A Murder - A Maker Pt. 02

The lift opened onto a hallway much like those before, but wider. The doors lining the hall were different, too, heavy metal constructs mounted on tracks, with small white numbers emblazoned on their centers. A monitor and keypad sat embedded on the side of each door opposite its tracks, and some of the ones we passed were dark while others were sectioned off to display a number of camera angles, likely of the rooms beyond. Collin reached out to halt me when we reached a door with an '18' on it, then fished in a pocket until he came up with a small cylindrical rod. This slid into a small port on the door, then he depressed a button and the door began to slowly grind its way open. It stopped halfway down the track, leaving enough room for someone to enter or exit, without opening entirely.

"Say hi to your new family," Collin said, grabbing the collar of my uniform and flinging me inside. I couldn't keep my balance and went spilling to the ground even as the door behind started slowly grinding its way closed. I heard Collin start moving away, the sound of his boots cutting off once the door sealed shut. I fought my way back onto my knees, gave an exhausted sigh, and sank down to sit on my heels while I looked around.

I sat near the front of a long dormitory with a low ceiling. Austere steel bunks with pallets lined either side of room, around twenty in all. Nearly half of them were occupied, and the people on them had turned to stare at me, though most had already looked away indifferently. One, though, leapt spryly to her feet and started to wander over toward me with a curious look in her eyes. She was around the same height as me, were I standing, but the similarities ended there. Her build was sinewy and muscular, her black hair was cut short, her face bore a handful of scars, and her flinty eyes took me in with first interest, then surprise, and then a sudden burst of elation.

"Still got your clamps on, huh?" she wondered, eyes dropping toward my arms. I blinked, glancing around, and realized for the first time that everyone in the room also seemed to have metal cuffs adorning each wrist, but mine were the only ones still engaged in place. I nodded, looking back to her, and started to unsteadily rise to my feet. She quickly stepped forward to lend me a hand, giving me a too-familiar pat on the head before helping me up.

"They just don't know what they've got," she whispered smugly, tone pitched low enough not to carry back toward the others. I gave her a confused look and she continued, "Oh, I know just what you are. How do you feel about being my ticket out of here?" I blinked at her, nodded uncertainly, and glanced around. She stepped back, looping an arm around one of my elbows, and guided me deeper into the room.

"Musta rubbed him the wrong way," she said, louder and more casually. "It's a power play they run on new blood that gets under their skin. Supposed to turn it off when you're in here, but..." She shrugged. "I'm sure you'll be fine eventually. Here." We had reached the bunk she initially rose from, and now she steered me about and given me enough of a shove that I slid down to sit upon it.

"Uhm-" I started to say, arms uselessly testing the manacles.

"Shhh," she dismissed. She slid around behind me, kicking her legs out across the bed and slouching back to brace her shoulders against the wall. Index finger lazily indicating the bunk above, she said,

"You'll be up there, when you can actually get up there. For now, you'll stick with me. You gotta name, chick?"

There was a meaningfulness to her words, though I couldn't quite gauge what it was. Her eyes flicked out to sweep across the rest of the room, and I realized that some of the others were watching us, and her statement had some sort of effect on them. My attention slipped back to her before I could gather anything else. It was difficult to pay attention to anything but her, for the moment. I shook my head.

"I... Well, not really," I admitted quietly. "I've had a few."

"Uh huh," she replied, reaching up to pick between two teeth with a thumbnail as she stared at me. "Guess that ain't all that surprising, given. Well, what was your favorite?"

I stared back at her, starting and aborting an answer. "Well... Min," I said.

"Then that's your name," she proclaimed with a smirk, reaching forward to take hold of me by the shoulder and tug me forward. She displaced my balance and I awkwardly fell into her, shoulder thudding into her collarbone. Unperturbed, she rearranged me so my head rested on her shoulder, facing away from her, then reached up to begin dragging her fingers through my hair.

"I go by Riss," she introduced. "Nice to meet you, Min. I think we'll be getting along real well, don't you?"

