The cells themselves are just a couple of metres wide. There’s nothing in them: no bed, no sink, just a hole in the floor in one corner to use as a toilet. By the time we’ve made one circuit of the block, which is arranged in a three-sided square around the elevator shaft, I’ve counted thirty of them. With each cell we pass, I gaze at the faces of the prisoners inside, hoping desperately that one of them might be Max, but he’s not here.
I bet Felix’ll make sure I’m never put on his block
, I think, and feel frustration rise inside me.
But my frustration is quickly replaced by scorn. If that’s his game, then all I have to do is wait until I’ve patrolled all the other floors. Then I’ll know for sure which one Max is on, because it’ll be the only one I haven’t been sent to. I could just search the prison, of course, but I’d have to do it off-shift when the other agents are on patrol, which would draw attention to me, and might draw it to the others too.
You’ll have to wait
, I tell myself.
Then once you know which floor Max is on, find a way to get yourself put on patrol there
.
The last cell seems to be empty except for a heap of grubby blankets by the wall. We return to the airlock.
‘We might as well take it in turns to patrol after this,’ Fiona says once we’re on the other side, as I remove my helmet and take gulps of the relatively fresh air. I nod. I can’t stop thinking about those cramped, filthy cells.
Can’t
stop imagining Max in one of them. It makes me feel physically sick.
Fiona takes the first patrol, and I take the second. I walk along the cell block more slowly this time, peering at every face, just in case Max
is
down here and somehow I missed him the first time around. But I don’t see him anywhere.
I reach the last, empty cell and turn to go back. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see the heap of blankets against the wall move.
A hand emerges, pushing the blankets back. My heart starts to beat faster. Max? No, it’s too small. I stay where I am, watching, as a diminutive figure sits up and leans against the wall. I stare, shocked. It’s a girl, and she can’t be more than twelve or thirteen years old. Her hair is hacked brutally short, her face pale and bony, and her eyes, glittering feverishly and ringed with dark shadows, look huge. She starts to cough, a hacking noise that sounds as if it’s coming right from the bottom of her lungs. Her body convulses with it.
I can’t stand here and watch this. I just
can’t
. I wheel round and start to run back along the block, then remember the cameras and slow to a brisk walk. When I get through the airlock, I pick up my pack, plonk it on the table and unzip it, taking out a bottle of water.
‘What are you doing?’ Fiona says sharply.
‘One of the prisoners – a young girl – she’s ill. She needs water,’ I say.
Fiona puts a gloved hand on my wrist, stopping me. ‘No,’ she says. ‘We’re not here to play nursemaid to them. If she’s that sick, we’ll link the medic who’s here for the staff and see if they’ll do anything.’
‘But—’ I say.
‘
No
.’
I consider taking the bottle anyway, but I’d probably have to knock Fiona down to get away from her, and if we tussle, it might get picked up on the cameras. And if
that
happens, and someone from the other team of agents sees . . .
I sit down with a sigh, lifting up my visor just enough to clear out the stale air inside it. As soon as Fiona’s disappeared into the airlock, I grab two bottles of water out of my pack and shove them into the inside pockets of my jacket. It’s so padded already that when I zip it back up, you can’t tell. Then I wait for Fiona to come back, hoping that no one was watching me through the cameras.
When it’s my turn to patrol the block again I head straight down to the girl’s cell. I can hear she’s still coughing before I even reach her. Punching the block code into the keypad beside the cell door, I slip inside, hoping the cameras aren’t watching me.
The girl stares at me and tries to scramble away from me, but she doesn’t get far because of the restraint on her wrist. I take a deep breath, then push up my visor. Without the night-vision overlay, everything’s plunged into gloom. The stink of the cell block hits me like a slap, and it takes every bit of willpower I have not to gag.
‘It’s
OK,’ I say. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ I unzip my jacket, take out the bottles of water, unscrew the top of one and hand it to her. ‘Here.’
She eyes me, her face clouded with fear and mistrust. Another fit of coughing racks through her, and I push the bottle at her. ‘Drink it,’ I say.
She reaches out, then pulls her hand back. I wait, still holding it out to her. At last, she takes it, gulping the water down thirstily.
‘Slow down,’ I say, grabbing her wrist and gently pulling the bottle away from her mouth. ‘You’ll make yourself sick.’
