Two Dimmings Before Year of The Survivor 1

“99437958!” A gaoler bellowed. “Report to Director Brenhus.”

As the other prisoners filed into the dining hall, prisoner 99437958 stepped out of line, brushed the palms of his hands against the side of his shirt, squinted at the two suns descending toward the horizon, then shuffled across the barren dirt, past stark cells to the office building with his hands held open and out to the sides so that the gaolers could see that they were empty at all times. He paused outside the door, shuffled his feet noisily, then lowered his gaze to the ground to wait. After several minutes, Director Brenhus appeared.

“Ah, Mr. Gainer, come in,” Brenhus invited. Wells Gainor’s eyes widened in surprise before immediately narrowing in suspicion. He had not been allowed to go by his own name since the day he regained consciousness in this New East Anglia prison. There was no reason for the prison director to use it now. Brenhus held open the door and repeated, “Come in.”

Wells reacted cautiously, accessing his surroundings as he moved into the interior of the building. Brenhus steered him to a chair in front of the enormous mahogany desk imported from Earth, then the director settled behind it. Opening a log book in the center of the desktop, Brenhus read aloud, “Wellington Gainor, unmarried, entrepreneur, trillionaire.” He chuckled, “I’ll just amend that last one to say former trillionaire, for accuracy’s sake.” He cleared his throat then continued reading, “Apprehended by force while enroute to your residence after touring a plant that manufactured suspended animation process equipment for space travel.” Brenhus laughed as he admitted, “One that should have been yours, eh? You had the winning bid. Then again, Raedwald has never been someone to trifle with. How was that process, by the way? We don’t use the old technology anymore, but I’ve always wondered how it made someone feel and whether or not there were aftereffects?”

Wells shrugged, confused about what he was hearing.

“Ah, no doubt you have memory loss from the process. I’ve heard that happened frequently,” Brenhus remarked. “It states that you are to be detained indefinitely, but I’ll just note here that you were released on your own recognizance and in good health.”

“You’ve destroyed my health,” Wells objected hesitantly as he struggled to keep his voice level in order to minimize the risk of being put in the Nuisance Cage.

Brenhus grinned.

Wells’ eyes darted around the room and then settled on the log book in front of the director. Heat rose in his voice as added, “I was a healthy 35-year-old before you got a hold of me. Too little food and most of it bad, hard labor regardless of ability, no medical care, both physical and psychological torture.”

“Surely you didn’t expect prison to be a vacation, Mr. Gainor. That would neutralize its purpose,” Director Brenhus countered. He made a note in the log book and then shut it with a loud thump. Chuckling again, he said, “Don’t be so serious, Mr. Gainor. You’re a free man. You’ve completed your sentence and can leave. In fact, you must leave.”

Wells Gainor shifted in the chair, cleared his throat uneasily, and said, “I can return to Earth?”

“No,” Brenhus stated impersonally. “You are forbidden to set foot on Earth or any planet or moon in its vicinity.”

“My family…”

“As a kindness to your family, an official certificate was issued. The vehicle you were in burned to ashes, so your body was unable to be recovered. It was ruled an accident. No one cares about you anymore, Mr. Gainor.”

“Why will I go?”

“Make yourself a life on Terra Saint Edmunds somewhere. Anywhere. Our budget at the prison demands that we cut out all waste. Since you are no longer a prisoner, you are that waste. Leave immediately.”

Wells stumbled to his feet and turned toward the door. He paused and asked quietly, “Where are my personal effects? My money. My father’s ring. My watch. My communications pod. My civilian clothes.”

“You forfeited those.”

“I did not. I did nothing illegal, and you’ve never had the right to keep me a prisoner.”

“You’ll need to take that up with the Universal Criminal Court. As of right now, you are trespassing, Mr. Gainor.”

“Dinner? I haven’t eaten yet today.”

“Leave, Mr. Gainor. Now.”

Two armed gaolers appeared in the hallway to the rooms at the rear of the office building. Wells strode out the door with the armed gaolers following.

He paused as his eyes swept over the prison looking for someone to notice his departure, however, his fellow prisoners were all in the dining hall so he couldn’t say goodbye to any of them. For their sakes more than his, he dared not approach the prisoners on display in the Nuisance Cages. Wells sighed and trudged down the center of the road toward town.

His first priority would be to find shelter before Second Sun sets.

One Dimming before the Year of the Survivor 1

Wells’ fear of starvation proved unfounded. Fruit, nuts, and fresh stream water were plentiful and easy to access. He ate better than he ever had while incarcerated. For shelter, he had built a lean-to about halfway between the prison and the town and spent the first dimming simply resting inside it, only going out to forage or for his personal needs.

Twelve days later, in the middle of the next dimming, he felt he had recuperated enough to hike the rest of the way into town to see if he could find employment of some sort. No sentries challenged him when he passed through the town gates. None of the shops were open. No one crowded the sidewalks or hurried along the roads.

Gaolertown was empty.

©2022 Vera S Scott
Next: Chapter 2 Evacuation Coming Wednesday!