by Piers Platt
“Physically, he’s fine. And I’m told he’s adjusting to the transition better than most inmates do. I suppose he has you to thank for that: he knew what to expect.”
“Yes,” Falken said. “I told him. I had to.”
“You made a grave error in judgment,” Locandez corrected him. “Several grave errors. First, you ignored our decision, and conspired with Captain Peshai to re-enter Oz. Then you intentionally exposed the truth about Oz. You jeopardized the entire system.”
“I couldn’t let him rot in there,” Falken said. “He’s innocent.”
“So you believe,” Locandez said.
“Will he get another trial?” Falken asked.
“He’ll get a hearing with the Corrections Committee,” Locandez said. “If he admits his guilt, we may decide to release him.”
“But he’s not guilty!” Falken said.
“A jury of his peers weighed all of the evidence, and found him guilty,” Locandez said. “I have neither the ability nor the inclination to overturn their decision. Not without some new evidence.”
Falken hung his head. Was it all for nothing then?
“By contrast, the Corrections Committee has already discussed what to do with you,” Locandez continued. “Your decision to re-enter Oz, and your deliberate disruption of the simulation for another inmate are both serious crimes.”
“This is where you tell me I violated my parole,” Falken said.
“I’m afraid so,” Locandez agreed. “Your parole has been revoked, and your sentence reinstated. But we won’t be sending you back into Oz. Not for a third time.”
They’re sending me to the permanent facility. Falken took a deep breath. Christ, I hope Weaver’s able to convince them he’s innocent.
“If it gave Weaver a fair shot, it was worth it,” Falken decided.
“A noble sentiment,” Locandez observed. “But I think the unfortunate result is that both of you will end up in jail for life, rather than just Mr. Weaver. Now: your transport awaits.”
“Can I make a vidcall first?”
“No,” Locandez said. “Absolutely not.” She pressed a button on her wristpad, and the vidscreen at the front of the room rose up into the ceiling, revealing a view of Earth from high orbit. Far below, Falken saw distant spacecraft criss-crossing the planet’s atmosphere. Then he heard the hatch slide open, and the two orderlies reappeared.
“Take him to docking tube seven,” Locandez ordered.
“I’d do it again, you know,” Falken told the chairwoman.
“I know you would,” she said. “That’s why you’re going back to jail.”
Falken took another look at the blue-white sphere through the porthole.
Last time I’ll ever see Earth.
Then he felt the orderlies unlatch his chair, and they turned him, and pushed him back into the corridor.
“Goodbye, Mr. Falken,” Locandez said.
She disappeared from view before he could say anything in reply. Falken sat in silence as the orderlies floated him down the corridor. Then they stopped – a hatch into the corridor had opened, and as Falken watched, another hibernation chair slid through the hatch, in front of another orderly. The chair turned, and Falken saw Weaver’s eyes go wide with recognition.
“Falken!” the bookkeeper said. He reached out feebly with one arm.
“Weaver!” Falken gasped.
“Ah, shit,” Falken’s orderly exclaimed. “I thought they were supposed to use the port-side corridor.”
Weaver’s orderly swore, and began pulling him back into the medical screening room.
“Wait!” Weaver croaked. “Where are they taking him?”
“Don’t forget about the hearing!” Falken yelled. “Weaver, you have to convince them you’re innocent!”
“Where is he going?” Weaver asked again, as his orderly moved toward the door switch.
“Back to jail,” the orderly said.
“What?” Weaver asked. “No! Falken!”
“It’s okay,” Falken told him. He smiled reassuringly for his friend, and then the hatch closed, separating them again.
It’s gonna be okay.
Falken set his head back on the chair’s headrest. His orderlies pushed him forward again, and they reached the docking tube a minute later, where a stern-looking guard wearing a corrections uniform and a stun-glove stood waiting. Falken watched as an orderly unbuckled the restraints on his right wrist, releasing his hand. The guard bent over and held Falken’s hand against the screen of a small datapad. It scanned his fingerprints, and then the guard held the pad up to Falken’s face, and took a photo.
