Among the Brave

day before?

He pushed those worries to the back of his mind and drove on up to the gates of the prison. They stood between tall walls of chain-link fence topped with loops of razor wire.

“Not another prisoner coming in,” the guard on duty griped when he glanced into the truck.

“No, no,” Trey said soothingly. “I’m picking up one of your prisoners. Then I’m taking both of them to Churko.”

He was relieved that the guard seemed to accept him as a Population Police officer and Mark as a prisoner — in spite of their ragged appearance, in spite of the smashed-up truck. Trey held the authorization papers out the window. The guard looked through them and handed them right back.

“Warden’s office is straight ahead on the right,” he said.

“Thanks,” Trey said.

“Warden’s a stickler for appearances, if you know what I mean,” the guard said.

“Oh,” Trey said.

“I’m just warning you, that’s all,” the guard said. “He likes spit-polished shoes.”

Trey glanced down at the mud flaking off his shoes, the stains and rips arcing across his pant legs.

“Got an extra uniform I can borrow, then?” Trey asked.

The guard shook his head, grinning.

“Good luck,” he said, like it was all a joke.

Great, They thought. Mark’s almost passing out from pain, I may be walking into a trap, I still don’t know if I can save Lee and Nina and the others in time — and this guy thinks it’s funny that I’m going to get yelled at for not spit-polishing my shoes.

Or maybe I won’t be able to save Lee and Nina and the others — or Mark — just because my shoes aren’t spit-polished….

Thinking hard, Trey drove on to the warden’s office. It was a small, tidy building, with flowers planted along the walkway. A boy about They’s age — but wearing a much neater uniform — was scrubbing the windows. Behind the office, dozens of official-looking Population Police cars and trucks and buses gleamed in the early-morning sunlight. They looked like they’d each been polished with a toothbrush; they looked like someone had used a ruler to make sure all the vehicles were parked at exactly the same intervals.

Trey let the engine of his truck die several feet back from a concrete divider in front of the warden’s office. It was his best parking attempt yet, but his tires still overlapped the white lines marking his space.

That was the least of his worries.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” They told Mark.

Mark nodded, and seemed to turn a few shades paler.

Trey got out of the truck and walked to the front door of the warden’s office. He rapped his knuckles against the wood frame, trying to make his knock sound precise and official.

“Enter,” a voice called.

Trey took a deep breath, then opened the door and stepped in onto luxurious-looking carpet. A man in a heavily decorated uniform sat behind a huge mahogany desk. Trey reminded himself he didn’t have time to stare at all the man’s ribbons and medals.

“Sir!” Trey barked, snapping his arm into a salute against his capless forehead. “Officer Jackson reporting. Request permission to present papers.”

The man looked bemused.

“At ease,” he said. “Proceed.”

“I must first offer apologies for my appearance, sir!” Trey said.

The man looked him up and down, a slight frown playing across his heavyset face.

“Apologize, then,” he said.

“Sir!” They repeated yet again. “I am a disgrace to the honor of this uniform.” He remembered the excuse the guard had given back at the Grants’ house. “I was subduing a prisoner who had no proper respect for Population Police authority. I know it is no excuse, but that is why my uniform is ripped and I am covered in mud. And I lost my cap. I am deeply ashamed to appear before you like this.”

“Indeed,” the man said. But he was smiling now. “I wish the guards in my unit shared your concerns. You did succeed in subduing the prisoner, though?”

“Yes, sir,” Trey said. On the theory that a smidgen of truth strengthened any lie, he added, “I broke his leg, sir. I believe he may be on the verge of death.”

“Well done,” the man said.

Trey barely managed not to gag with revulsion at that How could this man care so much about spit-polished shoes and so little about a human life?

The man glanced out the window, to where Mark sat in chains.

‘This prisoner is being transferred into my jurisdiction?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Trey said. His arm was beginning to ache from saluting for so long, but he kept it in position. “I am picking up one of your prisoners and taking both of them on to Churko.”

The warden motioned for Trey to give him the paperwork. He looked through the papers, seeming to read each one carefully.

“You’re taking prisoners from Slahood as well? That’s odd…,“ he murmured.

“I’m only following orders, sir!” Trey said, hoping to distract him.

The warden narrowed his eyes, looking straight at Trey. Trey worried that he had carried his act too far. He’d been trying to behave like a groveling flunky had in a military book he’d once read. How did he know how Population Police officials talked in real life?

Then the warden said, “I like your attitude, young man. Are you a new recruit?”

Just in case the warden had some way of checking, Trey told the truth.

“Yes, sir! I joined up yesterday, sir!” Had it only been yesterday that he’d stood in that long line at the Grant house? It seemed many, many lifetimes ago.

“The new recruits I’ve been sent lack your enthusiasm for our cause. They seem most concerned about eating,” the warden sneered. It seemed like an unfair gibe, considering that the warden must have weighed more than two hundred and fifty pounds — he’d obviously spent a lot of time himself being concerned about eating. “Any chance I could have you transferred to my unit?”

Oh, great, Trey thought. I’ve played my part too well.

“Sir?” Trey said cautiously. “I would not want to be disloyal to my current commander. I must finish my assignment before I could think of being transferred.”

“Of course,” the warden said. “I should have known you’d have that response.” He tidied Trey’s papers into a single stack. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll have one of my guards go pick up the prisoners from Slahood right now. That will save you quite a bit of time. I’ll have another guard retrieve prisoner”—he glanced down at Trey’s forms— “prisoner 908653 from cell block three here at Nezeree. And I’ll have a fresh uniform sent up for you to change into while you’re waiting.” The warden barked a few short commands into an intercom on his desk, and it was all set in motion.

“Thank you, sir,” Trey said, unable to believe his good luck

“And the prisoner in the truck,” the warden said. “I’ll write up an order to have him shot right now.”

“What?” The luxurious room seemed to be spinning slightly. Surely Trey hadn’t heard the warden properly. Surely his brilliant lies hadn’t led to this.

“For attacking a Population Police officer,” the warden said casually “It’s a capital offense, you know.”

And he reached for a pen.

Chapter Thirty

The room was truly spinning now. Mark was the one being sentenced to death, but it was Trey whose life flashed before his eyes. How could he have done this? How could he have rescued Mark — twice — only to see him