She snatches her arm free and takes another long drink of the water. I watch as she tilts her head back to catch every last drop, her throat working, and wonder how long it is since she last had any. When the bottle’s empty, she flings it down and leans her head back against the wall, her chest heaving. But she isn’t coughing any more.
She’s thin; much thinner than any of the other prisoners here. The skin of her face is stretched across the bones underneath like paper and her fingers are like matchsticks, the knuckles swollen and raw-looking.
I open my mouth to ask her name. Then I remember that she thinks I’m an ACID agent. Remembering the spytag I had at Mileway, I switch on the wrist-scanner in the cuff of my right glove, and lean down to swipe it across her left hip. There’s a soft beep in my ear, and the data flashes up on my wraparound.
Name:
Aysha Kennett
Prisoner ID:
TQ3871
Age:
14
Charge:
Illegal citizen (parents not LifePartners)
Sentence:
Life
Other notes:
Prisoner has shown signs of defiance. Food rations to be significantly reduced until behaviour improves
Record last updated:
03.04.13
I feel a fresh wave of horror.
Fourteen
, and as if being caged up like an animal wasn’t bad enough, they’ve been starving her half to death for the last four months, for God knows what reason. And she hasn’t even committed a crime – all she’s done is been born out of Partnership.
Just like I was.
A shudder works its way along my spine. What if they’re doing this to Max too? I realize I’ve been here too long; Fiona will be wondering where I am. ‘I’ll bring you some food next time,’ I promise as I cut the link and go back over to the door, pulling my visor down again.
She gazes at me, her chest moving up and down rapidly, as if even breathing’s an effort. ‘Why?’ she says in a voice that’s little more than a hoarse whisper.
‘Because—’ I start to say, then stop, realizing I was about to tell her I’m not really an ACID agent. I’m half tempted to go ahead and tell her anyway, but I know I can’t. I haven’t been here long enough, and I can’t let
anything
jeopardize my plan to rescue Max and confront the general.
‘The, um, order to reduce your rations has been revoked,’ I say. Then I leave the cell, locking the door behind me again, and head back along the block.
The rest of the shift seems to take for ever. Fiona and I don’t really talk, just take turns to patrol. Before I go back to the cell again, I load my jacket up with food from my pack. ‘Don’t let the other agents see you with this stuff,’ I whisper to Aysha as I give it to her.
She frowns. ‘Why? You said—’
‘I know what I said, but just don’t, OK?’
She nods, a confused look on her face.
The next time I look in on her, she’s asleep. There’s no sign of any of the food packets, so she must have hidden them under her blankets. I hope she’s eaten something.
I return to the airlock. When the siren sounds, it feels as if twelve years have passed, not just twelve hours.
‘God, I’m glad that’s over,’ Fiona says, her face pale, as we walk to the elevator. The doors open and two agents get out, their helmets still under their arms. ‘Rough, was it?’ one of them says when he sees Fiona, grinning. ‘Don’t worry, love. A few days and you’ll get used to it.’
Guffawing, he gives Fiona a slap on the arm that’s slightly too hard to be friendly, and he and his colleague head down to the doors.
Back upstairs, I head straight for the showers, peeling off my jumpsuit and scrubbing myself until my skin burns. Even then, the stench of the cell block lingers in my
nostrils
. When I’m dressed again, in ordinary jeans and a T-shirt, I hang my jumpsuit up to air it a little and go into the lounge. The others are all there, looking as pale as Fiona did earlier.
‘So,’ Felix says to me. ‘Glad you came along?’
‘I’ve seen worse,’ I say, although I haven’t, not even close. I stick my chin out and look him in the eye.
And to my gratification, it’s Felix who looks away first.
CHAPTER 59
OVER THE NEXT
few days, Felix arranges the rota so I end up patrolling One; then Three; then One again; and after that, back down to Four.
‘God, the food here is so
bad
,’ Fiona says as we head down to the bottom floor. I’ve ended up doing all my shifts with her, and during the long hours spent watching the cells, we’ve sort of warmed to each other. ‘I don’t think that meat we just had was even sub.’
