki returned to his chair. “How’s Angela?”
Henry smiled. “Wonderful as always. Being married suits me just fine.”
“That’s good.” Malaki eyed Ian. “Maybe one of us will take that plunge someday, huh?”
Ian chuckled. “Not me. I’m forty-eight and engulfed in my job. It wouldn’t be fair to bring a wife into such a lonely existence.”
Malaki leaned back in his chair. “But I’m the same age as you, and I’d be willing to do so. It’s not that lonely of an existence. We do make it home sometimes.” He wrapped his knuckles on the table. “Sometimes.”
“Angela knew what she was getting into when she married me.” Henry set his phone on the table. “And so far it’s been spectacular. Sure, I’m engrossed in my job, but you’d be surprised how much more motivated you are to get home when there’s a woman waiting.”
They all laughed, and the door slid open again.
The rest of The Circle besides Charles Price, the leader and president, entered the room chattering loudly to each other.
They greeted each other with firm handshakes, everyone taking their usual spots at the table, and became engaged in different conversations about their lives and work.
Ian snatched glimpses of the door, wishing Price would arrive so they could get this meeting started and over with.
Malaki’s finger-drumming hinted he was thinking the same. Ian lightly kicked him under the table, and Malaki quit.
This was the most difficult part about what they were doing: the acting. Trying to hide their deception and act as normal as possible, when they both knew that five years of work hinged on this meeting. It all began here.
Ian closed his eyes and took a calming breath. When he opened his eyes, he caught Malaki staring at him, his lips pressed together in a thin line that said get a grip, don’t look so nervous, relax, calm down, be yourself.
Ian cleared his throat and strolled to the kitchen. He set the finished pot of coffee on the warming plate on the countertop next to ten mugs. “Coffee’s ready if anyone wants some.”
“Hello, men.” The door slid open and the immense presence of Charles Price entered. The moment he spoke, silence fell upon them like a shroud. “Glad to see you’re all here. Let’s get started right away.” He strode to the coffee and poured himself some and took his spot at the head of the table.
His brown hair matched Henry’s slicked-back style, except he had a perfectly trimmed moustache and goatee to match. A bulky, thickset man, he used his large stature to intimidate anyone who questioned him. He made the final decisions on everything concerning The Circle, but he rarely made those decisions without consulting Ian and Malaki. Ian didn’t think the rest were aware how much Price depended on him and Malaki to lead The Circle and D.R.O.P., and Charles Price made it known by his actions that he wanted to keep it that way.
Ian swept his gaze around the table. The men ranged in age from Henry’s thirty-nine to Edward Browning, who’d celebrated his sixty-fifth last month. The only one missing was Frederick Stanton, age seventy.
Each man had a part to play in Death Row Outpost. Charles Price oversaw the entire program and The Circle, and he chose which prisoners would enter D.R.O.P. Although, he always consulted Ian and Malaki, who helped with the selection process.
Malaki and Ian created the renewable energy, memroth, and the chemical, Tetracaphoxin, which was injected into their prisoners on death row. Benjamin Hadley and Lawrence Dryden knew everything about aerodynamics. As brilliant pilots, they ran the spacecraft landing, transporting Circle members when needed. They also chose which guards would pilot prisoners to Reathran and kept all airplanes and spacecraft running in perfect order.
Harrison Prescott oversaw the duplication of all prisoners after their “lethal injection.” He created exact replicas of the prisoners after they departed Earth for their new planet/prison, so family members would have a body to grieve.
Edward Browning and Julian Garrick oversaw one of their two prisons, Stillwater Maximum Security Prison, and Fredrick Stanton and Henry Nash oversaw the other, White Pine Maximum Security Prison.
Price took a gulp of his coffee, then set the cup on the table. “We’re all grieving the passing of Stanton… of Frederick. His memorial service will be this Friday.”
The rest of the men nodded, many of them dropping their chins, somberness swelling around them. The grim news was difficult to swallow; he’d been among The Circle for so many years. His absence was a punch in Ian’s gut, and a zing of rousing energy. Something Ian had been stifling for five years now stirred to life alongside his distress over Stanton’s death. The two emotions seemed to collide with each other, causing an uncomfortably foreign turmoil within.
“I was just at his home,” Charles continued, a grim twist to his mouth. “I spoke to Eve. She’s doing the best she can. She’s very thankful he didn’t suffer in the end.” He took a shaky breath.
Many sighs and groans echoed from the men around the table.
“Do you need us to do anything, Charles?” Julian spoke up, gripping
his coffee mug, tears glistening in his eyes. Julian was always the kind, compassionate one, eager to jump in and lend a hand at a moment’s notice. “I’d be willing to do anything.”
The rest made their agreement known.
“No. No.” Charles shook his head. “There’s nothing to be done. Everything is taken care of; Eve said Stanton made arrangements for this when he had his last heart attack. Right now, we need to focus on The Circle. We need to move forward to fill Stanton’s absence immediately. You know we cannot linger on this.”
Charles nodded to Ian.
Ian tapped his fingertips together. “You know we’ve been discussing James Caldwell, and we feel he should complete The Circle.” He picked up his tablet and clicked the Share icon. “I’ve just sent you his profile. Please take the next few weeks to consider him. Seriously. As we always do. We’ll gather again in about a month to make our final decision. But first let’s take a vote to make sure we all agree to keep moving with examining Caldwell.”
“All who agree, please show that by raising your right hand,” Malaki asked.
All nine raised their hands.
“Very good.” Price gripped his tablet in front of him. “I would like to talk about D.R.O.P. for a moment, and then we’ll end our gathering. D.R.O.P. will be starting at a new prison in the coming months. A smaller, maximum security prison in Battle Creek, Virginia. With Stanton leaving The Circle, we’re going to close D.R.O.P. at White Pine, where he was assigned.” He raised his eyebrows, offering a questioning gaze. “We felt as if it wasn’t bearing good fruit. Reports reveal White Pine prisoners haven’t been… shall we say… turning out very good. I’m not going to get into any more details than that. But do you agree?”
This was old news to Ian. He and Malaki had been the ones to convince Price to end D.R.O.P. at White Pine Maximum and move into a new one, but he joined in the rest of the concurrence around the table just the same.