by Jim Rudnick
Once a live volcano, it had lain dormant for what was believed to have been more than a hundred thousand years as it rose from the bottom of the sea on the continental shelf. Around it grew the place now called Max Island, a small roughly circular landmass less than three miles in diameter, which held the large domed penitentiary with almost 2,000 maximum security convicts.
The only other facility on the island, besides the penitentiary and the VolPower Plant, was the EL Pod plant where the convicts were the labor force who built the pods used on Halberd and sold throughout the RIM. It was hard work but it kept the felons busy and working and kept the costs of the pods low enough for the plant to be successful. Max Island was a hub where power was used to both house criminals and build pods ... ends that obviously justified the means.
#
The gavel pounded over and over. The chaos didn’t stop even though Chairman Gramsci had three gavels in three of his hands, and he smacked the sound blocks on the Council table as hard as he could.
Tossing the gavels in front of him, he leaned back in his chair and watched the furor around him. The Baroness was standing up at her station well around the U-shaped Council table, leaning on one hand, as she pointed at his Vice Chairman seated beside him and shouted “shame” over and over. Sharia al Dotsa, the Caliph of Neria, was the RIM Council member who was receiving that abuse, but he too was standing and waving his arms as he said over and over, “Not going to happen, Baroness—not going to happen!”
Halfway across the table, the Duke of d’Avigdor was arguing with the Faraway member who was trying once again to call for a Point of Order, and the Leudi representative had his neck snake coiled around his head as it hissed at them all.
Not to be outdone, the DenKoss contingent was doing some kind of a stereo clicking through their gills as they argued with all of the members near their wet seating, and the Ttseens barked so loudly that they sounded like a pack of wolves.
The Chairman let it go on for a full minute more and then began to bang the three gavels once more, making the smacks on the sound blocks into a pattern ... and soon it quieted the Council members down. With another hand, he quickly motioned for them to all be re-seated, and with his last two hands, he picked up the Agenda and waited for full quiet.
“Council members, please ... remember that we represent our citizens of the RIM, more than one hundred billion souls, and we have sworn to work together to manage our affairs. Manage being the active word in that sentence, members ... and I believe that we were ah, interrupted at the point that the Vice Chair was making, so let’s resume right there, shall we? But with some decorum, please,” he said and held up a hand to quiet the Baroness who was starting to rise again.
She sank back down into her chair. Tossing her long blonde hair back behind her shoulders, her face was locked into a grimace that anyone would call unattractive even though she was normally a stunning woman. Stunning looking but sly, he thought and turned to his side to hear the speaker resume.
“Chairman, yes, thank you,” the Vice Chairman said and nodded to the alien on his left, “I believe I was trying to make the motion that we should simply wait for the planet Throth to fully assimilate itself within the Barony—before we entertain any reassessment of our current Council standings.”
Behind him, in the first row of staff seats, Admiral McQueen nodded to himself and wondered why it had taken so long for this to come to a head. Throth had been settled by the Ikarians during the past six months or so, having accepted the world for their race as a gift from the Barony. And now the Baroness had put forward the request for the RIM Council staff to reassess their realm with ten worlds—Throth was going to be a new Barony world, no question, but at this point, it was too early to assume that. Of course, if the reassessment was authorized by the Council, then that would put the Barony as the second largest realm in the Confederacy—bigger than the current number two, the Caliphate of Neria, hence the move by the Vice Chair to belay that reassessment.
“Chair recognizes the member from the Duchy of d’Avigdor, the Duke,” the Chairman said.
The Duke rose, which quieted the table, and the hands seeking recognition to speak next all fell away.
“I think that, as many here too must reason, the fact is that the Barony will have the respect of us all here on the RIM for the gift of Throth to the Ikarians. And as they have been more than generous, we would like to add our support for their reassessment request. But as we too feel as do others here …” he said, as many at the Council table nodded and tapped the table to show agreement “that we should allow the normal year-long probationary time period for the Ikarians to request—as all new planets must of any realm—to join the Barony. This is the way, in our opinion, to handle this issue,” he said as he took his seat to a silent room. Well respected here on the RIM, the Duke was, as usual, presenting the best way to handle this situation, and all present knew it. His face was mature yet only approaching middle age, and his ability to sail through the Council meetings with reason was well received.
Nodding to the Baroness, the Chairman ignored all the others present, and she rose to speak.
She straightened her blouse and the heavy gold necklace around her neck and looked down at the papers in front of her, the Admiral noted, and he wondered what she would have to say in light of the new support for the delay by the Duchy.
“Chairman Gramsci, on behalf of the Barony, I will, of course, accept the ruling of this RIM Council—but I feel I do need to remind you all that Throth was, and is, a member world of the Barony, even though it was unsettled. The Ikarians, yes, have accepted our offer of the planet as their new home. We work with them each and every day in helping them get acclimatized and able to get used to planet living. One small point too, that so many RIM citizens seldom remember, is that in the Ikarian group of emigrants, more than 9,000 of them are children ... young children who are alone ... no parents or siblings to look after them,” she said solemnly.