By all rights I should have been uncomfortable with Riss' presumptive manhandling of me, but I couldn't be. Her direct manner and friendly tone had overridden whatever natural suspicion I held, and after all I'd endured recently I didn't have the energy to even think of protesting. Each time her hand curled back from dragging through my hair, she briefly massaged or lightly scratched my scalp before dragging out slowly again, and the comfort in that gesture was nearly overwhelming. I squeezed my eyes shut, slowly dragging each of my legs up onto the bed properly.

"You've been having a rough time of it," Riss soothingly told me, still combing her fingers through my hair, occasionally pausing to pick at a matted tangle. "Why don't you get a little sleep?"

--

I woke up laying snugly in against a warm body, an arm looped around me. It took a few seconds to remember my surroundings. Riss' breathing was deep and steady enough to suggest she was probably still asleep, and I made no move to disturb her. My face felt better, and when I poked my tongue out to trace along where it had swollen around the split I discovered that the wound had healed in its entirety, earning a quiet sigh of relief. Unfortunately my right shoulder from how I had rested upon it, and my elbow protested the awkward binding of my hands as well. Coughing, I gently swung my feet to the ground and twisted upright, dislodging the arm around me in the process.

As I blearily squinted around I saw that the dormitory was a little more active than it had been upon my entry. There were a few circular tables with connected stools at the far end of the room, and a trio of men occupied one of them. A few other men lay on bunks, sleeping or staring at the ceiling, and a few others I had seen upon coming in were missing. I cleared my throat, rocked forward, and rose before pacing my way over to the table. Nothing was on the surface, but the three seemed to be concentrating intently on something, and occasionally one would reach out to tap the center. I slid down onto an empty stool as quietly as I could manage, fidgeting a few times before glancing between the three.

Suddenly one of the three let out a victorious sound and gave the table a firm slap, startling me. The other two let out sullen noises and shook their heads, and soon all three looked at me.

"We'd be playing cards," the victor explained, "but there aren't any to play around here. What're you in for, girl?"

"I don't know for certain," I admitted. Seeing the dubious look I got in return I hastened, "I don't have an ID. But they said something about stealing from the markets when they took me in, even though I didn't. I'm Min, by the way."

The one who had spoken already let out a dry laugh and nodded.

"Shit luck," he observed. He cocked his head toward the man on his right, continuing, "That's Tull, and this is Mark, and I'm Tren. We all got caught running some con schemes, ended up here."

I glanced around, then looked back. "What... Happens, here, exactly?"

He raised a brow. "Never been to Mars?"

I shook my head. "Just stopping through," I said. "Or at least, that was the plan."

Mark let out a sigh and glanced between the other two. "Martial enforcement is outsourced around here," he explained. "Easier for the government to contract out than to fund themselves. They lock us up here until our charges are reviewed, then a sentence is put in place. Manual labor, mostly. So the people running this place sell off the criminal terms to people who need the labor." He shrugged. "Riss more or less runs things around here. She's been here the longest. Most people don't stay more than a few days before they get processed."

I turned as I listened, looking over a shoulder to study where Riss dozed on the bunk. It struck me then that aside from myself she was the only woman in the dormitory. I looked back, asking,

"Why has she been here longer than anyone else?"

Tren gave a wry smile at that. "Not for her crime, girl. She's a smuggler, got nailed with some contraband livestock and seed going to a collector somewhere out there," he said, punctuating the explanation with a wave of his hand. "No, the story goes that one of the guards, the power got to his head. Thought she looked good, so he took her off and got her down on her knees, if you get the meaning. Riss, though, well. She isn't much for cooperation. Nearly bit through the whole damn thing."

I gaped.

"Damn fool was off for weeks undergoing treatments," Tren continued, a crow of laughter in his words. "But now, see, there's a grudge. So sometimes, in the process of getting taken in and eventually judged and sent on your way, there are accidents." He mellowed, attention sliding over my shoulder to the distant bunk, and nodded. "She's fixing to be one. They just need to make the arrangements, and everyone knows it."

I twisted around in my seat, putting my back to the table and staring back over at Riss. The grotesque image conjured in my head was unpleasant, but there was something encouraging about it. I had been in similar circumstances, and not once had I even come close to such an act of rebellion.

