S Morden - One Way

Frank steepled his fingers. “You treat me like something you trod in for months, and suddenly I’m good enough to be your right-hand man? That’s such a quick turnabout, I’m getting whiplash.”

“I’m not saying you got to dress up and act like some trusty. You’ll still be a lifer, still be one of them. But I got to sleep sometime, Kittridge. I need someone to watch my back, tell me of any loose talk. I need you to help keep me alive. Just in case.”

Brack stared at Frank, who stared coolly back. “You want me to be a snitch.”

“We can make it worth your while.”

“The last time someone made me an offer, I got sent to Mars. So this had better be good.”

“You know what’s supposed to happen. You go, you build a base, you stay until you finish your sentence, which is sometime in the twenty-second century, right?” Brack smirked at him, and how Frank hated that. And now he knew he was going to see it every day, just when he could have been rid of it for ever.

He wasn’t going to show how much he loathed the man. How much time he spent imagining ways in which he’d die. “You were talking about how you were going to make it worth my while.”

“I’m going with you. But you’ve got to understand that I’m not staying, because I’m not like you. I got me a ticket home. Not straight away. But when we’re done. You understand?”

Frank nodded slowly. “I get that.”

“So XO have hired me to keep you all in line. They want to know their investment is secure. When we’ve hosted that first NASA mission, and it’s gone well, it’ll be safe for me to hand over to someone else. I’ll take up their seat on the ship back to Earth, because for me this isn’t a sentence, it’s a job. You could be coming back with me.”

Frank scratched at his chin. Time seemed to be moving very slowly. He could hear the rasp of his fingertips on his stubble over the wash of the air con. “And what’s going to be waiting for me when I step out of the lander?”

“An open door. There’ll be some restrictions on your movement. You’ll be tagged. But you’ll be free.” Brack smiled at him. “Look at you. You didn’t expect this, did you? I love this bit, watching your little brain turn somersaults, trying to process it all.”

“And the only thing I have to do is make sure that you stay alive?”

“Wouldn’t be much point in it otherwise. You scratch my back, XO will scratch yours. Leave the other deadbeats up there and come home. How does that sound, Kittridge? Hell, we’ve got all your psych scores: we know you’re going to say yes.”

“The others aren’t going to be happy with the arrangement. They’re going to be pissed. Really pissed.”

“They’re never going to know. And if they find out, the deal is off. Finito. Finished. Total secrecy is the only way this goes down.”

“And,” asked Frank, “what happens when you and me get to skip off into the sunset together? They’ll probably realize something’s going down at that point.”

“Leave them to me. I just need you to tell me I have your co-operation.” Brack leaned across the table. “You want to go home, right? Everybody does. Fuck that shit about being pioneers and colonists and stuff. That’s for the hardcore nerds. You and me, we want to do a job, finish it up and go home. Kick back in the La-Z-Boy. Have a beer or two. Watch the game. Without the air outside trying to kill us.”

And to be free. Free to find his son again. It was a hell of a long way round to go. Prison. Mars. Back.

So what about the others? What about their hopes and fears for the future? Leave them to me, Brack had said. Just how was he going to handle that? Did Frank care, if the prize at the end of it all was worth it? Oh, that was cold. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t had to make that kind of calculation before and live with the consequences.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Hell, boy. You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll give you an answer worth jack.”

Frank leaned over the tabletop on his forearms. “What are they saying about us, outside?”

“You think you’re all some kind of big damn heroes because you’re going to Mars? Let me disabuse you of that straight away. To the outside, you’re just Prisoners A through G.”

“They don’t even know our names?”

“XO didn’t want all your victims’ relatives kicking up a stink. It’s got public relations disaster written all over it.” Brack waved his hand at Frank. “Like you fuck-ups actually matter.”

Nothing was going the way Frank had planned it. He’d assumed—he’d hoped—that his son would be proud of him just for going to Mars. That wasn’t going to happen now, until XO dropped the embargo on their names, or ever. What should he do now? What else could he do, but agree to this last chance of creating something good out of the void that was his existence?

“OK,” said Frank. “I’ll do it.”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I’ll have to keep up appearances. Make sure that everyone thinks I still hate your guts.”

Brack gave his silly little grin. “You’ll put on a good show, Kittridge. But you’ll remember, won’t you?”

“I’ll remember,” said Frank, and wondered if Brack knew that sometimes words had two different, opposite meanings.

“Go and get your things. Transport leaves in half an hour.”

Frank went back to his room. It was bigger than his old cell, and technically en suite, which meant there was a door between the bathroom and the bed. It had never felt different, though. He knew he’d swapped one cage for another, and had simply shifted his brown cardboard box between prisons.

Sure, he was leaner, fitter, more purposeful. He didn’t resent any of that. He had a use, rather than just rotting away out of sight. That was good. But it was all he’d thought he’d ever have. Now… he rested his forehead against the cool of the wall.

Totally unexpected. Yes, he’d always known they’d send a supervisor with them, but Brack? Goddammit. Did they deserve that? Not that they weren’t terrible people: they were. But despite everything, despite their natural instincts to go to the extremes, or blame others for mistakes they’d made, or a lack of any kind of internal warning voice, they’d sort of made up a team. They were all qualified to be there, and as long as they all did their jobs and as long as they didn’t deliberately push each other’s buttons, they got on well enough. The base would be large enough when it was finished that they could have their own space. Bumping along like that was no different from being on a cell-block landing.

Whether they could do it indefinitely was another matter, but there were going to be people coming and going, and the base was supposed to expand as time went on. They’d be diluted, and eventually become just the crew—which wasn’t too bad, all things considered.

He’d prepared himself for all of that. Prepared himself for being a remote role model, an example of how a man could do something awful, and turn himself around. Now the twin revelations that no one outside knew his name, and that this might not be the end after all meant…

The son he knew he had and thought of all the time wouldn’t have to spend all his days wondering what had become of his father. They could sit out in the yard together and watch that small red dot appear over the horizon, and maybe the grandkids would want to hear of the time Gramps went to Mars. He just had to stay strong, and survive, and make sure nothing happened to Brack. A year traveling. A year or two or three working. A year on the way back. That wasn’t such a bad exchange for something passing for freedom.

He lifted the lid of the box and went through all the things he knew were there. His few books. His few letters from his ex-wife. He sat on the edge of his bed and read through all the letters he could, starting at the beginning, when there was consternation and confusion, and working his way through, watching it slowly drain away, until there was nothing but cool, defensive detachment.