This quieted the room totally as the Council members dwelt on that for a while but the Baroness went on.
“We have helped the less than 1,000 Ikarian adults with that set of tasks, and we feel as they do that the future of the whole Ikarian race will be a definite boon to both the Barony and to the Confederacy too. All we ask is to hurry the process so that these children will have a home that is a part of something other than a Sleeper ship. That is what we ask for today.”
Great argument, the admiral thought, but not enough.
“Chief of Staff,” the Chairman said, “I call for a vote—and I think this time we should merely stand to indicate our choice. All those in favor of doing an immediate reassessment of our member realms standings, which would mean increasing the Barony up to ten planets, please stand…”
Of the forty member realms in the room, only one member stood, the Baroness who looked straight ahead for a moment and then left and right at the other members. When not even one stood, she grimaced and then sat quietly in her chair.
“Chief, please record the unanimous nay vote in the minutes. Moving along, we have a judicial report from the Caliph of Neria, our Vice Chair. Sharia?” he said, and the man beside him rose to speak again.
“Chairman and members, I rise today to present the final judicial report on the trial of the Caliph of Olbia, Nusayr al-Rashid who in fact, yes, is a cousin of my own. As you all know, he was charged and indicted with the crimes of Treason, and his trial was almost a month long. Suffice it to say, he and his cabinet group were all found guilty and are in transport as I speak to Halberd, the RIM prison planet, where he will serve out his sentence of twenty-five years for his crimes. As you were all made aware of the depth of this treason, his attempt to secede Olbia away from the Caliphate realm and form his own member planet of the RIM Confederacy, I do not have to fill you in. As you may imagine, this has strained relationships among we Nerian Royals as this young man was a member of our family ... and now he will do his time on Halberd,” the Vice Chair fin
ished and sat heavily into his chair.
“The bad ideas of youth,” the Chairman said and slapped a gavel down on one of the blocks in front of him.
“We will take a half-hour break and then resume with the Faraway-Leudi trade dispute item. But please, only thirty minutes, members,” he said, and the room slowly emptied.
The Baroness came over to the Chairman and spoke directly to him in a quiet voice.
“There is still the matter of the Ikarian virus, Chairman—something at this point we do not know anything about—have you as yet thought about that and what the import of such a longevity virus like this would do to the RIM Confederacy? Imagine offering up double or triple your life expectancy by swallowing a pill ...”
She pointed at him and then added, ”And this is something that the Barony will control. One might be wise to remember that ... And that, perhaps, there will be one way to meet the ends one hunts for that is hidden ‘til exposed,” she said cryptically, turned on her heel, nodded to the admiral who sat only a few feet away, and then strode off to leave the Council chamber room.
#
The barrier door for the cellblock slammed shut with its normal jarring clang, and the sound was ignored, as usual, by all within its reach except for the tall new convict in the orange jumpsuit. The Max Penitentiary guard, a corporal, pointed the much taller felon and tried to ease him along the corridor. They moved away from the central corridor coming out from the only access point to this second-floor cellblock. The taller man, the new convict in his orange temporary jumpsuit, was still dogging it, slowing down their progress between the central processing point for the prison and where he was going to be celled for now at least. He said nothing but he looked at everything, ignoring the rest of the convicts they passed who were involved in cleaning or talking among themselves. He soaked up what could be seen, could be felt as he ran his hands along the walls and doors, or could be smelled as he often inhaled a few times in quick succession as they slowly made their way outward. The guard was frustrated, but it was like a monkey trying to move a giraffe along. He just didn’t have the leverage to get the trip done quickly.
Moving finally to the end of the long cellblock corridor, leaving behind cells and their occupants, lounge rooms and their occupants, and even kitchenettes with some felons still eating their meals, the two climbed the stairs to the first tier and stopped at the first cell.
“Yours, uh, Count. ’Til Central Booking works out something else ... but for now, you live here,” the guard said. He looked up to the prisoner towering more than six and a half feet above him and smiled.
“Looks a little less than what a Royal might be used to, but it’s home, uh, Count,” he said as he tried to somewhat lessen what he was sure would be a shock to the Caliphate Royal who had been on Halberd less than a day. But it was not a shock at all.
“Looks fine, thank you, Corporal,” the Royal said with a tone of honesty in his voice. “I am in your debt for granting me such a fine cell—even on what you have indicated would be a temporary basis. I will endeavor to show my gratitude by being a perfect model prisoner,” the Count said, and he nodded down to the shorter guard and even half-bowed his head to acknowledge his thanks.The guard was surprised, but he too bowed his head then shook it and said, “No matter, Count. You’re to be here on Tier Two for a couple of days, then they’ll move you to your permanent cell ... soon. Tomorrow, you will need to report to the EL Pod Plant, ah, Gate 4U and get your assignments then. Looks like you’ll be making EL Pods for what—25 years or so, right?”
“Undoubtedly, Corporal, undoubtedly. Thank you for your help. I shall not forget it, Corporal …?” the Royal questioned.