"She seemed to take a real interest to you, Min," I heard one of the men say behind me. I nodded, slowly, shifting uncomfortably at a sudden group of unsavory possibilities concerning myself and Riss.

"I don't know why," I admitted. "I think I'm going to go see if she's close to waking up."

I stood up and gradually picked my way back to the bunk. My heart had quickened a little before I left the table, and it took some effort to push away the sudden, apparent desire and the conjectures that my imagination drew from it. Exhaling a deep sigh, I settled back on the bunk, head cocking aside as Riss stirred and her eyelids reluctantly cracked open. I was surprised - she seemed languid and slow in waking, but there was a keenness to her gaze from the moment I could see it through her lashes. Then, perhaps it wasn't too surprising that a smuggler would be taking in more than she showed.

"My little runaway empath," she purred drowsily, flashing a wide smile and dragging her hands up to stretch above her head. She smirked at my reaction, rocked forward, and dragged herself up to sit on the end of the bunk. "It ain't too hard to figure out," she said. "Only way someone like you could end up here, and there's no way those luddite brutes running the place'd recognize you for what you are, huh?"

"I... Guess not," I admitted, uneasily glancing around the dormitory. I felt an implicit trust for Riss, but hearing her deduction made me uneasy nevertheless, and sharpened the small wish that my manacles weren't snugly engaged right now. She seemed to read some of my thoughts, leaning forward to flick my uniform's zipper with her index finger, where it nestled at the hollow of my throat.

"Feeling a little vulnerable, Min?" she said. I nodded, my chest tightening. "You probably should be. "In fact, it's probably best for you to get out of here just as soon as you can. If someone else were to figure out what you were, well. You'd be in for a rough ride, wouldn't you?"

"How?" I asked, swallowing. "I mean, you're right, but..."

She cut me off with a shushing noise, hand lifting to cup my jaw, thumb affectionately running over my cheek.

"Ain't it lucky you've got a friend in me?" she said. "See, I've got an interest in getting out of here, too-" she paused at my nod, and I sheepishly mentioned the explanation earlier. Casting a bemused look over at the table Tren, Mark, and Tull still sat around, she continued, "You can see I prefer living to dying, then. I've got a plan for getting out already, and it isn't gonna be too hard, either. But that stunt I pulled really fucked things up, and I can't be the one to do it anymore."

My gut twisted anxiously. The look she pinned me with was enthralling, and all at once I realized I yearned to help her, not merely out of convenience to escape but a desire to see her happy. Still, there was a small part of me that fought the rest, and I clung to it.

"You're a smuggler, aren't you?" I said. Her eyebrows rose at the question - or at least, I hope it was the question, and not the somewhat breathless way I asked it. Still, she nodded, the inquiry in her expression kept silent. Swallowing, I continued,

"I need to get to a station I've heard about, near Phobos."

Her surprise was obvious. She tilted her head aside, scrutinizing me intensely and for long enough that I began to shift uncomfortably beneath her gaze.

"There's only one station out near Phobos," she finally said. Leaning forward, she braced a curled fist against her chin and continued, "And it's not the sort many people know about. I do, naturally, but you..." She trailed off. "What kind of business do you have there?"

"I need some help," I answered with an indifferent shrug. "The sort you can get there and not other places." It was an effort to stop short of explaining everything, made all the more difficult when she left a prolonged gap in the conversation, still watching me.

"Well, Min, how about this," she offered, head lifting from her fist. "You follow along with my plan and help me get out of here, and once we're both safe I'll arrange passage for you to that station. Does that sound reasonable?"

I gave a radiant smile in reply, delighted both at the offer and the idea of once again having a set of goals to pursue rather than questing forward aimlessly. "Alright," I consented with a firm nod, "What is it that you want me to do?"

She smirked.

***

The lights in the dormitory were always on, and there were no conveniences like clocks or news streams or television, so I do not know when I was taken from confinement, but I think it was within the first twenty-four hours or only shortly after. I had been sleeping again, still in Riss' bunk rather than the one above it, when a hand shook my by the shoulder. I groggily woke, focusing up on the sight of Tren leaning over me.