‘It’s probably seagull,’ I say. All the windows on the upper floor are streaked with shit which reappears as quickly as the maintenance crew, who I’ve never seen, clean it off. And whenever I’m in my room, I can hear the gulls pattering about on the roof. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the cooks – who I haven’t met either – go out and catch a few when supplies are running low.
‘Ugh, don’t say that,’ she says, pulling a face.
I smile, but I’m not really paying attention to the conversation. I have other things on my mind, like trying to work out how I’m going to get put on shift on Block Two so I can see Max. Then there’s Aysha. Is she OK? I’ve already filled the inside pockets of my jacket with food and water for her, but I can’t help feeling anxious.
I
offer to take the first patrol so I can check on her.
When I reach her cell, she’s stretched out on her blankets, not moving. I go in and crouch down beside her, pushing up my visor. ‘Aysha?’ I whisper. She doesn’t respond. I turn her over gently, and shock jolts through me. She’s breathing, but only just, sucking in shallow, wheezing gasps of air. Her eyes are closed and in the half-light her lips look purple. I pull off my glove and lay the back of my hand against her cheek. She’s burning hot – even hotter than Max was when I first found him, and he was so ill.
‘
Aysha
,’ I say, a little louder. She doesn’t even open her eyes. She’s unconscious.
I hurry back to the seating area. ‘We need to link the medic,’ I tell Fiona, pushing up my visor. ‘The prisoner in the last cell’s in a bad way.’
She sees my expression and frowns. ‘OK,’ she says. She puts her helmet back on and speaks into her komm. ‘She’s on her way,’ she tells me.
The medic, a bony, hard-faced woman in a grey uniform, arrives five minutes later. ‘Which one?’ she barks in a tone that says she doesn’t really give a shit. She’s wearing gloves, and there’s a bag over her shoulder and a respirator hanging around her neck.
‘The last cell,’ I say. ‘Aysha Kennett.’
Looking like I’ve just asked her to clean out the cells with her toothbrush, the medic stamps to the airlock, pulling her respirator up over her mouth and nose.
Fiona and I both watch her disappear inside. Anxiety churns in my stomach.
Did you get any footage?
Fiona mouths.
Of Aysha?
I mouth back.
Yes
.
I shake my head. Glancing up at the corners of the ceiling – although, when I follow her gaze, I can see nothing there – Fiona gives me a tiny sideways nod.
‘I’d better finish my patrol,’ I say loudly. I snap my visor down and walk to the airlock.
The medic is just coming out of Aysha’s cell when I get there. ‘How is she?’ I say.
‘I’ve put a drip in. Don’t know as it’ll do much, though,’ the woman says, her voice coming through my komm, muffled-sounding behind her respirator. ‘Once they get like that, well—’
For a split second I see emotion flicker in her eyes. I wonder how long she’s been here, how many prisoners she’s seen in a similar state to Aysha. And panic squeezes inside me suddenly as I think,
Max could be in the same way
.
Then the woman’s eyes go hard and cold again. ‘If anything changes, link me. Otherwise, I’ll check on her again tomorrow,’ she says, shouldering her bag and pulling the cell door closed.
‘Tomorrow?’ I say. ‘But what if—’ Just in time, I remember I’m supposed to be an ACID agent. I remember I’m supposed not to care.
I nod. ‘Fine. Thanks for coming down.’
She shoots me an odd look as she leaves, and I
realize
that maybe even thanking her was going too far.
Never mind.
When she’s gone, I go into Aysha’s cell. She’s lying in the same position I found her in. The only thing that’s changed is the line snaking into her arm, the needle hidden by a patch of white gauze which looks startlingly bright against the dirt streaked across her skin.
I take out the bottle of water concealed in my jacket and try to get her to open her mouth so I can tip a few drops in, but she still doesn’t respond. Then I remember I’m supposed to be filming her. With a heavy feeling inside my stomach, I put the water back and turn on my vidfeed. I make sure I get footage of every part of Aysha’s tiny, filthy cell; of the needle in her arm and her blue-lipped, fever-flushed face. After that I leave the cell and walk back down to the airlock.
The next time I go down there, her breathing has become shallower, and she’s making a strange rasping sound every time she tries to draw in air. I pull off a glove to take her pulse. It’s barely there; a moth-wing flutter. The drip is still half full, but I don’t need to be a medic to know that whatever’s in there is having no effect.