“Prisoner identity confirmed,” the datapad reported.
The guard handed the datapad to one of the orderlies, who skimmed a document on it and then signed it. Then the guard signed it, too, and tucked the datapad away on his belt.
“You have custody,” the orderly said.
“I have custody,” the guard confirmed. “Have a good one.”
The guard took Falken’s chair and guided it down the docking tube. Falken glanced back over his shoulder, but the orderlies had already turned, and were disappearing back down the corridor.
The ship’s interior was cold, and the metal walls were lit by harsh fluorescent lighting. The main hold looked more like a cargo bay than a passenger compartment. Three other chairs were already locked in place in the middle of the hold, each holding a surly-looking inmate. Falken recognized them as members of Archos’ gang.
One of them grinned at him. “He-ey, welcome to the party, Bird-man.” His voice was hoarse. “You lost their little game too, huh? Well, come join the rest of us Oz rejects.” He cackled with amusement, but his laughter soon turned to a fit of coughing.
The guard locked Falken’s chair into place next to a bank of medical equipment, and then pulled a sleeve-like device off of a tray, and fitted it over Falken’s wrist, before reattaching his arm restraint. Falken felt the device punch into his skin, and he winced.
“Stings, don’t it?” the talkative inmate asked, recovering from his coughing.
Falken traced a set of tubes back from the sleeve to an intravenous bag hanging over his bed.
They’re hooking us up for hibernation. Must be a long-distance trip.
“Is this just another mind-fuck?” one of the prisoners asked. “Are we gonna wake up in another simulation?”
“No,” the guard said. “This time it’s for real.”
“Undocking procedures complete,” a voice announced, over the ship’s PA system. “Stand by for long-range skip.”
The guard lifted his arm and touched his wrist-pad, and Falken saw a colored liquid run down one of the tubes toward his wrist. The cold substance entered his bloodstream, and Falken shivered involuntarily.
“Sleep tight,” the guard said.
Chapter 34
Locandez took a seat in the UNCS Sydney’s conference room, laying her datapad on the table in front of her. The vidscreens around the room sensed her presence and turned on automatically, each showing a Corrections Department logo.
“Would you like to connect to the conference bridge?” a computerized voice asked.
“Yes,” Locandez said.
“Establishing encrypted bridge to Corrections Committee,” the computer replied.
She tapped her finger impatiently on the datapad, waiting. Then, at last, the logos disappeared, and she was faced with the other members of the Corrections Committee.
“Madame chairwoman. How are you enjoying life as the warden of Oz?” Ojibwe asked, smiling.
“I’m not,” Locandez said, bluntly. “I can assure you that life aboard a Corrections ship has few perks.”
“No,” Ojibwe said, shaking his head. “I can recall from my orientation tour – it’s not a pleasure cruise.”
“It is not,” Locandez agreed. “And I’m making very little progress identifying a full-time replacement.”
“Are you suggesting we look externally?” Huginot asked.
“No,” Locandez said. “I think we’re all aligned that the next warden should be a reformed prisoner, per tradition. But after reviewing the profiles and performance reports of the ship’s current staff, none of them seem well-suited to the job.”
“I agree,” Huginot said. “From my own review of personnel records, they’re all capable in their current roles. But none feel like the leader we need.”
“Should we widen our net, and consider a former inmate who is employed outside the Corrections Department?” Ojibwe asked.
“I know that the warden search is important, but I believe there was a more urgent matter …?” Arkanian asked. She smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry for being rude, but I’m due in court at the top of the hour.”
“Yes,” Locandez said. “The issue that brought me here is close to being resolved.”
“Falken is out of Oz?” Arkanian asked.
“He is. And I’ve reinstated his sentence – he’s on his way to the permanent facility, as we agreed.”
“That took longer than expected,” Huginot noted.
