Naleen's Shadow, Chapter 1: Naleen's Bite
Sun, 13 Oct 2024
The Warden's Burden
The asteroid Naleen hung against the backdrop of space, a dead, jagged tooth, gnawed and pitted. No atmosphere softened the glare of the dying sun it circled. No warmth pierced the eternal cold of space. You could almost hear the solar winds streaming past, a whisper against the armored hull of a prison colony.
The prison transport, a utilitarian vessel, all sharp angles and reinforced steel, crept cautiously closer with its cargo: one man, a man who had changed the galaxy.
Warden Kadir stood on a gantry, overlooking the processing area. He ran his hand over his face, the rasp of stubble a familiar discomfort. He hadn't slept well, but then he rarely did. The constant hum of the colony's multiple systems was no substitute for silence. Peace eluded him, even in the privacy of his own quarters.
Watching the latest batch of prisoners being herded through the intake processes, he caught the scent of disinfectant and something else: despair. The men and women below the warden's gantry were being stripped, shorn, scanned, and branded with ID numbers that glowed an eerie green in the darkness. Each person was being methodically dismantled, robbed of everything until all that was left was fear and a number.
The warden turned his gaze to the guards. Every movement, every muttered curse, set their jaws tighter. Even the toughest of the guard detail still reacted to the raw animosity of the new arrivals. This was when there was the greatest chance of riot, of sudden death and destruction. Now when the new convicts faced the dissolution of their very being. Now before they were erased.
Haunted eyes in hardened faces stared at the guards. Some bore the physical scars acquired during the battles of the Iron Wars: cybernetic limbs, burn grafts, wandering eyes that spoke of neural implants malfunctioning. Deeper wounds were reflected in the defeated slump of shoulders or the twichy withdrawal from any contact. Some carried only silence in their minds.
Kadir had watched this processing hundreds of times but had never become immune to the psychological destruction. It never got easier. He wasn't the warden of Naleen because he was a cruel man. He'd fought in the Iron Wars. He'd seen firsthand what humanity could do to itself. Joining the Prison Transfer and Security Corporation was a reflection of his belief that the human monsters had to be kept locked away. Someone had to protect the ordinary people. Someone had to keep the peace.
Peace. He snorted, causing several guards to glance at him. Was this peace? This constant fear that any prisoner, any transfer, any nascent riot could be the trigger that set off an explosion in this iron dungeon.
His wrist console chimed. Tapping it brought up a coded message. It was curt and encrypted even within the PTSC's secure network. Warden's eyes only.
"Incoming Transport N-427. High-value asset. Use extreme caution."
Staring at the text, Kadir felt his stomach churn. High-value asset. That could only be one man. He'd been dreading this transport since the information arrived last week. He'd heard some of the rumors swirling through the prison grapevine, rumors somehow picked up through the network despite the security and encryption.
He closed his eyes, memories surging forth unbidden. The unrelenting roar of battle, explosions, screams, sceeching metal, and guns. The stench of burning ships, equipment, and people. And the silence in the aftermath. The silence of death.
His wife's face, her laughter, and the scent of her, all gone in a bombing raid that left a crater in his soul. His ten year old son was cut down by 'friendly fire' before he could grow up.
He had lost everything he loved. Now he was the jailer of monsters, of broken people with shattered dreams. And coming to this place of misery was the greatest monster of them all.
Whispers of Infamy
The news spread like a virus within Naleen's steel innards. Whispers during shift change or a cell sweep, a coded message smuggled between levels, a nod, all passed information through cracks in the prison's rigid structure.
"You hear about the cargo they're bringing in today?" The guard spoke low to his bigger partner, his eyes on his plasma rifle.
"Yeah. I heard. Do you think this one's really that dangerous?" His partner's eyes stared straight down the hallway, watching for any movement.
"Javi on Level Three said this one's different. He's a ghost, a legend."
For a brief moment the guard's eyes shifted, then snapped back to the cells. "Naw. Legends don't get locked up. They get planets named after them. Or they get dead."
His partner looked up. "Not this one." His whisper almost reverent. "This one... they say he broke armies and toppled governments. They say he could smell the treason in a man's blood and turn him with a word."
"Bullshit," scoffed the bigger guard, but he shuffled his feet uneasily.
"He was there, man. The Iron Wars. They say he was the architect. They say he destroyed the Xei."
The big man repressed a shudder, his bravado shaken. Fear nibbled at the back of his brain.
Kadir, rounding a corner, caught the end of the conversation. Frowning, he cleared his throat. "Since when are myths included with prisoner intakes?"
Both guards jumped at his voice. They snapped to attention. The bigger guard stammered "Apologies, Warden. Just... idle talk, sir."
"Idle talk breeds complacency and fear. Fear makes you hesitate. Hesitation in this place can get you killed and others with you. Remember that."
The glare he fixed on them should have melted their armor. "Attend to your post, not to rumors. We have a transport arriving soon."
"Yessir!" They barked in unison, saluting as they turned back to their duties.
