Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 03

But now, under the pall of this rolling disaster- the loss of his girls, not to mention a sixty-million dollar plane- the place had taken on a different hue. Either that or he was seeing it with a clarity of vision, gifted to him by a certain little blonde. Glowering locals in their sandals and thawbs, rich and ignorant, wealth without worth. Suit-clad westerners, grim faced and harried, sweating their guts out under the midday sun, all doing the bidding of the few who owned the much. And the guest workers, ten-dollar-a-day clerks and servants, running from errand to errand, dirt poor but always immaculate.

Pulling up on the sidewalk at a set of lights, Bragg watched the vehicular ebb and flow, waiting for a break in the traffic. Pedestrian crossings meant nothing over here, nor did traffic lights for that matter, want to cross the road and you were all on your own. Bragg tallied off the cars as they passed- Merc AMGs, BMWs, Porsches, the odd Lamborghini. Million-dollar Ferraris, stacked to the roof with the day's shopping, fashion-ware and consumer goods, the odd sack of rice. Then there were the taxis, scores of them, green roofs and beige bodies. An endless parade of gas-guzzling, exhaust-fume belching, planet-busting mechanical beasts.

A break appeared and Bragg stepped off the curb, crossing in a scrum with the others. Two legged rats, Watson called them, the throng of humanity. Large, clever and utterly ruthless, the most violent creature that had ever roamed the Earth. Millions of them, billions, tearing through the planet's resources, laying everything to waste like a plague of locusts. And he, Bragg reminded himself, was just one of them.

Reception looked up as he strode into the lobby, their smiles routinely obsequious yet tinged with genuine affection. "Mister Santos," Bragg nodded, "Miss Rachel, Miss Supomo."

That a guest should remember their names was simply remarkable, a westerner to boot. Not to mention a filthy-rich lawyer.

Faces lit up and the reception staff chorused, 'Good morning Mister Roger.' like school kids greeting their teacher. Thumbing the button, Bragg waited for the elevator doors to open, then stepped inside the chrome-and-mirror cage. Oh how he hated these places, the fawning service, the quiet opulence, the sameness it shared with every other one, everywhere in the world. As the elevator began its ascent, Bragg slipped away into another dimension, daydreaming a tropical sea, with white sails and a cool breeze and a little blonde tomboy at his side. What he wouldn't give, for even ten minutes.

Dumping his shopping, Bragg poured himself a tall glass of freshly squeezed juice, then sat heavily in an armchair and kicked off his shoes. To the shops and back with five minutes to spare... Ally-the-pathologically-punctual would have been proud. Fossicking in a pocket he pulled out his phone. Four minutes to run, then three, then two. Counting down from five seconds... 4... 3... 2... 1.... .... .... 1... ... ... 1...!

Brows knitted, Bragg checked his phone. The ring-tone was enabled, airplane mode turned off... plenty of juice. He checked his watch, checked his phone. The call was organised for 12 o'clock sharp, and if there was one thing Kevin knew, it was how to be sharp. Getting to his feet, Bragg wandered aimlessly round the room, now and then glancing at the phone. He was still pacing 20 minutes later, when the phone buzzed and the ringtone leapt out. "Kev?"

Bragg heard his own voice say, 'Kev', followed by an inimitable laugh. "I can just see you." Kevin said. "Pacing around and around in your room."

"Not like you to be tardy, Kev. On the nest with your girlfriend?"

"Chance would be a wonderful thing." Kev sighed. "Nahh... I had to do some pest control."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... let's just say there was an earwig when I dialled."

"Earwig?"

"Waiting for us to make the connection. I had to make another circuit."

"We're being tapped?"

"Not anymore."

"Who was it, do you know?"

"Well, I didn't get their name, but let's just say they probably know how to cook a good chow mein."

"Chinese?"

"That's how it appears. Who knows, it could just be random."

"Are we safe to talk?"

Kev chuckled. "For the time being, while they're busy on that easter egg hunt. Nothing like a jolly good easter egg hunt, I always say."

Bragg ran his fingers through his hair. "Well that's just great. The last thing I need is the triad breathing down my neck."

"Relax, Roger. As far as they know you're still running around in Brazil."

"If you say so. Okay then, what's the scoop? Made any progress?"

"Well, I've been wandering around the local database, local as in where you are I mean. Thought I'd take a peek into the prison system, but it was ring-fenced with an airgap and heavily reactive."

"Oh well," Bragg tisked, "at least you gave it a go."

