Page 9 of Mutant Mine

When I was a child, I used to go to bed hungry sometimes, if I had spoken back or not finished my chores quickly enough. I know what it’s like to go to sleep with an empty belly — and how much worse it aches when the punishment was given to you unfairly.

I set my jaw. Just because I need this job, doesn’t mean I’ve sold my soul. Maybe, if it’s quiet, I’ll try to slip Roth a little food.

I’m in the crew room, drinking some bitter coffee and looking over the screen displaying my tasks for the shift ahead, when Gregory comes in. He looks pale and tired.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, expecting to hear that the men have been rowdy.

“One of the prisoners died last night.”

My chest tightens. “What? Who was it?”

“Hatha Zoriandor.”

“Hatha?How? He didn’t seem sick..?”

“He wasn’t. He must have been trying to escape, the idiot. Inspired by that blue freak, maybe.” Gregory rolls his eyes. “He touched the force field — several times in the space of three minutes. By the time I got down there, the repeated shocks had stopped his heart.”

I gape at him.

“He shocked himself to death?”

“Yep. I gave him CPR. Didn’t work,” Gregory shrugs. “You know, it’s funny. Even with a scumbag like that, when you’re pounding away on their chest, you still hope they’re going to burst back into life.”

It’s bad to talk ill of the dead, but to be fair to Gregory, Hatha probablywasa scumbag. I don’t know what crimes he committed to get him sent to Chronus, but I bet they’d make my stomach turn.

Still… being one type of crazy doesn’t make you every type of crazy. Hatha never seemed afraid of what lay ahead of him. He just seemed bored and pervy. I can’t imagine him making such a manic escape attempt.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be,” says Gregory, briskly. “We’re better off without him. But if the atmosphere’s a little off on the block, that’s why. On with your tasks, Officer.”

“Sir.”

The atmosphereisweird. As I move down the corridor giving each man his breakfast, they’re much quieter than usual. Everyone seems subdued, just taking their food and eating without any smart-ass comments. A couple of inmates do glance up and catch my eye, then look quickly away again.

I was expecting them to rip me a new one after yesterday. This silence would almost be a pleasant surprise, if the reason wasn’t so grim.

Hatha was gross in many ways, but these guys have been living in close quarters with him for days on end. Some of them might even have known him on Earth, if they came from the same prison. And last night, they had to watch him die. Maybe they’re really upset.

Approaching the dark end of the corridor, I remember Roth. There’s one portion of nutrient porridge left in the cart. Gregory may have told me not to feed Roth, but the cart’s computer didn’t know that, and had merrily rehydrated and warmed this deck’s regular order.

I glance up and down the corridor, then head to Roth’s cell, porridge in hand. Without looking inside, I open the drawer.

“What are you doing?” comes the soft, deep voice.

“Feeding you. It’s not fair,” I murmur, depositing the pot and pushing it through to him.

“That is unnecessary. But I appreciate your consideration.”

I don’t have time to talk about this. If he leaves the pot in the drawer all day, Gregory will eventually see it.

“Just take it. It’s right here.”

“It is unnecessary.”

I stand there fretting for a moment, when another prisoner speaks:

“Lunchlady, you don’t need to worry about the big guy. He can stick up for himself.”

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