Wolf Block (4 page)

Back at the door, Bunierti considered the possible implications of the wolf head markings. It was not illegal to get a tattoo, she had seen several on Nongma, but it was certainly not something that was acceptable in polite society. What was more disturbing to her was that they all had the same tattoo, and one seemingly related to where they were imprisoned. In a lower-security holding facility where prisoners were not separated from each other this would not have been surprising, but the prisoners of Wolf Block should never have been able to give each other such a mark, nor would they ever have had access to someone else who could coordinate their inkings. They could have received their tattoos before being placed in Wolf Block, but even that seemed highly unlikely, especially for the tattoos to all look identical despite being done at separate places and times.

The prisoners reappeared at the shield glass walls of their cells. “We still like you, Bunierti,” they said in unison.

Her jaw dropped. They knew her full name. Recovering from the surprise, she scowled deeply. “Be silent!”

“You don’t want to talk?” they asked together.

“No.”

“You don’t want answers?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Did you know Alwhaan Sriara?”

“No.”

“She was the Upholder you saw yesterday who did not recall as ordered,” they explained.

Again she felt a pang from realizing how much they knew. “Oh,” she responded simply.

“We liked her too.”

“Oh.”

There was a more noticeable pause. “She’s dead now.”

“Oh.” Bunierti didn’t appreciate hearing about an Upholder dying, but it was obviously an intentional act on the other woman’s part, so she couldn’t justify feeling remorse either.

“You shouldn’t fear us.”

Bunierti snorted. “I try not to feel fear at all.”

Another pause. “We feel fear all the time.”

She shrugged. “You’re in prison. You’re safe, if not free. I don’t know what you would fear, other than being forgotten down here.”

“Do you like your government?” they asked together.

“Of course I like
our
government,” she answered, emphasizing “our” to clarify that she did not exclude them from being under its rule.

“They murdered my wife and daughter while forcing me to watch,” the prisoner named Jirit said.

Bunierti shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“Of course you don’t believe that yet,” they answered in unison.

“I’m not going to believe it later,” she asserted hotly.

The prison block fell silent. The prisoners stood still, facing across the corridor at each other. After awhile, Bunierti completed another walk along the hall, but the prisoners said nothing and did not move. Back at the door, she looked at the clock in her HUD and willed it to go faster. She wanted to get away, and she was eager to report her findings to her Supervisor. Bunierti was sure that the prisoners of Wolf Block needed to be split up from each other, to disrupt whatever they were doing.

A meal arrived, and Bunierti completed the routine normally, seeing no need to disrupt it now. The prisoners sat in unison, ate in unison, and then stood again in unison. Bunierti expected them to say something or do something more, but they remained motionless and silent. Again she paced to the far end of the hall and back to the door, but nothing else moved. The silence seemed to press in on her. Bunierti mentally scolded herself for thinking that the HUD clock display was slowing down. She felt increasingly weary, and at one point she was tempted to sit down. The memory of finding the other Upholder sitting on the floor gave her a jolt that kept her alert for a bit longer, but it was not long before she again felt regret that the interior-duty Upholder armor did not include a stimulant supply.

“Fine,” she eventually said, irritation strong in her voice. “I want answers. So if you want to share your secrets, go ahead.” The prisoners did not react. “Okay, I’m sorry about Upholder Sriara, although it looked to me like she did it to herself. Now what did you want to tell me?” Still the prisoners did not react. “Look, I’m not going to acknowledge that the government murdered Jirit’s family, at least not without cause. Maybe they did face ultimate collection, I don’t know, but I’m not going to call it murder.” The silence continued.

“What happens when something is broken, out of order?” the prisoner across from Jirit finally spoke up.

“We fix it,” Bunierti snapped, “but if you’re saying the government is broken, you’re not going to convince me based on some claim from a prisoner about his family being murdered.”

“What happens when somebody is sick?” Jirit asked.

“We heal them,” she answered. “What is the point of this?”

“How do we heal them?” Jirit asked.

Bunierti shook her head. “I don’t know, I’m not a doctor! It depends on what they’re sick with.”

“Cancer, for example,” the prisoner across from Jirit prompted.