"It's a funny thing." Kev said, and Bragg heaved an inward sigh, settling in for one of Kevin's rambling dissertations. He loved the guy, they all did, but when Kev's dear wife died, there were mutterings he'd actually bored her to death. "You know, if your culture's built around one single book, one that purports to contain everything that can be known, there's no incentive to learn or discover. Why bother, when it's already written? No curiosity means no questioning. That means no discovery, no invention. So... if you want the same technology as everywhere else in the world, well, you clearly can't make it yourself. So your only other choice is to buy it off someone who can."

Bragg looked reflexively at his watch. "Is this going anywhere Kev?"

"Oh everything goes somewhere Roger, I can assure you. Now take your national penal system. In the west, similar systems have their own security organisation. Experts with a vested interest in the outcome. But places like the one we're talking about, they have to outsource, and the main imperative for the providers is profit. These third-party sources mostly supply off-the-shelf solutions... such a silly word that, solutions, well, not silly, just overused... Sorry? Where was I?"

"Off the shelf security?"

"Oh, right. Yes, you just give the customer something generic, with tweaks here and there to suit their needs. Maximum price for minimum outlay. Do you follow me?"

Slumped low in an armchair, Bragg put his feet up and made himself comfortable. "Can't really see much for the bulldust, Kev, but I'm right behind you."

"Well good. Because, you know, we here in the west suffer from a different problem. To do with ego. Some of the characters who develop such software love to show off their work, sort of a 'look at me', to let everyone know how clever they are. They tag their coding. Nothing too specific, that would be silly, but if you're an industry insider it's pretty easy to pick."

"I'm trying to join the dots, Kev," Bragg sighed, "honestly I am. Where is this leading?"

"Well, look." Kev replied, "The prison system over there. It might be a sovereign system, but it's run by scores of expatriate experts. The tech-support is local but the source is all overseas. If they need to download a fix it has to be done online. So if you can't break in, what's the next best thing? Right. You scorch a sub or two and wait for the re-up. Slip in a little snippet of code as it exits the server. Not too hard to do, especially if you've read the coder's work and copy his style. You can use that to make yourself a little trap door, then let yourself in and take a look around."

"You broke in?" Bragg demanded, on the edge of his seat.

"Didn't have to, Roger. I have a key."

Brag could hear the echo of his own heavy breathing. "And?"

"Let's just say a certain young Australian national is now a guest of His Majesty. Individual by the name of Blake Alan."

"Blake Alan? Is that a dude?"

"Well," Kevin chuckled, "he's in seventh heaven if it is."

"How so?"

"He's in the women's wing. No, I think some silly duffer just messed up the entry. Blake Alan, Alana Blake, it probably all looks the same to them."

"Then it must be! Can you see her Kev? On the CCTV?"

"Well, it's funny you should ask. You see the prison is fitted for, not with. Now, I'm no accountant... I'm far too boring for that... but it seems the budget allocation for CCTV took a wrong turn. Into someone's private bank account apparently. About three million US."

"Any idea whose?"

"Well yes, as a matter of fact. One Talfi Khamim, a brigadier no less. Commandant of the prison."

"He embezzled the dough?"

"Oh, Rodge, 'embezzle' is such a tacky word. I'm sure it's just there for safe-keeping."

Bragg pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do you do it, Kev? Sift these needles out of so many haystacks? It's just incredible."

"My AI, Alan, does it for me. In fact I designed and built it and wrote all the code, so I guess you could say it's a KI."

"And just to be sure. This Blake Alan character? You think it's Alana?"

"Unless Mister Blake Alan and Miss Alana Blake share the same birthday. Not an impossible coincidence I know, but highly unlikely."

"Which prison is she in?"

"Let me send you a link to goggle Earth. It's the Naval Prison. Now, they're either really, really dumb or just being brilliantly ironic, because it's way out in the desert, as far from the water as can be. Right in the middle of a bombing range."

"Well that's gonna be fun."

"What is?"

"When I pay them a visit."

"It's a prohibited area Roger."

"Not when you've got a law degree."

"Not sure bombs and bullets can read."

"Trust me, Kev," Bragg said, getting to his feet, "I'm a lawyer."

*******************************************************************************************************

Ally found Penny where she'd left her, sitting in the shade with her back to the wall, morosely picking at her food. Ally looked radiant, almost transparent in fact, after 4 days non-stop vomiting and volcanic diarrhoea. Setting her tray down, Ally turned stiffly and put a hand on the English girl's shoulder. Penny took her elbow, helping her sit, a tiny yet momentous gift from the blighted young woman. "Haven't seen you around." she said, watching Ally balance the tray on her outstretched legs.