Watching them straighten up, Kadir felt a knot in his stomach tightening. He'd heard the rumors. Even deep within Naleen, the name Mihrab Vanco Petrovski held power, the power to make men cringe in fear. Even the pathetic remains of men and women who occupied the cells of Naleen. The warden wanted to disregard those legends, but he couldn't shake that almost primal fear.
Mihrab's Arrival
Inside the transport bay, the air was thick with the stench of sweat, fear, and recycled air. Two rows of heavily armed PTSC guards lined the walls. Their faces could have been made of stone save for the eyes flitting back and forth and the sheen of sweat on their brows. Their fingers twitched near the triggers of their plasma rifles.
When the pressure in the two chambers had equalized, the massive hangar doors hissed open. The prisoner transport, dwarfed by that cavernous space, sat like an ugly black steel toad. Automated gun turrets and human snipers aimed their weapons at it. The arrival of a 'high-value asset' carried a palpable tension.
Kadir with two of his toughest guards stood waiting at the transport ramp. He'd donned his formal uniform: black fatigues, polished boots, a sidearm that had never been fired. The gun felt reassuringly heavy at his hip. He hoped the facade hid the tremors in his gut.
The transport's hatch lowered with a metallic groan. The interior was brightly lit. Nothing moved for a minute, the tension growing. A figure stepped out, backlit and imposing.
His eyes, a startling crystal blue, seemed to burn with an inner light. His gaze was fixed on a point beyond the steel walls of the prison. Those eyes were old, filled with weariness, sharp intelligence, and ice.
The guards watched him. They knew this one was different. This one was trouble, even bound as he was with four transport guards surrounding him.
This one was Mihrab Vanco Petrovski.
Mihrab stepped onto the ramp. He was smaller than Kadir had imagined. He was lean, slender, almost fragile-appearing in the orange jumpsuit. But there was nothing fragile about the way he carried himself.
His wiry frame, his sharp features, his black, close-cropped hair shot through with streaks of gray, gave him the look of one much older than his years. He moved with a quiet intensity, a restrained grace and power, a faint smile on his lips. He made no struggle against his fetters. His gaze touched upon the eyes of the guards, some filled with fear, some with awe, a few with loathing.
His movements were hindered by the restraints, but still reflected strength and control. His gaze swept over the hangar, the guards, the turrets, the snipers. In those seconds, Kadir was certain that Mihrab noted the twitching of the guards' fingers near triggers, the security cameras, the exits. Kadir's eyes followed Mihrab's as the man looked up at the ceiling. Faint scorch marks from plasma rifle blasts scarred a small area. Kadir frowned. He had never noticed that before.
The brilliant blue eyes drank everything in and that slight upward curve to one side of his mouth never changed. Then those cold eyes turned to regard the warden.
Kadir spoke, "Mihrab Vanco Petrovski." His voice was calm and controlled. "You are hereby remanded into the custody of the Naleen Penal Facility. Any attempt at resistance or escape will be met with lethal force. Do you understand?"
Mihrab stared at the warden long enough that the guards started shifting their feet. The aquamarine eyes narrowed and the lopsided half-smile broadened.
"Resistance? Escape?" His voice was soft, melodic. "Warden, where could I possibly go?"
One of the guards, a young man barely out of training, stiffened and drew back from the prisoner, eyes widening. His voice, barely above a whisper, rasped, "You... you were there. Saros Four... the... the..."
"The what, soldier?" asked Mihrab softly, amusement dancing in his eyes.
The guard gripped his rifle with white knuckles. "The massacre!" He blurted the words like a curse.
Kadir felt a chill run down his spine as he stepped between the young guard and Mihrab. He had heard the stories. They all had. The planet had been razed, its people slaughtered. All the stories named Petrovski as the man who had orchestrated the horror.
"Enough!" the warden barked, staring into the prisoner's eyes, forcing himself to meet that icy gaze. "You will address me and only me. Is that understood, prisoner?"
Mihrab's head bowed slightly although his smile widened. "As you wish, warden."
A Cage within a Cage
Kadir forced himself to watch as the intake procedures heaped indignity after indignity upon this man. Mihrab didn't seem to notice. His eyes roamed the bay, evaluating the guards, the defenses, the exits. Not once did he acknowledge the fact that he stood naked before the guard details. He ignored the body cavity searches, the drenching shower of poisons, designed to rid bodies of parasites, the medical examination also conducted in front of those guards. Orders were screamed at him and he obeyed them in his own time, moving smoothly without perturbation.
Even the orange jumpsuit fit him well. Jumpsuits never fit well. They were supposed to chafe or be too short or too long, the arms or the chest too tight. They were just another indignity. Yet Mihrab's fit like a glove. Kadir wondered whether he should look into that or let it ride.
The walk from the intake area to the high security wing was a descent into a carefully orchestrated hell. The architecture of the hallways, the cells, the guard booths, were designed to be crushing, to grind down whatever spirit the prisoner had left.
