Read Online Prisoner of Conscience by Susan R. Matthews - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan R. Matthews
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asset to Chilleau Judiciary and to the Bench. His duty clearly called for him to protect that life as best he could.
“Ready and waiting, Administrator,”Belan said, but Geltoi was already halfway across the room. Belan hurried to catch up; the sound of his heavy breathing amused Geltoi. “There’s a delivery coming, sir, seventeen ships cleared by the Port Authority to your custody. Two hundred and thirty-four souls.”
Once the Dramissoi Fleet arrived his supply of replacement workers would logically start to diminish; the Port Authority would be forced to process them through the displacement camp, rather than the Domitt Prison. He would have to shepherd his resources wisely. Two hundred and thirty-four souls? Excellent. He had plenty for them to do.
The lift at the far end of the corridor was waiting, properly attended by the day-watchman, who bowed respectfully to the Administrator as he stepped into the lift. The day-watchman was Sentish, not Pyana, but he knew his place. It was gratifying to receive such marks of submission from Sentish now that the Pyana had triumphed at last — even if they’d had to cry to Jurisdiction in order to do so.
Administrator Geltoi paused once he stepped out of the building, taking a moment to savor the air and the beautiful bright morning. The breeze from the river came up through the town with news of the wealth of the water and the kinds of things people ate for fast-meal here in Port Rudistal, and swept any lingering unpleasantness that might still have shadowed beneath his fortress walls safely away from any conscious perception.
It had been nearly two months, now.
Within a few more weeks the accelerant would have done its work, and there would be no hint of rotting flesh in the air to disturb the senses; nor any distinguishing the bones from those of Nurail who had died of quite natural causes years and years and years gone by, Standard.
“Administrator?” Belan prompted, sounding confused and a little uncomfortable. It amused Geltoi to note how nervous Belan still was of the filled-in pit where the construction crane had anchored, where they’d buried their mutineers. Belan had weak nerves.
Descending the steps without bothering to reply, Geltoi stepped into the passenger compartment of his touring car, settling himself against the deep blue cushions. Belan followed him meekly and pulled the door to; and the touring car swung away from the apron in front of the administration building for the prison proper.
It took long minutes to travel the distance.
The stark black walls of the Domitt Prison rose six stories high, and behind those walls —
Coming around the southeast corner for the main gate, the touring car turned in to the great central courtyard. To the left, the mess building, with the kitchen at the back with the laundry. To the right, administrative in-processing for new arrivals, and the prison’s internal security detachment. There were only a few work-crews present, busy at sanding the pavement smooth.
The dispatch building that faced the great gate was quiet this time of day; the work-crews had already been dispatched to their day’s labor. Only the replacement carts stood ready at the front, waiting for the word to carry fresh workers out to the land reclamation project as prisoners failed under the requirements of their task.
Geltoi took particular pride in maintaining strict accountability. The same number of workers that had left on work detail in the morning could be counted reliably to the soul returning in the evening. The fact that they were not the same workers was hardly material. What was important was that the numbers added up.
Pulling up at the back of the great square, the car halted to let Geltoi descend. This was prison internal administration, where the prison staff took their meals and guests could receive orientation before taking a tour. The day-warden was waiting.
“Good-greeting, Administrator Geltoi.” It was his third
“Ready and waiting, Administrator,”Belan said, but Geltoi was already halfway across the room. Belan hurried to catch up; the sound of his heavy breathing amused Geltoi. “There’s a delivery coming, sir, seventeen ships cleared by the Port Authority to your custody. Two hundred and thirty-four souls.”
Once the Dramissoi Fleet arrived his supply of replacement workers would logically start to diminish; the Port Authority would be forced to process them through the displacement camp, rather than the Domitt Prison. He would have to shepherd his resources wisely. Two hundred and thirty-four souls? Excellent. He had plenty for them to do.
The lift at the far end of the corridor was waiting, properly attended by the day-watchman, who bowed respectfully to the Administrator as he stepped into the lift. The day-watchman was Sentish, not Pyana, but he knew his place. It was gratifying to receive such marks of submission from Sentish now that the Pyana had triumphed at last — even if they’d had to cry to Jurisdiction in order to do so.
Administrator Geltoi paused once he stepped out of the building, taking a moment to savor the air and the beautiful bright morning. The breeze from the river came up through the town with news of the wealth of the water and the kinds of things people ate for fast-meal here in Port Rudistal, and swept any lingering unpleasantness that might still have shadowed beneath his fortress walls safely away from any conscious perception.
It had been nearly two months, now.
Within a few more weeks the accelerant would have done its work, and there would be no hint of rotting flesh in the air to disturb the senses; nor any distinguishing the bones from those of Nurail who had died of quite natural causes years and years and years gone by, Standard.
“Administrator?” Belan prompted, sounding confused and a little uncomfortable. It amused Geltoi to note how nervous Belan still was of the filled-in pit where the construction crane had anchored, where they’d buried their mutineers. Belan had weak nerves.
Descending the steps without bothering to reply, Geltoi stepped into the passenger compartment of his touring car, settling himself against the deep blue cushions. Belan followed him meekly and pulled the door to; and the touring car swung away from the apron in front of the administration building for the prison proper.
It took long minutes to travel the distance.
The stark black walls of the Domitt Prison rose six stories high, and behind those walls —
Coming around the southeast corner for the main gate, the touring car turned in to the great central courtyard. To the left, the mess building, with the kitchen at the back with the laundry. To the right, administrative in-processing for new arrivals, and the prison’s internal security detachment. There were only a few work-crews present, busy at sanding the pavement smooth.
The dispatch building that faced the great gate was quiet this time of day; the work-crews had already been dispatched to their day’s labor. Only the replacement carts stood ready at the front, waiting for the word to carry fresh workers out to the land reclamation project as prisoners failed under the requirements of their task.
Geltoi took particular pride in maintaining strict accountability. The same number of workers that had left on work detail in the morning could be counted reliably to the soul returning in the evening. The fact that they were not the same workers was hardly material. What was important was that the numbers added up.
Pulling up at the back of the great square, the car halted to let Geltoi descend. This was prison internal administration, where the prison staff took their meals and guests could receive orientation before taking a tour. The day-warden was waiting.
“Good-greeting, Administrator Geltoi.” It was his third
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