“We heal the cancer, obviously,” she replied. “I don’t know the details. They get cured, then they’re sent off to a climate where they can recover better. And maybe they have to stay there if the treatment left them too weak to return home.”

“Do you ever see them again?”

Bunierti started pacing next to the door. “Of course. Even if they don’t come home, we vidchat with them. Really, what is the point of this?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to euthanize them?” Jirit asked.

She stopped and looked at him. “You’re angry at the government for supposedly murdering your family and now you’re suggesting that we euthanize sick people? Sure it would be easier, but that doesn’t make it the right thing to do!”

Once again speaking in unison, the prisoners asked, “Does the government represent chaos or order?”

“Order!” Bunierti snapped. “I thought you wanted to give me answers. All you’re doing is asking me questions.”

“Sometimes questions are answers,” the prisoners responded in unison.

Bunierti was at a loss for words. As she stood still by the door, the prison block fell into silence once again. Now, instead of feeling weary, Bunierti felt agitated. Her thoughts raced, trying to piece together the meaning of their riddles. After a short while, she saw the prisoners turn slightly away from her to face directly across the corridor. It almost felt like rejection, but Bunierti instantly scolded herself for being so weak as to even entertain that thought. Time began to drag again. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her when another Upholder finally arrived to relieve her. She left the prison block without a word and returned promptly to her quarters.

Her second assignment to Wolf Block ended early enough that Bunierti was able to attend the test she had scheduled later that day, although she had no time for a last-minute review of the topic. Upholder tests varied widely, some being physical, others behavioral, and others academic. This particular test delved into historical trivia about the origins of Upholding. As she worked through it, sitting in a test cubicle under the unceasing gaze of cameras covering multiple angles, Bunierti’s thoughts kept wandering back to the prisoners of Wolf Block. She knew it was hurting her test performance, but the mental discipline she normally enjoyed during tests evaded her. When she reached the end, the low score displayed by the testing interface was no surprise but it heightened her anger.

“Upholder Kittran reporting as ordered, sir,” she said that evening after entering the office of her Supervisor. She stood at attention in front of his desk, her disciplined gaze directed over his head.

“You requested this meeting, Upholder Kittran. Be efficient about it,” the man said as he remained seated. He appeared to be at least twenty years older than Bunierti. His gaunt face seemed stretched over his skull and a long, dark scar marred it below his left eye.

“Sir, I believe I have important information about the prisoners in Sector W84-88D,” she began.

The man behind the desk held up his hand to stop her. “Do not waste my time with rumors about Wolf Block, Upholder Kittran.”

Bunierti kept her expression neutral. “This is not about rumors, sir. In my assignments to Sector W84-88D I observed things that I believe need to be reported,” she replied.

“Keep it to facts you observed and be brief,” he said, frowning.

“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged. She then related her observations succinctly, avoiding any obvious speculation but trying to work in some subjective analysis where she felt it was necessary. Despite wanting to boldly state that the prisoners needed to be separated, Bunierti knew her Supervisor would not be receptive to that suggestion from her.

When she was done, he stared at her for a moment and then gave a minimal nod. “Noted. Dismissed.” He pointedly shifted his attention to something on his desk.

Bunierti did a sharp about-face and departed her Supervisor’s office promptly. She had not expected much, but the encounter was even more disappointing than she anticipated. When she reached her quarters, Bunierti was glad to see that her roommate was absent. She briefly wondered why Nongma was away when it was so close to their lights-out time, but she shrugged it off with a guess that her roommate was doing extra duty to resolve her negative mark balance. Bunierti went to bed early, but sleep did not come until long after the lights went out.

Six days passed for Bunierti with no mention of Sector W84-88D. Nongma said nothing to her about it, she was not required to return there for duty, and she received no response about the information she reported to her Supervisor. Her days were routine, with alerts and trivial duties interspersed with quiet time in her quarters. Bunierti tried to convince herself that she was putting her unsettling experiences in Wolf Block behind her, but it wasn’t as true as she wanted. On the seventh day, when her third assignment to Sector W84-88D came up on her wristcom, the powerful wave of apprehension that swept over Bunierti made her heart quicken and her legs feel weak.