“Stanton, uh, Count. Corporal Stanton, B-Block.”
He turned and marched away to the stairs and back to his duty shift work. For him the day went on, but for the Count, it was his first ever in his new home, where he’d spend the next few decades of his life. He slowly walked into cell 2TB-001 and grinned at the other three occupants who were in the process of standing up and coming toward him. They got within reach and then all four of them clasped each other in a group hug, and they grinned at each other.
“Count ... so nice to be able to help you to your cell,” one said.
“Yes, my name is Stanton, remember my name in case you want to hand out some money ...” another said, and the laughter rang out throughout the cell.
“Enough, fellas, enough,” the Royal said as he looked around the cell. Over in one corner was the dining table, and the places were set for lunch. Behind him against the wall was a set of bunk beds, and the other set lay well down the same wall on the way to the en suite bathroom. The steward was just plating the entrées, and his compatriot was serving the first course at the moment. The steward waved them all over to the table.
Moments later over the Veal Piccata and Caesar Salads, he dug into the meal and then took a moment to look around. Smiling, he spoke up to toast his cellmates.
“And here we are on Halberd. For what, twenty-five years or so ... but it will be a welcome time we spend here doing our penance and paying back to society our crime of treason. Won’t we, lads?” Nusayr al-Rashid said and clinked his glass against the rest. Tossing back the wonderful white Pinot Grigio, he set his glass down and watched as the steward filled it up again.
“I will apologize to you all for being held up in the prison processing center; seems that my Royal blood made them take far too long to work out the needed medical files and health factors. Don’t know why it took them an extra week to push me through when you and the others got through in what, two days, correct, Razin?” he said as he looked at his oldest friend at the table. They had grown up together, and Nusayr had always teased his friend that he was a bastard Royal and belonged in the palace with him.
Razin smiled and shook his head.
“Yes, only two days for us, but I don’t think that they took long to process you because of your blood, Nusayr ... I think it was just to inconvenience you compliments of the Caliph, of course!” He shook his head again as he said that name and looked over at his friend.
“His compliments will occur often here, Razin ... we will need to get used to that. Of course, there will be things that the Warden et al. will need to get used to as well ... agreed, lads?” he said and they all smiled at that.
Each of the others had already been assigned work details, according to their past career experience for some. Ilias, the ex-Council of Nine member who had run the power systems over the whole planet, had been given a job with the power plant maintenance crew, as if he knew how to use a wrench, which made them all laugh. Hamzah, the ex-professor of crop engineering at the Olbia University was added to the prison purchasing staff and spent much of his day buying foods for the prison kitchens, though as he said, he had no idea why he got that specific task. Even Razin, who had been his real aide in all things on Olbia, had been assigned to something similar, in that he was the one put in charge of the convict assignments, which made them all laugh even harder.
Lunch was finished up in due time, and the day stretched ahead of them. The three cellmates left the Count alone to acclimatize himself to the cell and vacated it to let that happen.
Rolling onto his new bunk, Nusayr stretched out and as usual found that his feet and part of his shins stuck out over the end of the bunk. He bunched the pillows up behind his head and scrunched up his legs to try to get comfortable and only succeeded in partly achieving this. On the wall near his head, someone—perhaps a previous cell occupant—had written a comment and Nusayr nodded to himself as he read the quote back to the wall.
“Not all psychopaths are in prison ... many are on the throne,” he read the comment, smiled, and thought suddenly of Olbia and home.
#
When first seen from orbit, Olbia made one think of a planet of green fertile land with straight blue veins running over most of it. Unsaddled with large seas or oceans, those rivers and lakes did eventually meld into low regional
seas, but for the most part, they coursed through huge industrial farming communes as regular as rain. Not until you actually got down to the surface could you see those huge blue rivers miles wide were divided and then sub-divided again and again until the waters irrigated the loamy soils that comprised the farms themselves.
North and south of the tropics and temperate zones, the lands were not farmed but left as wild natural forests that were the seats of the rains and oxygen production that gave the rest of the world its best growing factors. Olbia fed the rest of the nine-world realm, and it was the one true seat of power for the Caliphate. As such, it was the one prize that needed to be run according to the wants and desires of the Caliph himself. That duty fell to the al-Rashid Royal family, cousins of the Caliph.
“At least that’s what everyone thought,” Nusayr said to himself as he walked the upper mezzanine along the south-facing wall of the palace. From up here, the flat fields that marched away into the distance meant he could see almost a hundred miles until the curve of the planet made the green land drop away. No matter what the Caliph wanted, it was his job to ignore what he wanted himself and to follow orders. No equivocations. No mistakes. No variations on a theme ... just ensure the Caliph was honored by obedience. Cousins must be obeyed, he thought as he strode along on the way to the Council meeting, but today we may need to vary that slightly. He half-smiled to himself as he opened up the double doors to the meeting room and walked around the board table to take his place at the end place setting. From here, he could also see the major feature of the city—the Square that lay to the west of the government buildings he found himself in, and it too was busy with tourists, students, citizens, and more than he could imagine.