AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The guard led me up two flights of stairs to a laboratory. Signature streaks of black from wayward shock rifle fire marked the walls and floor. It must have seen some of the riot action too. With the power down, every part of the facility would be laid open. And there had to be more than one prisoner with a grudge against the previous Supervisor.
An engineer worked to fix a ruptured chair back into position. To one side was a cell with padded walls and a single chair in the center. My skin shivered at the thought of the experiments that must have taken place there over the years.
I cast my eyes over the room and wondered how many more of those padded cells there were concealed in here.
The guard paused at the foot of a final flight of stairs and motioned for me to head up it.
I did, and the guard kept pace with me, nipping at my heels. I doubted he would slow or stop if I missed a step. He didn’t leave me until I opened the door at the top of the steps and shut it behind me.
The apartment was very chic and well-designed with a long table at the front. It was piled high with papers. I was surprised to find this room had seen signs of fighting too.
Side tables and chairs lay like casualties. One sofa lay forlornly on its side having been smashed in half. At the far end of the room, an arm protruded out from the building forming a circular shuttlecraft launching pad at its end. On it sat an old shuttle that’d seen better days. It was dented and scuffed from adventures it’d endured over the years.
Inside the room stood five figures. Three wore heavy plate armor and looked strong and capable, much like the prison guards but on steroids. And maybe they really were on steroids. Their exposed arms were big and bulging, their eyes focused and alert. The closest one to me approached.
I held up my arms to either side and my feet shoulder width apart. He patted me down and checked me for weapons.
He had a square chin and wavy blond hair. His eyes were smoky and must have sent the girls wild. Once he straightened up, he fixed me with a look and gave me a wink.
He motioned for me to join the other prisoner on the center carpet before an old man.
These were the two other figures in the room. An old man lounged on a sofa before the only other prisoner present. He stood with his hands behind his back. If I had to guess, I would have said it was Smiok Gen who was here to speak with the supervisor about his experiences during the riot. His name had been called before mine on the public speaker system earlier.
My attention was taken by the old man. He was very striking in appearance. He was tall and spindly with curved black horns atop his head and skin the color of blossoming fire. His eyes were tinted yellow and his irises were the elongated curl of a cat’s.
He had the appearance of an eighty or ninety-year-old and looked every inch of it. What little hair he had on his head was grey and tinted with white.
A walking stick leaned at a lazy angle on the sofa beside him. On its handle was the skull of a small creature. It might have been fully grown or in an early stage of development.
Smiok looked at me over his shoulder as I joined him at his side. He appeared relieved his time was almost up.
The old man looked up at me with his watery blue eyes.
“Ah,” he said. “You must be Trayem Keyon.”
“That’s correct sir,” I said.
“A pleasure to meet you.”
He waved a finger between me and Smiok.
“Do you know each other?” he said.
I glanced at the prisoner and he looked at me. We shook our heads.
“No, sir,” I said.
“That’s interesting,” the old man said, “because Smiok says you’re an undercover agent working for some sinister group seeking to learn information about the comings and goings in this prison. Are any of his accusations accurate?”
Smiok frowned and peered between the old man and me.
“That’s not true,” I said.
“Are you sure?” the old man said, running his fingers through his long white beard and wrapping it around his gnarled finger. “He seems quite sure it was you.”
“I’m afraid he’s wrong,” I said. “I’m not an undercover spy. My life isn’t that interesting.”
“Just for the record, that’s not what I said,” Smiok said. “I said that I heard some of the prisoners whispering rumors about the riot. I never said it was him—”
