Page 46 of Mutant Mine

I remember Rory calling the same thing down this corridor.

I remember, too, the humiliation of being forced to strip in front of armed guards for the first time — although that was many years ago, for me. I turn my back while these men, my prisoners, undress.

Once they are finished, I push a med kit through to each cell. The men fall upon them with a gasp. There is a wave of excited chatter as they discover the contents.

“No sharps,” one of them says, disappointed. “Don’t want us to slash our way out of here?”

“You cannot damage the force fields. Trust me on that.” I pause. “I removed the scissors so that you cannot hurt yourselves.”

A heavy silence falls over the cells.

“None of us are going to do that,” the older man says calmly. “Are we, boys?”

There is a murmur of assent — muted, but determined. I am beginning to think that this man would make a fine second in command, if it would not be a death sentence to let him out of this cell.

Next, I hand out the pots of nutrient porridge. They start eating ravenously. I frown.

“Are you being fed regularly?”

“Yes, but only once a day — so the extra ration is appreciated.” says another older man. “Thank you.”

The young man with the missing teeth has not spoken since he first noticed me. He takes a pot of porridge, but glowers at it doubtfully, then sets it down again. It is as if he is gearing himself up to say something — and must get it outbefore he can accept a mouthful of charity from me.

“What have you done to Rory?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me directly. “Ith he alive? You’d better not have hurt him.”

The man is very young and slight, and his voice is quaking — and yet he there is such a challenge in it, as if there will be hell to pay if he does not like my answer.

“Rory is quite well,” I say, amused.

“You would thay that.”

“Would I?” I ask. “What benefit is it to me, for you to believe that Rory is alive? You would remain captive either way.”

The noble young man has nothing to say to that, but he glares quite viciously. This makes me like him even more. Rory has no need of his protection — in fact, I believe she could crush him in her palm like a flower, if she wished to — but it is the thought that counts.

“Believe me, Rory is fine. I will pass on your well wishes this evening. What is your name?”

“Tommy.”

“And Ellis!” another guard blurts out. “Tell Rory that Ellis says, uh, hey.”

“…I will be sure to pass that on.” I nod at him, and then at them all. “I will visit again. If you need me at any time, then call my name, all of you together, as loudly as you can. I will hear you.”

Noises from across the ship reach my sensitive hearing, albeit faintly. A group of people shouting together would be distinct enough.

They are looking at me differently now. Still with fear, but with confusion too.

“Thank you,” one calls after me as I begin heading back up the corridor. I do not turn around. But I do stop to grab thedead guard and haul his body onto the cart.

I wheel the cart out of the corridor of cells. What to do with the corpse? It is a hygiene risk. The others we put out of an airlock some time ago. Is there an airlock in this section of the ship?

I walk up the hallway and look through the first door I come across, trying to orientate myself.

It is a crew welfare room. There is a beverage dispenser, a table and chairs, and a door leading to a hygiene pod. The table is askew, as if someone collided with it in a great hurry — or in the dark.

There is also a maintenance hatch. It has been unscrewed from the wall, and hangs open. The space within is easily large enough for a person to crawl inside.

A clever person could probably disappear in there for days.

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