“Mm,” Locandez nodded. “We were waiting on the simulation to separate the two men, and give us an opportunity to unobtrusively remove Mr. Falken. Unfortunately, however, Mr. Falken disclosed the true nature of Oz to Mr. Weaver before we could effect his removal. You will no doubt have seen the automatic notification to that effect.”
“I saw it earlier today, and figured you would be convening this meeting. Where is Mr. Weaver now?” Huginot asked.
“He has also been removed from the simulation,” Locandez said. “The program had no choice but to wake him up. And technically, he still had another ten months to earn his parole inside Oz. Which means the case now rests with us – we need to determine his final disposition.”
“Why did Mr. Falken let the cat out of the bag? I assume it was intentional?” Ojibwe asked.
“It was,” Locandez confirmed. “He became convinced that Mr. Weaver was innocent, and determined that the best solution was to force us to review Mr. Weaver’s case, rather than allowing him to continue in the simulator.”
“Falken knew the consequences for breaking the rules in the simulator, surely?” Arkanian asked.
“He did,” Locandez said.
The other woman gave a low whistle. “I don’t approve of his methods, but I admire the conviction of Mr. Falken’s beliefs.”
“Regardless, the question now is this: do we reasonably believe that Mr. Weaver would have completed his rehabilitation in Oz, given the chance?” Locandez asked. “Did Captain Peshai’s little experiment rob him of his right to earn parole?”
“What does the simulation believe?” Ojibwe asked.
Locandez turned to her datapad. “Mr. Weaver was – for all intents and purposes – a model inmate. He exhibited no further violent tendencies while in the program, and contributed to the community. His psych profile notes that he became somewhat obsessed with exploring Oz by boat – which is unusual. When Oz put an end to his explorations, he spent a great deal of time withdrawn from the rest of the inmates, and displayed suicidal tendencies at one point, but his reunion with Mr. Falken seems to have brought him back out of his shell, temporarily.”
“No fights, no conflicts with other inmates?” Huginot asked.
“None,” Locandez said. “His educational background and career mean he is well positioned for successful reintegration into society.”
“Sounds like he should have been released years ago,” Arkanian said.
“Except that the program believes there is only a thirty-eight percent chance that Mr. Weaver would have rehabilitated,” Locandez said.
“Oh,” Arkanian said, frowning in dismay. “Well, that’s not very optimistic.”
“No,” Locandez agreed. “While he completed all other requirements, Oz has been waiting on an admission of guilt. Simply put: he has yet to take responsibility for his crime, or express remorse over it.”
“That’s right,” Ojibwe said. “Now I recall – that was what Falken had hoped to do. Well, let’s talk to him ourselves, shall we?”
Locandez nodded. “I think that’s best. Excuse me.” She stood and stepped out into the hallway, then opened the door to the warden’s office. Weaver sat in one of the chairs facing the desk – he was staring out the viewport at Earth, but turned and looked at Locandez when the door opened.
“Come with me,” she said.
Weaver stood carefully, picking a cane up off the arm of the chair. He shuffled toward her, shaking his head ruefully at the slowness of his movement.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Take your time,” Locandez said.
They made their way down the hall, and in the conference room, Locandez pulled a chair out for Weaver, who sat again, with a sigh.
“Mr. Weaver,” Huginot said, nodding. “How are you?”
“It’s been a confusing day,” Weaver said. He gestured at the cane. “And I’m tired. It feels like I’m learning to walk all over again.”
“I imagine,” Huginot said. “But I’m told our inmates recover fully within a matter of weeks.”
“I hope so,” Weaver said.
“Mr. Weaver, I’ve explained to you the true nature of Oz,” Locandez said.
Weaver nodded.
“And you know that Mr. Falken’s … outburst … has caused you to be removed from the simulation early,” Locandez continued.
“Where is he?” Weaver asked. “I’d like to talk to him.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, not right now,” Locandez said.
“He earned his way out, didn’t he?” Weaver asked, frowning. “And then he came back in, to try to help me.”
