‘What are these two?’
‘Suspicious persons. Possibly vagrancy and unemployment. Possession of unauthorized stasis equipment. I was bringing them in for Search, Tests and Questioning.’
He turned to the escort.
‘Take these two down for S. T. & Q.’
The escort saluted, surrounded Billy and Reave and marched them away. Billy leaned close to Reave.
‘Looks like we’re getting inside the tower, though …’
One of the escorts punched Billy in the side of the head, and he staggered.
‘Talking by prisoners is not permitted.’
They were pushed into what looked like a service lift. It sank at high speed to a deep sub-basement level. The lift gates clanged open, and they were marched out into a large, white-tiled room. A stainless-steel counter ran down one side of the wall. Behind it were three men and a woman, in uniform shirt sleeves with the same Personnel-3 shoulder patches. As the escort marched out of the lift, one of them looked up.
‘What have you got there?’
‘Two prisoners for S. T. & Q.’
‘We’ll have to throw them in the tank for a couple of hours. They’ve got a lot upstairs.’
The escort pushed Billy and Reave towards the counter.
‘Just so long as you sign for them, I don’t care what you do.’
‘Okay.’
The man behind the counter picked up a clipboard. He scribbled something on it, tore off a slip and handed it to one of the escort. Then he turned to Billy and Reave.
‘Right, you two. Let’s have you.’
He looked round at one of his companions behind the counter.
‘Bring your gun. We’ll I.D. them and then put them down.’
The second man picked up a machine pistol, while the other tucked a file card and a set of electronic keys under his arm. Billy and Reave were taken through a series of small rooms where they were stripped, fingerprinted, photographed, blood typed and X-rayed. Their clothes, guns and porta-pacs were confiscated. They were given dog tags with a number printed on them and pushed through a steel door, down a short flight of steps and into a large bare room with a concrete floor and smooth tiled walls. Bright striplights were buried in the roof behind thick unbreakable glass. An iron bench ran down the middle of the room. Two of the ragged ghostly men from the outer city sat hunched up on it. Billy and Reave both sat down and looked round the room.
High up in the ceiling was the unmistakable fisheye of a closed-circuit camera. There was also a loudspeaker hung in each corner of the room. Despite himself, Billy grinned. It was the first jail he’d ever been in with quad sound.
Billy moved closer to one of the prisoners and whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
‘What you in for, buddy?’
‘Got arrested.’
‘Listen, uh … if you don’t mind me asking. How come you folks look the way you do?’
‘No power.’
‘Huh?’
‘No power. Th’ field ain’t too strong outside of th’ wall an’ we jus’ grow this way. Take alla power t’ keep t’ tower up. It’s like we …’
The speakers crackled into life.
‘Prisoners will remain silent! You two on the bench, move apart!’
Billy slid down the bench and glanced covertly at Reave,
‘Looks like they watch all the time.’
The speakers spluttered angrily.
‘Silence in there!’
Billy wondered what happened if anyone just ignored the speakers. He thought about the long rubber truncheons and decided not to be the one to put it to a test.
There was nothing for either Billy or Reave to do except sit with his own thoughts. There seemed to be rules against everything. Prisoners had to face the camera. Prisoners must not cross their legs or hide their hands. The speakers screamed and yelled. At first Billy had thought that this jail, with its stainless-steel and antiseptic white tiles, would prove a whole lot better than the lock-up at Dur Shanzag, but after a couple of hours under the eye of the camera and continual barking of the speakers he wasn’t so sure.
‘79014 will stand facing the door!’
Billy looked at his dog tag. It wasn’t him. One of the men from the outer city reluctantly stood up and shuffled over to the door. He seemed to grow more and more transparent. His thin shoulders hunched and seemed to be trying to wrap themselves round his narrow chest. The door was flung open with a crash. Two grey-uniformed Personnel men clattered in, grabbed him by the arm and bundled him out. In a final, futile effort of resistance he clung to the door frame and struggled with the guards. One of them unclipped his truncheon and brought it down on the man. He slumped on the floor, and was dragged out. Reave looked at Billy, his face had gone white.
‘Jesus. Did you …’
The speaker roared.
‘Silence!’
‘They beat him un …’
‘Silence! This is your last warning!’
Reave slumped on the bench with his head clasped in his hands.
‘Prisoners will not hide their faces. Prisoners will face the camera.’
Reave sat up scowling sullenly. A heavy ominous silence settled over the room. It seemed to Billy that it was all over. He could think of nothing that might turn up to get them out of the place. Hope of rescue seemed a very long way off. Again the speakers barked.
‘79021 face the door. 79022 face the door.’
Billy and Reave examined their dog tags.
‘That’s us.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Silence!’
They walked slowly towards the door, feeling naked and helpless.
***
The Steward-1 left, and A.A. Catto stepped into the shower. Her body felt pleasantly tired and, for once, she wanted nothing more than to lie back and think over the events of the day. She might not have gone along with everything that had happened, but, all in all, it had been more interesting than most parties. The 360-degree needle jets struck her body from every direction, and it tingled exquisitely. She flicked on the warm air and, once dry, she flopped back on to her bed.
She had had enough of her own reflection for a while, and she dimmed the ceiling mirror, and the surface was covered by a swirl of yellow moiré patterns. She stared at them and gradually she felt her body begin to float.
She flicked on the alphaset and adjusted it to a medium setting. A sense of euphoric wellbeing spread from her head to her toes and fingertips. The combination of the alpha waves and visual stimulation sent her drifting out to a soft yellow haze that was far more beautiful a high than could be obtained from any of the ordinary pharmaceuticals. She rolled sensuously on the bed, and it was slowly twisting across the universe. It was as though she was basking in the light of a thousand lazy suns.
A melodic tune pulsed through her beautiful universe and something suggested that it didn’t fit. The face of the Valentino Steward floated across her memory. It really was a good idea to design her own specials. It was a delicious idea. The idea of a constant stream of custom-made lovers gave her a hot liquid feeling deep inside the warm cosmos of her body.
The tone came again and A.A. Catto realized that it was the console. She was back on the bed again, stretching out an unsteady hand to the answer button.
‘Yeah?’