‘Jailbreak’ - Kozanotra Episode 1
July 4, 2007
A sense of utopia was always maintained with great care in the Centauri system colonies; utterly pretentious and artificial, a thin veil hiding the harsh realities of post-colonisation, but instated on a people completely oblivious to its existence. Authorities in every government department and then some put great thought into every detail of this sham, to prevent citizens questioning the United Colonies, to prevent any chance of any uproar from occurring. The truth, of course, always has a way of coming out—but why bother thinking of the consequences left to another century? In the here and now, the ’safety’ of the colonies—or rather, the comfort of its leaders—was the most important thing to protect.
There were those who lived outside of this utopia. They were either those involved in crafting it, or those who the government wanted to hide, tucking them away in a back pocket. These were the people never seen by the public. What’s the third moon of Centaur used for? That’s the Aldan Research Institute, of course. And on this moon, the story of a world outside the sheltered world begins.
Aldan Incarceration Plant, 2176
“Kreigori Fonteneau, incarcerated 2175 for commanding smuggling operations. Welcome back,” the guard said as he handed the prisoner over to the surgeons. Every word dripped with sarcasm, but those last two words—welcome back—bore a faint smell of enjoyment.
Sadistic enjoyment, of course. What other kind did the guards in this hell-hole experience? The Reform & Reintegration Unit imposed policies of secrecy harsher than any other unit in the plant, but of course, all sorts of rumors spread. One particular rumor had no disbelievers: the unit was the place where a prisoner’s sins were purged, and you can imagine the kind of connotations that go with a statement like that.
It was the kind of stark, frightening room that was designed to disorient, to entrance into a passive state—combined with the filthy chemicals pumped through the feeding tubes in each cell. Of course, the drugs had more of an impact than the decorations; dizziness, lethargy, and nausea aren’t fields of expertise for an architect. The room smelt of the unbathed prisoners who had spent days at a time lying on the neurotable.
The head surgeon nodded curtly to the guard, and laid the prisoner on the table. A cold metal bar beeping with neural scanners automatically closed over his head, emulating the movement of a bascule bridge, stopping a few inches above.
“Fonteneau is another special case. He’s a splitter. Our reform technologies occasionally backfire and tear the personality in two. There’s a violent and aggressive component, and a placid component that’s more in control. No medication has been found that responds to these rapid changes, so we have to work quickly,” the surgeon said.
“Have any techniques shown a chance of success?” asked the scientist, visiting to observe new techniques in prisoner reform.
“No. We’ve been completely unable to reconcile his personalities. It’s probably going to end up with the shrinks. It’s a matter of him learning how to control his mind and slowly merging those aspects of his personalities, but he can be quite disagreeable at times.”
The room shook violently as a loud alarm sounded outside, throwing the senses and feet of the scientists to the ground. The alarm signaled an escape attempt, and this one had occurred right outside the lab door. The security system had activated a soundwave—a powerful wave of sonic energy that can knock any giant on his ass and shatter the skull into millions of pieces.
The guard punched a code into the door and rushed outside, the alarm blaring louder as the door opened momentarily. The doctors tried to get back on their feet, taking a glimpse of the scene outside before the door slammed back into the lock.
A surge of energy ran through Kreigori’s body. The feeling tore through his mind, millions of miniscule explosions all over the brain, in every nerve centre in the body. The same feeling he experienced every day—he was changing, becoming stronger, more violent. He could smell the blood in the air, and feel the excitement and chaos.
He grabbed at a laser scalpel and jumped from the table. The surgeon jumped in front of him, grabbing his arms and trying to restrain him. Kreigori switched the scalpel on and managed to slice him in the lungs before turning to the scientist. The surgeon collapsed on the ground, wheezing as his last moments of life disappeared.
The laser scalpel was pointed at the scientist’s throat.
“Get the door open. Now.”
The scientist didn’t speak a word, but slowly walked to the door, Kreigori’s scalpel millimeters from the back of his neck the whole time. He punched in the code, and the door opened.
Any false hopes the scientist had for surviving dissipated as the scalpel pushed through the flesh in his throat. Before he could fall, Kreigori shoved him out of the way and ran into the corridor, the alarm still blaring, growing louder with each minute that passed.
“Doc, get back inside!” the guard shouted, bent over the body on the ground, still distracted. He hadn’t turned around to see who was coming at him, busy searching the body for an ID tag.
Kreigori slammed his foot into the guard’s head and held him to the ground, his muscular hands choking the last semblance of existence from him. Not wanting to be caught unawares by not finishing the job, Kreigori forced the scalpel into his face, the smell of fresh death ensuring him that there was no risk.
He ripped the clothes from the guard and quickly swapped outfits, hopeful that passing the guard off as a prisoner would buy him some time. This was his only chance to get out.
It would take a while before the incoming emergency guards knew that the uniforms had been swapped and they had let a prisoner go. Emergency guards and duty guards never mingled—even if his face hadn’t been mangled with the scalpel, he wouldn’t be recognized for hours.
Kreigori pushed himself from the ground, ready to break into the fastest sprint his strength could muster, only to collapse again; the drugs, combined with his mind beginning to switch back, rendered him useless. His vision became blurry, and his senses dulled, leaving him there to wait in despair until the effects subsided.
Twenty-three seconds later—exactly on time—four emergency guards arrived in the corridor. Procedure stated that if the closest guard didn’t report within three minutes of an alarm, four emergency guards would be dispatched to arrive within two minutes. The plant worked like clockwork, no matter how chaotic things got.
“Get him to the infirmary,” the senior guard shouted, pointing at Kreigori. “Damn prisoners. They never learn.”
A guard heaved Kreigori up on his back, giving him the support he needed to stumble his way to the infirmary.
They walked for a minute without talking, allowing Kreigori to mentally recover. The only sound was the sound of boots on the metal floor. He began to distinguish between his senses again, the blur subsiding, before he started to walk on his own.
“What happened over there?” the guard asked him. Kreigori didn’t panic, but he knew he’d have to pull off a pretty good bluff to get out of this one.
“I was on surgery watch. An alarm went off outside so I went to investigate. It was an attempted escape, but he was killed by a soundwave. As I was checking his identity the prisoner in surgery came at me. I managed to get him down, but both the doctors are dead.”
The guard cursed under his breath. The rest of the trip was silent. Kreigori was regaining control.
“Here, we’re at the infirmary,” said the guard. He jammed the buzzer in and waited until the doctor opened the door. “This guard was wounded in an escape attempt. Just check him over.” The doctor nodded and took Kreigori into the infirmary, and the guard jogged back to meet the rest of his team.
“Can you give me any details?” the doctor said, pulling the ID card from the stolen uniform.
“Probably just a few bruises; they managed to knock me on the ground, just as the emergency guards came,” Kreigori said. The doctor ran a scanner down the length of Kreigori’s body, and then paused to look at the screen. It beeped a moment later.
“There’s no bodily damage here, but you’ll be waking up with a few bad bruises tomorrow. There’s nothing I can do for you except give you these,” he said, extending a hand with a few painkillers on them, “which should take care of any pain.” Kreigori took the pills, thanked the doctor and left. A few years of smuggling paid off, he thought to himself, if I can bluff my way out of this hell-hole!
Kreigori followed the signs in the unfamiliar passages to the docking bay. Now, he just had to get off this moon.
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