"I've been a bit busy." Ally said then looked Penny in the eye. "But guess what? You'll never guess what happened this morning."

Penny shook her head in confusion. "What?"

"There was a lump in my shit. An honest-to-god solid lump. It was only a little poo-pebble, and there was only the one, but it's the first thing in days that wouldn't go through the eye of a needle."

Penny's face lit up with a smile, the first Ally had seen. She had perfect white teeth that would have given Vicky a run for her money, with two laugh lines either side of her mouth. "You know you've arrived," she laughed, "when the highlight of your day is a bowel movement."

"Arrived? Where?"

"Look around."

Ally shook her head. "Okay, so I've arrived. But I won't be hanging around. You'll see."

"Still banging on about that?"

"And I'm gonna keep banging on about it. As a friend of mine says, 'think what you want, don't think what you don't want."

"What a tosser."

Ally pinched a wad of boiled spinach between finger and thumb then flicked it into the dust. "How about you, Pen? What have you been up to?"

"Well, funny you should ask. I've got some good news and bad news."

"What's the good news?"

"We're gonna be neighbours."

"Really? Cooool! What's the bad news."

Penny shot her a lopsided smile. "We're gonna be neighbours."

"Why would that be bad news?"

"I mean bad news for you. You'll be living next to a family-killer."

Ally rolled her eyes. "You still banging on about that?"

"Touché."

"I'm serious. You didn't kill them, Penny. For fuck's sake, don't be such a drama queen."

They ate in silence for a while, the overcooked stuff only- biryani, a slice of flat bread, hummus made of chickpeas that had been boiled overnight. "Sorry." Penny mumbled.

"Can I tell you something?" Ally asked, giving Penny the side-eye. "My whole adult life I've been all on my own. A single chick, working in a man's world. I've had more unwanted advances than Custer's last stand, not to mention the odd brush with fatality at my own hand."

"Doing what?" Penny frowned.

"I'm a pilot. My first job out of flight school was chasing cattle in the Northern Territory. In the outback, living in mustering camps, the only female for hundreds of miles."

"You're a pilot?" Penny arched her eyebrows. "Then why don't you just fly us the fuck out of here?"

"I'm working on it, believe me. The point is, I've been scared shitless more times than you've had hot dinners, and there's only one thing that saved me..."

"Your obnoxious personality?"

"There's only one other thing that saved me. Never say die. Never surrender. Never give up, even when the chips are down. Like Jim Lovell said, they could have bounced off the walls getting nowhere, or just kept on charging."

"Who?"

"Jim Lovell. Commander of Apollo thirteen. My childhood hero. In fact he still is. A man of infinite ability and indomitable humour. When that space ship blew up, halfway to the Moon, those guys had a choice- freak the fuck out or create their own salvation. And they chose the second one." Pausing, Ally looked up at the bleached blue sky. "Thanks, Jim, by the way. I'm still charging."

Penny sat in silence for a while, staring at the ground. Dirt and grime notwithstanding, Ally couldn't help but notice her feet, slender and feminine and beautifully shaped. The more she studied the young English girl the more Ally realised what a stunner she could be. Such a waste.

"Heard from your boss?" Penny asked quietly.

"Nuh." Ally shook her head, masticating the last of her biryani, "But he's on the case, I just know."

"Must be nice," Penny said wanly, "to have a boss who actually cares about you. Mine just washed his hands. The cunt."

Cunt? There was fight in Penny yet. The whistle blew- time for sport. "Mind tossing my tray in the bin?" Ally asked, wiping a greasy hand on the front of her shirt.

"You gonna shoot some hoops? I'd rather have my teeth drilled."

"Not today, Sunshine." Ally said, then braced herself on Penny's shoulder and struggled upright. She lost her balance with the sudden pull on her blood. "Woah, trippy!"

"You okay?"

"Still getting the hang of this standing thing. No. They'll be turning the showers on soon, I want to be at the front of the queue."

"Come back up when you're finished?"

"Sure. We can make a shopping list for that trip to the mall. I was thinking I might get a massage."

"With a happy ending?"

"Is there any other sort?" Ally said brightly. "Here's an idea. Why don't we both go and ask for a discount?"

Penny said nothing and Ally picked up a disapproving vibe.