After relieving the other Upholder on duty in the prison block, the first thing Bunierti did was stride rapidly to the far end of the corridor and back, looking back and forth among the cells, staring into the face of each prisoner as she passed by. They stood at attention just on the other side of the bars and shield glass, watching her pass without moving their heads. They remained as silent as Bunierti. Upon reaching the door again, she turned to face down the corridor. Bunierti watched them move, in unison, to angle themselves toward her. She expected them to say or do something, but nothing more happened.

“Well, here I am again,” Bunierti said when the silence started to feel too oppressive. She meant it as a comment to herself, but it came out loud enough for the prisoners to hear. She regretted it, but they did not respond, verbally or physically, and she found that their lack of response was both a relief and a new thing to question. The many thoughts from her prior assignments to guard this strange prison block, the questions which she had tried to push away from her mind in recent days, came back with complete clarity. It put her on edge. Without thinking about what she was doing, Bunierti began to pace back and forth by the door.

“We still like you, Bunierti Kittran,” the prisoners suddenly said in unison.

She stopped pacing and looked from one prisoner to the next. “Thanks, I really needed to hear that,” she responded, her voice oozing sarcasm.

“Do you know what a paradigm shift is, Bunierti?” they asked together.

“Of course, I’m not stupid,” she answered, her blatant anger demonstrating that she had completely given up trying to withhold her reactions to them. “And you are to call me Upholder Kittran. Do not use my first name!”

“Does the government represent chaos or order, Upholder Kittran?” they asked.

Bunierti shook her head sharply. “No! We’ve gone down that road before. I’m not doing this again!”

“Question your assumptions, Upholder Kittran,” they responded.

She barked a humorless laugh. “You want me to question my own sanity, not my assumptions.”

“We still like you, Upholder Kittran,” the prisoners said again.

“So you say,” she replied, although this time her voice was softer and more thoughtful than before.

After a brief moment of silence, they asked in unison, “Are you ready for your personal paradigm shift, Upholder Kittran?”

Bunierti stood very still and silent. She remembered a childhood game where she was blindfolded and spun about. Once dizzy, and unable to see, she was then expected to accomplish a task that required both vision and coordination. Except now, instead of being comfortably at home with friends in her parents’ mansion, she felt like she was standing on a cliff and being told that she must take a step, just one step, but an all-important one. Standing still wasn’t an option, but she was completely out of balance and could not see where to go.

“Are you ready, Bunierti?” they asked again.

“Fine, yes, I’m ready,” Bunierti finally replied, biting back her reaction to their use of her first name.

There was a short interval of silence, followed by a hissing sound. Bunierti stared. The bars and shield glass were gone. The wall at the distant end of the corridor was gone, and just past where it had been she saw doors to a lift. The prisoners stepped forward out of their cells and beckoned to her.

“Come this way,” some said.

“Welcome, Bunierti,” others said.

There was no synchronization now, nor rigid postures. On Jirit, she saw the wolf tattoo was replaced by a small box held on with a thin, light-colored strap that went around his neck. A tiny antenna protruded from the top of the box. He saw her staring at him, and he smiled in return.

“You remind me of my daughter,” he told her. “She had cancer. If you’d like to talk with her someday, there’s a very good video simulation of her. You’d never know it wasn’t her if you hadn’t watched her die.”

Bunierti gaped at him. “I….”

He shook his head as the doors of the lift opened. “Don’t worry. Just come along, quickly. We don’t have much time. There is much for you to learn.”

Since this story was originally written for a contest in the
WritingPrompts
subreddit, many thanks go to Reddit user “RyanKinder” and others who helped run the contest. Special thanks also go to my daughter, Holly, for alerting me to that contest. As the dedication indicates, this story would not exist had she not done that. Thanks go to the other contest participants who took the time to read my entry and give me feedback to help make it better. A tip of the hat to my wife, Evonne, for her feedback on the cover; to Denis Masharov for releasing the Ruslan Display font under the SIL Open Font License which allowed me to use it on the cover; and, to morgueFile.com user “Sgarton” for releasing a photo under the morgueFile license that was a useful guide for creating the wolf artwork on the cover.