“Thanks again for a great night.”
“No, thank you. My night was shaping up pretty badly before you turned up.”
“I guess we can both agree on that.”
We shared a laugh.
“If you ever win a fight, feel free to look me up,” Harper said.
“I will.”
Will I?
A moment passed but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was now when we were meant to say goodbye and neither of us was much in the mood for that.
I leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. She did the same for me.
Why did this goodbye feel so much harder than any other?
She raised a hand, waved, and disappeared inside the Prize Pool.
Never to be seen by me again.
I felt angry at myself for letting her go. I wasn’t even willing to take a chance that things might, somehow, work out between us.
I should have known better. The risks were far too high.
I had to let her go. I had no other choice.
I turned and headed back down the hallway I’d come from.
An armed guard caught sight of me and looked about ready to approach me and force me to join the rest of the forced labor.
I’d be damned if he thought I was going to help clean up a mess I had no part in.
I had a slate of lies I could tell him: “I’m carrying out an errand for another workgroup. I have to return to them now or the guard will get angry.”
Or: “I would love to help but my arm’s sore from defending myself against the prisoners you were meant to protect me from.”
I doubted the latter would go down very well.
I needn’t have worried. The overhead speaker system wheezed and the deep voice spoke again.
“Trayem Keyon,” he said. “Report to the supervisor’s office at nine fifteen a.m. I repeat, Trayem Keyon, report to the supervisor’s office. That is all.”
I pointed to the overhead speaker system and shrugged my shoulders apologetically.
I headed toward the supervisor’s office with a deep twisting sensation in the pit of my stomach.
The supervisor’s office was adjacent to the Prize Pool. Was this on purpose? So the supervisor could take advantage of the Pool easier than the prisoners? Or was it to remind the prisoners who was king here? He kept his concubines close and only let victors use them when he saw fit.
Or maybe it was only coincidence.
I met the pair of guards at the bottom of the steps that led up to the supervisor’s office. Neither spoke at my approach.
“I’m Trayem Keyon,” I said. “I’m here to see the new supervisor. I have an appointment.”
For the longest time, the guards stood there staring. I was about to repeat what I’d said when the one on the left spoke into his communicator.
“Prisoner identification number 64732 here to see the supervisor,” he said.
He nodded at the message he heard on the other end of the line and waved for me to enter.
I climbed the steps behind the guard while the other man remained positioned at the foot of the steps.
They really weren’t taking any chances. And why would they when there was a chance the prisoners could easily riot again? I knew if I was in charge of his security detail, I’d do exactly the same thing.
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