"Orrrr not. Anyway, I'm off to the beauty parlour. I'll catch you later if you're still around."

Having cleverly been built in the middle of the desert, a hundred kilometres from the nearest water supply, the prison relied on several massive concrete tanks, set on a rise a few hundred meters outside the wall, serviced by a constant relay of tankers. Showers therefore were strictly rationed- 2 minutes per person a day, during one of 2 sessions, one in the morning, one in the evening after lockup. There was always a queue, and sometimes the water might stay off for days, but the mornings were usually the quietest, prisoners taking advantage of the fresh outside air, even in summer, when temperatures soared to over 50 degrees. Because however hot it might be on the outside, it was only worse in the dungeon, with the stink of sweating bodies adding to the fug.

Flip-flops slapping, Ally scuffed down the long concrete walkway. There were 5 cells in the subterranean level; two elongate pens either side of the walkway, Number 9 and G cells on the left, D and K on the right. And right down the naughty-end of the stark, echoing corridor, her home from home, T-cell.

A handful of inmates remained in each cell, the tired, the sick, the couldn't-be-fucked, or inmates visiting friends. Or other customers queuing for a quick cold shower, ragged towels draped over their arms, spartan toiletries clutched in their hands. Reaching her cell, Ally wended her way through scattered knots of sitting prisoners, bound for the far wall, where a concrete partition with a double-width entrance walled the ablution block off from the rest of the space. Odd, she thought, there was no queue this morning, by the looks of it the ablution block was all hers. After ferreting a sliver of soap from under her sleeping mat, she stepped around the partition into the bathroom.

That also meant no audience today, Harold be praised. What was it about white girls she wondered, that all the other chicks found so intriguing? She never squatted down by the wall to watch a Chinese girl doing their business, though she did cast them an eye when they showered. Ally briefly wondered if she might start selling tickets, fifty to watch her take a shit, a hundred to watch her wash.

Bundling her clothes on the rim of the long steel trough, Ally cranked up the stream and stepped into the cascade of lukewarm water, as refreshing as a mountain spring after days of gut-wrenching food poisoning. Soaping her body, she observed with pride how much the sickness had taken out of her. Yet here she was, still standing. A testament to her little vehicle's resilience.

A movement caught her eye and Ally looked around.

There, at the partition, stood Sonya. The Beast, the Bitch, the serial rapist- wearing a big, triumphant smile.

Ally curled her lip as her heart tried to leap out of her chest. "Well look who it is. Come for your hanky?"

Another body darted into the block, one of Sonya's flunkies, going after Ally's clothes. Ally beat her to it, but not by much, and after a brief tug-o-war, came away with her green cotton pants. While Sonya stood watching, Ally struggled to dress, reefing the pants up over her still wet legs. "Turn you on does it?" she quavered. "Watching chicks in the shower?"

Sonya crossed her arms under her tits, then turned her head slightly without taking her eyes off Ally. A minion hurried to her side and stood, head bowed, listening to her speak. Of all languages, Ally thought, none lent itself to being spoken with a sneer better than Russian. The minion looked up. "Sonya say, you forget underpants."

"Really?" Ally replied, trying to contain her breathing. Her knees were trembling, and a maverick bowel motion was threatening a breakout. "Well tell her so did she. I can see her balls hanging down."

The message went back. Sonya snorted in disgust, while her hand slipped down and tugged surreptitiously at the leg of her shorts. There was a brief commotion outside as some of the inmates tried to come to Ally's aid, only to be sent packing by Sonya's gang. Sonya took another shot across Ally's bows.

"Sonya say you have no breastises. She say fat schoolboy have more bigger."

Ally flattened her hands flat on the sweet little globes. "Well I guess she'd know, since she used to be one. Before the operation. Which by the way didn't go very well. You tell her."

The taunt went wide. "Sonya say, are all girls your country so ugly like you?"

"Some are uglier. And you can tell her. Last time I saw a head like hers it had a hook in it."

The translator passed on Ally's compliments and Sonya clenched her fists. Eyes narrowed, she commenced haranguing Ally in Russian, while Ally, in turn, threw more fuel on the fire.

"Ask the skank if that sloppy old pussy of hers is still stinging." She raised her leg and pointed. "Tell her. Next time she's up for a pap-smear, they can just take a swab from my foot."

Sonya raised her voice, trying to talk over her, as Ally bent at the waist and pretended to sniff. "Fuck me, I can still smell her twat. Week-old prawn heads and rotten egg gas. Does she ever wash?"