“Yes,” Locandez said. “But he did so in direct violation of our instructions. He was not supposed to go back into Oz, and he was most definitely not supposed to tell you the truth about Oz.”
A tear rolled down Weaver’s cheek. “What have you done to him?”
“We’re here to discuss your case, Mr. Weaver,” Ojibwe said.
“Please …,” Weaver pleaded, “just tell me where he is.”
“He will be serving out the remainder of his life sentence at our permanent facility,” Locandez said.
Weaver gave a quiet sob, and covered his face in his hands.
“Why are you crying, Mr. Weaver?” Arkanian asked.
Weaver took a deep breath, and composed himself. He faced Arkanian’s vidscreen. “It’s just hard to believe that he did that for me. I spent the last five or six years basically on my own, by choice. I thought I was going crazy. And to find out that I’m not crazy, and that I’m not alone … that I have such a true friend …,” Weaver’s voice broke, and his eyes filled with tears again. “And to learn what Falken did, what he sacrificed, for me.”
Locandez shifted awkwardly in her seat. “I’m sure it’s a lot to process. But we need to discuss your situation for a moment.”
“You have to bring him back,” Weaver said, regaining his composure. “It’s not right. Let me go in his place.”
“That will not be possible,” Locandez said. She cleared her throat in annoyance. “Now, Mr. Weaver, we have some questions for you.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Weaver said, shaking his head. “Not until you bring my friend back.”
“Then we’ll be forced to send you to join him,” Locandez countered. “And you’ll have squandered the sacrifice he made for you.”
Weaver contemplated this news in silence. After a time, he straightened in the chair. “Very well,” Weaver said. “Ask your questions.”
Locandez glanced down at her datapad, then gazed into Weaver’s eyes. “Do you regret killing Tevka Savanh?”
Weaver licked his lips. “I regret that he died. Even after what he did to my family, the danger he put them in.”
“He kidnapped them, correct?”
“Yes,” Weaver agreed.
“If you had to go back … what would you do diff
erently?” Locandez asked.
Weaver sighed. “I’m not sure. I suppose I would try harder to protect my family. To make sure they were never kidnapped in the first place.” He looked up. “Falken told me they were safe. Is it true? Can I speak with them?”
“They’re safe,” Locandez said. “But you can’t speak with them right now.” She arched an eyebrow, studying Weaver’s face. “Mr. Weaver, do you believe you were justified in killing Mr. Savanh?”
“I don’t think he deserved to die, no,” Weaver said.
“Then why did you kill him?”
Weaver took a deep breath. “I didn’t.”
Locandez glanced at the faces on the vidscreens, then back at Weaver. “You didn’t? Think carefully, now.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Weaver repeated. “I swear it. I don’t know who did, and I don’t know how all the evidence came to be stacked against me, but when I found Tevka, he was already dead.”
Locandez sighed heavily.
“Can I appeal? Can I get another trial?” Weaver asked.
“Was your original trial unfair, or conducted improperly?” Ojibwe asked.
“I don’t know,” Weaver said, frowning. “I don’t think so.”
“Has there been any new evidence of relevance to the case?” Ojibwe asked.
“There could be, I guess. But how would I know?” Weaver asked. “I’ve been here for the last nine years.”
“Mr. Ojibwe is simply listing the possible conditions under which the Justice Department might consider trying you again,” Locandez explained. “None of those conditions have been met. But the point is moot, anyway. We can hardly send you back to Earth for another trial now. Not given all you know about Oz.”
Weaver swallowed, and did his best to sit up straighter in the chair. “What’s going to happen to me, then?”
“You’ll remain here for a few days,” Locandez told him. “Until the next transport is ready.”
“And then?”
“And then you’ll be joining Mr. Falken.”
Chapter 35
On the deep-space transit hub, Vina found a private booth outside the ticketing area, and set her bag on the floor, shutting the door behind her. She dialed a number on her wristpad, leaning against a stool mounted in the booth. The phone rang for some time, and then finally connected.