"Up, girl," he said, pulling his hand away to gesture at something. Pushing onto an elbow, I followed his hand to the small video panel beside the entrance and squinted at the fuzzy visage upon it. "You're being called for."

I rose and cleared my throat, trying to force some more cohesion upon my thoughts and failing. Riss had been awake elsewhere in the dormitory, but I caught her in the corner of my eye as she waved to me. I glanced that way, blinked at the wink and small grin she sent my way, and straightened. This is it, I thought, straightening my posture and squaring my shoulders. There was little I could do about my hair, but I could at least try to present myself well in other aspects. I reached the door and stopped before it, attention slipping to the vid screen once more.

"Stand inside the yellow border with your back to the door," a voice commanded from the screen, intonation stripped away by the static imbued within the speakers. "Do not move while the doors are opening." I glanced down, noticing for the first time the large square bordered by a yellow line that marked the indicated area. I turned around to comply and rolled my shoulders around uncomfortably, moving my feet together before broadening my stance again. A few people in the dormitory were watching me and many others weren't, and as the door started grinding its way open I ducked my gaze to instead consider the floor.

I winced as a hand settled on the manacles, my shoulders jerking up near my ears. They weren't designed for comfort, and in the time they had been locked together bruises had formed beneath, thankfully not rubbed entirely raw but painful nonetheless. The hand pulled back, directing me to shuffle four or five steps backward until I was on the other side of the threshold, then it released me and a man stepped up to my side, tapping a button to send the door slowly grinding its way closed again. Glancing aside but otherwise standing still, I looked him over.

He was blond, hair just long enough to sweep off to one side in a professional cut. There was a bold sweep to his jaw, giving his face a squarish cast and the look of classical masculinity. He was taller than me by four or five inches, and when he looked my way I saw that his eyes were hard and brown. In fact, most all his features looked hard, what could have been handsome transformed by some quality into an arrogant superiority. It was clear that he was used to being obeyed.

"With me," he instructed crisply, and turned to march down the corridor without a second glance. I lunged after him after a moment's hesitation, catching up to be a short distance behind him and to the side before attempting to match his speed - his pace was far too wide to imitate. As we walked I studied his back, then his clothing. While the other guards had worn uniforms of some sort his seemed the dress equivalent - a gray militaristic suit with burgundy trim, gloveless, and unremarkable boots with reinforced tips.

We made our way to an elevator and rose several floors before stepping out on an identical hall. A door at the end of the hall opened of its own accord as the man drew near, and I followed him into an expansive office. It was opulently furnished, as if enough rich decorations would transform what it was at its core - a plain, prefabricated steel box. A massive desk of authentic hardwood dominated the center of the room, two backless stools positioned in front of it and a leather armchair behind. A plush carpet hid the floor, bookshelves and tapestries lined the walls, and most absurdly of all a massive wooden plaque stood on the wall directly behind the desk, from which sprouted the head of a brown-furred animal with a pair of branching, tined horns.

He pointed to a stool without bothering to speak. The door slid shut behind me as I stepped forward to slide down onto the indicated chair, gaze remaining fixed on him. Slowly, the man walked around to place an arm on the leather chair and, finally, turned to consider me. I automatically sank a little lower, posture dipping deferentially under his examination.

"I am the warden of this facility," he informed me. "Bryce Tarwell. I understand that you don't have any identification." Keeping silent, I offered a minute nod of affirmation, gaze dropping aside uncomfortably. "Then you understand that I hold your life or death in my hands," he continued evenly, "and that no one should miss you or even notice your disappearance, should you be killed or never released."

The hardness of his tone put ice in my veins. I swallowed, head dipping fractionally, but he commanded,

"Answer me."

Reluctantly, I pulled my attention up to the warden - first his chest, then inching higher to meet his eyes.

"Yes, Warden," I quietly said. "I do."

He nodded. I managed to hold his gaze for a few seconds more before looking down again, making a concerted effort not to slouch down as I did so. The desk was orderly, a few frames for pictures on one side and the base to project a computer terminal from on the other. As I studied the small collection of trinkets group together on a far corner of the desk, the warden stepped around and came to stand just before me. I jerked my attention back, tense again.