The halls were narrow with low ceilings to induce claustrophobia. The walls were gray, seeming to absorb all light and sound. The cells were always a little chilly, just enough to be uncomfortable. The cot was hard and lumpy in all the wrong places, the toilet permanently stained, the water rust-colored. The air was recycled with a taint of human waste, disinfectant, and fear.
Mihrab moved calmly through the oppressive environment, ignoring the four guards at his back and the two in front. He didn't flinch at the flickering lights or the distant clang of a security door. His eyes continued to take in every detail as the slight smile played upon his lips. He moved as though the prison, the warden, the guards had no power over him.
Kadir walked beside the prisoner. "You seem to be handling this well. Most new arrivals find the atmosphere... oppressive."
Mihrab glanced at him. "Do you find satisfaction in their fear, Warden?"
Kadir met his gaze. "Satisfaction? No. But the fear helps to keep them quiet, controllable. They see the consequences of their actions."
Mihrab chuckled mirthlessly. "Consequences," he said. "Yes. I am acquainted with those."
A steel door blocked their way. Warnings to stay out were written in multiple languages. Two gun turrets swiveled to track their approach. Solitary Confinement Wing Gamma was spoken of in whispers, a tomb for the worst of the worst.
"You've gone to a lot of trouble for one man." Mihrab observed.
Kadir keyed in his access code, the door hissing open almost soundlessly. "We are nothing, if not thorough." he said, allowing Mihrab to enter the cell.
Mihrab stood in the center of the cell. Gray walls, gray cot, toilet and sink equally stained. Recessed light fixtures cast a cold, sterile glow over this cage within a cage.
Running his hand along the wall, Mihrab seemed to be caressing it with a gentle touch. His eyes, however, were hard, cold, and calculating.
He turned back to the warden. "No windows? I had hoped for a view."
Kadir had to swallow a chuckle. "No view. Welcome to Naleen, Mr. Petrovski." Signalling the guards to seal the cell, Kadir stepped back into the hallway.
The door slid shut. Mihrab was alone, although he didn't doubt he was being watched. He turned his attention to his cell, his cage. His eyes roamed, memorizing every detail. Even a cage had its weaknesses. And Mihrab Vanco Petrovski was a master at finding weaknesses.
Doubts at Nightfall
The setting sun cast long, grotesque shadows that stretched across the asteroid and seemed to seep into the hallways and cells. Guards kept their voices low and their fingers close to the triggers. Even the most cynical of guards could feel the ghosts moving through the rock.
Sitting in his office, Kadir couldn't shake the image of Mihrab from his mind. The man was like a stone dropped in a pond, sending ripples of restlessness and foreboding through the prison. Kadir's carefully maintained equilibrium was disrupted.
He started to retire to his own chambers but found himself walking the corridors to the Solitary Confinement Wing. His footsteps echoed in the silence of the halls. The guards on duty snapped to attention, eyes narrowed in apprehension, postures stiff, shoulders hunched.
Hesitating before the cell door, Kadir reflected on what he and Mihrab had seen, had experienced in the wars. They had each seen the worst that men could do, the destruction and the aftermath of death and despair. In a sense, he felt they were bound by the violence and the loss.
He keyed in his access code and the door hissed open.
Mihrab was sitting on his cot, his back straight, his gaze on the wall across from him. His hands were clasped loosely in his lap. A slight tilt of his head was the only indication that the prisoner was aware of another presence.
"I didn't expect visitors," he said, still not moving.
"Neither did I," said Kadir, entering. The door slid shut with a soft click. "Something doesn't feel right about you... about this whole situation."
Mihrab turned enough to look at the warden, his movement slow, his quirky smile on his lips. "Peace is a fragile thing, Warden," Mihrab said, his voice soft, velvet laid over steel. "But it is built on foundations of blood and bone."
He stood with a fluid, predatory grace, moving close to the warden. "You and I have seen beneath civilization, those places where depravity lurks. We both have wounds deep within. Do such wounds ever truly heal? Or do they just fester?"
Staring back at the smaller man, Kadir felt his gut twist. He couldn't deny the truth in those words. The Iron Wars had left scars not just on a multitude of worlds but also on the souls of those who had fought. This 'peace' was not an end, but a truce, an eye in a hurricane.
"Why are you here, Petrovski? Why did they send you to Naleen? And why now?"
Mihrab smiled, showing teeth. He closed his eyes for a moment and Kadir noticed the dark circles in his lower lids, the puffiness and slight redness of the skin.
When Mihrab gazed at him again, Kadir recognized the ineffable sadness in the man.
"Perhaps, Warden," Mihrab said in a soft voice, "the better question would be why are any of us here?"
He stepped back, breaking the spell. The moment and the tension dissipated.
"Rest well, Warden Kadir," Mihrab said, turning away. "I suspect we shall see more of each other."
Kadir nodded. "I suspect you are right." He opened the door and left, nodding to the guards behind the cameras. The brief interview had not provided any answers, only more questions.
Peace, he realized, was a dangerous illusion. And Mihrab Vanco Petrovski had just shattered it.
Continue to Chapter 2: The Reckoning of Hinsman.