Solfleet: Beyond the Call by Smith Glenn

Author:Smith, Glenn [Smith, Glenn]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2014-10-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

Joint Solfleet/U.S. Aerospace Force Station Peterson

Saturday, 4 June 2191

Nick was absolutely beside himself, livid, incensed, and had been for more than a week and a half. He was... He was... He didn’t even have the words to describe how he felt anymore. As he paced back and forth from one side of his cell to the other and back again, which only took a few steps in each direction, glaring out through the transluminum front wall toward the security door at the end of the short corridor beyond, clenching jaw until it ached and grinding his teeth, he doubted that he’d ever felt so angry about anything before or ever would be again. He’d been locked away in solitary confinement inside the J-SAFS-Peterson military confinement facility for twelve long days now—twelve days!—and if he hadn’t been awake and alert and able to gaze out through the prisoner transport’s rear window for the drive into the base after he was arrested he probably wouldn’t even know where he was. His cell contained a previous generation standard-issue bunk with a bottom sheet, a top sheet, one thin pillow in a plain white pillowcase, and one thin blue blanket. There was a toilet and a sink, and all the necessary personal hygiene products. Nothing bore an insignia or logo to identify the base on which the facility was located. There was also one small shelf on which an inmate’s rulebook sat, and even the book cover bore nothing to identify where he was.

He hadn’t realized that military inmates were kept in the dark like that. Enemy prisoners of war held in facilities designed for them, yes, but not their own people.

They’d forced him to change into standard-issue light gray prison fatigues and a pair of soft white slippers as soon as he arrived and had issued him two more sets of fatigues and seven sets of white underclothes and socks to wear. He didn’t know what they’d done with his clothes. Then they’d processed him into the facility—holophoto, voiceprint, fingerprints, retinal scans—and then assigned him to his cell in solitary. Since then, no one had said a word to him except to bark orders whenever they needed to come into his cell for some reason. “Stand up.” “Move over there.” “Put your hands on top of your head.” “Turn around.” “Stand against the wall.” They fed him three square meals every day, they gave him all the water to drink that he wanted, they saw to it that his dirty laundry got washed and his linens got changed, they kept his cell stocked with those necessary hygiene products, and they took him outside for thirty minutes’ yard time under guard every day, but that was it. No one ever check on him except while performing those duties. Nor had anyone read any charges off to him, advised him of his legal rights, or afforded him any opportunity to seek and secure legal counsel. The way they were treating was infuriating, not to

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