Macao Station

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘Be quiet!’ called Welby into the wall that divided his cell from Prisoner Fuller’s. He didn’t have to shout for his words to take effect — the banging stopped immediately. ‘Do you really think that’s going to make any difference?’

It was almost pitch-dark in the prison, now, the scattered emergency lights casting an even dimmer glow here than elsewhere in the station. They were ranged along the roof of the corridor that ran past the cells, spaced every fifteen metres or so, glowing faintly like dying coals. Little was visible besides the lights themselves, so weak was the illumination they offered. Welby thought they looked like eyes in the darkness.

He relaxed against the wall once more, trying to make himself comfortable on the prison mattress, which was little thicker or more luxurious than a sheet. He didn’t mind his new regime of hardship, really — he had earned it, he knew, by his actions. Neither did he regret those actions. Circumstance had chosen him as a weapon of vengeance. So be it.

Fuller’s voice came wheedling through the wall, much smaller and weaker than the sound of his banging had been: ‘We’re gonna die in here, Welby. I know it.’

Welby inhaled deeply, filling his small chest with the tainted air, letting it go in a contented sigh. ‘Then we die here, in the cradle of the Old Ones. Perhaps by our proximity to one of their worlds, our spirits shall know salvation in the next life. What better place than here, in one of their systems. We all have to die, my friend.’ Attentive silence from next door. ‘Many of us have even served as tools of death ourselves, in our lives before. Death: ha! Easy come, easy go, I say.’ He laced his hands behind his head, and shut his eyes. He felt like a nap. Nearby in the station, somebody was screaming what sounded like frightened orders. The tipping point was close at hand, he knew. He felt it, even from his cell — felt it in the vibrations of the air, in his bones and in his heart. Well, whatever. Let them panic, let them die — him included, if need be. Easy come, easy go.

‘I suppose so. . .’ said Fuller’s voice faintly. There was a pause, during which Welby heard someone crying further up the corridor. ‘I’m just scared, I guess.’

Welby imagined Fuller sitting in there on his own bunk, a small and nervous-looking man with a bald spot ringed by fluffy brown hair, whom Welby had always found it somewhat difficult to like. Maybe Fuller’s dodgy heart was finally about to give up the ghost. Still, he was one of the faithful, and as such, was Welby’s responsibility. ‘It is all right to be scared, Prisoner Fuller. Those who came before are watching us, judging us. This is their system, and what happens here happens in accordance with their wishes. Don’t you feel it? This is their very cradle. Trust in their wisdom, lest they return and find you wanting.’

‘You really think all this — whatever’s going wrong here — is their doing?’ asked the voice from behind the wall.

‘I trust that it is so. Perhaps they are punishing the owners of this facility for their treatment of us. Perhaps they don’t want us to be trapped here.’ Welby would have liked Fuller to shut up now. He really did feel sleepy. Funny, because he hadn’t so much as walked a hundred metres all day, but it seemed that the less he did, the more tired he felt of late.

‘Maybe they mean to free us,’ said Fuller, a note of hungry longing creeping into his voice.

‘Maybe they do,’ agreed Welby, lying down and trying to get comfortable. He certainly hoped so. It would be good to have a word, up close and personal, with that snooty bitch, Officer Kown. But he was happy to wait and see. He turned over onto his side — that was better. ‘Go to sleep, Prisoner Fuller, and we’ll see what happens next.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Fuller. That excited note remained in his voice, though. ‘I sure would like to be out of this cell, Welby.’

‘Of course,’ said Welby drily. ‘Now go to sleep.’

Mercifully, Fuller didn’t speak any further. Welby drifted slowly into the peaceful, dreamless sleep of the just, safe in the knowledge that the Old Ones had a plan. They were not done with him yet. It was not his destiny to rot here in this cell. He knew it.