The Universe - or Nothing | Page 9

been warned."
He pointed at one prisoner, then another in a jabbing gesture.
"Our job is custodianship of those who can't adjust to the realities of our society, and
rehabilitation and training of those who can be helped, eventually, to return to the outside
world. There are other options for inmates who have special attributes. You will learn
more of those in time."
Pausing, he scratched at his jaw.
"You are sojourners among us, and transient," he closed. "We will not abuse you; on the
other hand, we will not coddle you. We tell all new inmates, as I'm now telling you:
cooperate, and you'll find your stay tolerable, resist, and take the consequences."
A stern, hard stare, a shrug and his features relaxed.
"OK, that's the official greeting for all newcomers. I know you've all had a long, boring
trip on a beat-up transport. I expect you'll want to unwind a bit."
He glanced at the forward guard, back against the bulkhead, and turned back to the
prisoners.
"First, we'll get you into some decent quarters, and let you clean up and rest. Get to know
each other; you'll be together for a long time.
"The guards will escort you to your core compartment. Normally, you would have started
orientation and psy-phys testing immediately. Your schedule is different. Your first
orientation lecture will be in two hours. Sergeant Jenkins," he motioned the lead guard
forward, "will escort you to and from orientation. Don't play games with him; he knows
them all."
"All yours, Jenks," he said. "Move 'em out."
Jenkins came forward, pointed to a hatch further along the passageway.
"Follow me."
Lieutenant Malcolm stepped aside. He watched the line move past silently and climb the

companionway out of sight. None looked back.
Lining up in loose formation at the head of the companionway and responding to Jenkins
signal the prisoners started along a passageway. The other guard brought up the rear.
They crossed spidery overpasses that spanned busy workshops and agriculture bays under
cultivation. People and service robots moved about; the new prisoners drew few glances.
Jenkins drew them to a halt in a wide corridor. Ahead was a shimmering force field. He
murmured words and placed the palm of his hand on a dull composite plate embedded in
the wall. The force field faded to a haze. They passed through, and the haze resumed its
shimmer behind them.
A portal came into view up ahead.
Jenkins motioned toward it and stepped aside as the prisoners passed him and on through
the opening. The guards did not follow.
Of a sudden minus their escorts, the inmates clustered inside the entry and stared about.
The compartment was generous by space habitat standards. Well-lighted, it stretched ten
meters from wall to opposite wall. Parallel in the center of the room a double line of four
gray tables stood fused to the deck, each with benches on each long side, similarly
immobilized. Evenly spaced along the wall were curtained sleep-privacy enclosures.
Behind partitions on opposite sides of the compartment were entries to two standard
wash-lavs. The furnishings were functional and clean.
One after the other, the prisoners drifted off to inspect the enclosures. All were back in
less than a minute; they silently kept distance from each other.
The inmate who had so carefully examined the corridor while Malcolm talked, leaned
against one of the tables and crossed his arms. He repeated his scan of the compartment,
but this time one sector at a time, turning to take it all in yet pass over each cell-mate that
entered his field of vision. His movements gave the group a focus; it was easier than to
just stare at the walls and the austere furnishings.
"I don't get this," the table-leaner locked arms across his chest as he spoke with a puzzled
expression on his face. His voice was low, flat yet courteous. "We may as well get the
formalities out of the way. Who are we? Names will do for starters. I'm Brad."
Faces relaxed a mite. One of the women sat on a bench. The ice may have cracked, but
the silence held. Brad had their attention.
Seconds passed.
"Hodak."
The word welled up as a growl, low and rumbling from a squat, muscular man. His

deeply embedded eyes circled the room from under a boulder-brow that bridged the space
beneath his bald pate to blend with the stub nose, wide mouth and crinkled skin of a
seemingly amiable face.
"I'm Zolan," said the third male. He was of medium height, slight of build, waxy features
and a high brow with the pallid complexion of a spacer. As alert and tense as a coiled
spring, Zolan leaned against a bulkhead, eyes moving rapidly from Brad to Hodak to the
walls to fix on