I turn, and before I’ve taken a single step, a towering prison officer lunges toward me out of nowhere, baton raised. I stumble back, about to lift my brolly. The baton pauses mid-strike and falls out of his hand. The officer looks startled, before slumping down in front of me.
A large woman steps out from behind him, a small laser weapon in her hand.
It’s another prison officer, and she doesn’t look happy.
“What in God’s name are ya doing here?” she asks. “Where’s the rescue party? Ya can’t be serious? I’m risking me bloody position—me life—here, and they send in one wee girl? Where’s the rest of ’em?”
I snap out of shock, and find my tongue. “You’re . . . you’re Bia’s guy?”
“Aye, ya catch on quick, lassie,” she says, shaking her head. “Name’s McGregor. I’ve done me bit.” She jabs her thumb upward. “It’s madness up there. A bit too chaotic—sent management into panic. They ordered the door shut, so I’ve been risking everything hanging around here, keeping it open manually. What kept ya? Never mind—spit out yer plan, and make it quick.”
My pulse races. “Get up to Papa’s level—I have the plans, I know which cell it is. I break into it. I grab Papa, and we run back down here via the east-wing staircase. We—”
“Stop right there.” She holds a hand up. “There’ll be no running around once you’ve got yer old man. The inmates on that cellblock can barely walk, never mind run. You’ll be wanting one of those.”
She points to a stack of wheelchairs against the corridor’s wall. I swallow, trying not to think what it all means, why they can barely walk, and quickly reach for the stack.
“Not yet!” she says. “It’ll slow ya down. They have them on every level, and there are ramps at both ends of the corridors. And you’ll need this.” She passes me a card. “It’ll open the cell a lot faster than whatever ya had in mind. Now scoot or you’ll be locked in here; I don’t know how long I can fool them keeping this door open. Ya shouldn’t come across too many guards, if any at all—I’ve made sure those on watch are tied up on the higher levels. I’ve risked me neck for this little stunt, and ya better not let me down, lassie. See ya back here pronto. Now go!” She disappears inside the small chamber, shutting the door behind her.
Oh God. I look in every direction, spot signs for the ramp, and holding the shaky brolly out in front of me, I run. At last, I’m almost at the ramp.
Unfortunately, raised voices suddenly carry from that direction. My heart sinks. I peer around a corner where three prison officers stand arguing. The door leading to the ramp is just past them, and already open.
“Nothing to do with me,” shouts one. “I don’t work on the top floor, west wing.”
“And I’m on me break, mate,” says another. “After one hell of a watch. So—”
“I don’t give two friggin’ hoots whose watch it is!” bellows the third and loudest voice. “It’s a goddam madhouse up there, and you two are hiding your ugly mugs down here. So I’m asking you once more nicely, get your arses back upstairs and help them bring it all under control—before the ruckus spreads prison-wide!”
The men go on arguing about being expected to help when it isn’t their fault or problem. I rack my brains.
“Oscar?” I whisper into my Bracelet.
He appears before me, and I instantly instruct him to speak quietly.
“Oscar, I want you to distract the people around the corner so I can pass unnoticed behind them. Act all authoritative, all right? And quick, we don’t have long.”
Oscar flicks his hair and straightens his plush brocade waistcoat. “I shall not let you down, my dear,” he says, his voice lowered. “But I implore you to relax. Life is too important to be taken seriously.”
“Right, then . . . Go, Oscar. And remember—all authoritative now.” I chew on my lip.
The Navigator tilts his head and turns the corner. I grimace. The guards hush immediately. I peek around the wall.
“I say,” Oscar begins. “Would any of you handsome gentlemen care to take a walk with me through the rose gardens on this rather fine day?”
What the— Oh, I’m doomed!
Except they can’t take their eyes off Oscar. Their mouths fall wide open. I creep along behind them.
“One should always be searching for new sensations,” Oscar continues. “Be afraid of nothing, I say!”
I’m through the door in seconds and racing up the ramp to the second floor. I look down to ensure the bag’s still around my waist, when I crash headlong into someone.
It’s a prison officer rushing down in the opposite direction. Her eyes widen and she instantly brings her wrist up to her mouth. There’s no time to think.
I move back just enough to raise my brolly, and tase her until she drops.
I sprint on, exiting the ramp on the second floor. More damp and gloomy corridors.
The siren continues to sound. Footsteps approach. I press back into a wide doorway, narrowing my eyes. The wet walls glisten. Slimy wormlike creatures creep out of cracks in the wall opposite and gorge on the filth growing on the surface. I hold my breath. The footsteps fade and I bring up the plans for the second floor. I’m really close.
I cover my nose at the stench. The cold and damp claw at my throat. Grabbing a wheelchair, I pause outside the door on the very end. I drop the card twice, my hand trembling as I try to scan it.
At last, the door clicks open. The cell releases an icy breath. I step inside and stand frozen. I shake my head as my gaze sweeps the bare and impossibly small cell.
It’s empty. After all that . . . the cell’s empty.
A great gloom stirs inside me, a shadow spreading. A bucket in a corner and a few gray rags on the concrete slab against the wall are the only things in the mold-ridden room. There’s an overwhelming stench of decay.
Something moves among the rags.
I furrow my brow and look again on the empty, cold slab. I creep toward it. No . . . Oh my God. No, no, no. My lips and chin quiver. The “rags” are a person. I cry out, then quickly muffle the sound with my hand.
I turn the skeletal frame over and burst into tears. It’s Papa, and he looks . . . lifeless. I cover my mouth to stifle any noise. “Salaam, Papa,” I manage, choking back a sob.
Nothing. His eyes remain closed. Has he been drugged? I place my head against his chest; he’s breathing, thank God. I recite a quick prayer over him.
It takes a while, and several stop-starts, but I finally manage to secure Papa into the wheelchair. I open the cell door. My stomach drops to the floor.
A robot officer blocks our path, a long, sleek gun in its hand. Oh hell.
“You have made a category one mistake, intruder,” it says.
The tiny red eyes look me up and down. Lights pulse away all over its body as it insists I follow it. I freeze. What can I do? The bloody moon pool door could shut at any moment!
I slip my hand into the small bag around my waist. “Oscar?”
The robot turns as the Navigator materializes beside it in the corridor.
Now! I sprint from around the wheelchair and am almost behind the mechanical officer when it grabs my hand. I can’t reach around to its neck!