doesn't seem as though he's in any danger from the yard scum, not if Sandoz likes him. Keep a long eye on him, but otherwise leave him alone."
"Copy that. Warden."
"Discom," Stark said.
He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling, his fingers steepled.
Interesting. Another time, another place, and maybe Maro would have been somebody worth getting to know. But not here and now. Now, the man was just another number, another member of the herd of animals he had to control. He felt a vague regret, but he quickly shunted it aside. Things were as they were.
And, mind control or not, Maro would soon be only a walking shell, after the Confed got through with him.
Chapter Five
As the sun climbed higher, the heat grew more oppressive. When Maro had first arrived in the yard, it had been early enough to be hot, but not too bad. Now the day felt tropical. Sweat ran and stained his coverall, and if there was any evaporation, he did not notice it. The humidity must be almost a hundred percent, the temperature close to body heat.
Scanner was introducing Maro to other prisoners and giving him a basic outline of operations inside the Cage.
"No rehab, of course," Scanner said. "Nobody leaves, so why bother? There is some work to be done, mostly seasonal. We have to be pretty much self-sufficient. We grow our own food, mostly, and do all of the construction work ourselves. What has to be imported costs, and the Confed doesn't see wasting a lot of stads on us."
Raze came up to them. Maro waited for Scanner to finish his short speech, then nodded once at the woman. She was shorter than Maro by five centimeters, and by this time had worked up a bright sheen of sweat. The thin shorts and halter were plastered to her, and despite the play of muscles under her tanned skin, there was no doubt whatsoever that she was female. She smiled at him.
"Nice move on the Mindfucker," she said. "He did me when I got here and it wasn't fun."
"What did you do afterward?" Maro asked.
She shrugged. "Came up behind the little bastard and broke his arm. He doesn't bother me now."
I'll bet , Maro thought. I'd bet nobody bothers you much .
"Got to finish my last set of squats. See you later." Raze drifted away.
"This is Chameleon," Scanner said, gesturing to a short, bearded man walking toward them. To him, Scanner said, "How do you stand the heat with that beard?"
Chameleon smiled. "You've got a point." As Maro watched in astonishment, the beard seemed to fade, grow lighter, and start to disappear. He realized that the hair was being absorbed back into the skin. After five seconds it was gone. And more—Chameleon's skin darkened from a medium tan to a dark brown. It was like watching a sun-sensor plate react to light.
Scanner, grinning, said, "Chameleon is from Raft. Before the Interdiction they did some interesting experimental genetic work there. Some of it stayed viable, some not. About one in ten thousand Raftians can do his tricks."
"Only about one in a million's got my kinda control, though," Chameleon said. "I can make all kinds of things change."
Scanner laughed. "Chameleon is in for sex crimes," he said to Maro.
"A drop-shot! I was innocent!"
"The ladies loved him, but their fathers, brothers, and spouses didn't. He got too close to a Confed hiwate's daughter."
"She didn't complain."
"She was underage, wasn't she?"
"Six friggin' months! You can't put a limit on love, now can you?"
"The Confed can," Scanner said.
They moved away, leaving Chameleon to ponder his memories.
"Over there, that skinny guy, that's Fish. He's crazy. Holds the record for murders, if you count long distance and not face-to-face."
"What did he do?"
"Torpedoed an intersystem shuttle just to watch the people die of explosive decompression. Six thousand, including the ones in the bomb-rigged lifepods.
He recorded it all on spheres. Still carries them—see the little steel marbles he's fiddling with? He's what they call a muerte-orgasmic; he gets off
"Copy that. Warden."
"Discom," Stark said.
He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling, his fingers steepled.
Interesting. Another time, another place, and maybe Maro would have been somebody worth getting to know. But not here and now. Now, the man was just another number, another member of the herd of animals he had to control. He felt a vague regret, but he quickly shunted it aside. Things were as they were.
And, mind control or not, Maro would soon be only a walking shell, after the Confed got through with him.
Chapter Five
As the sun climbed higher, the heat grew more oppressive. When Maro had first arrived in the yard, it had been early enough to be hot, but not too bad. Now the day felt tropical. Sweat ran and stained his coverall, and if there was any evaporation, he did not notice it. The humidity must be almost a hundred percent, the temperature close to body heat.
Scanner was introducing Maro to other prisoners and giving him a basic outline of operations inside the Cage.
"No rehab, of course," Scanner said. "Nobody leaves, so why bother? There is some work to be done, mostly seasonal. We have to be pretty much self-sufficient. We grow our own food, mostly, and do all of the construction work ourselves. What has to be imported costs, and the Confed doesn't see wasting a lot of stads on us."
Raze came up to them. Maro waited for Scanner to finish his short speech, then nodded once at the woman. She was shorter than Maro by five centimeters, and by this time had worked up a bright sheen of sweat. The thin shorts and halter were plastered to her, and despite the play of muscles under her tanned skin, there was no doubt whatsoever that she was female. She smiled at him.
"Nice move on the Mindfucker," she said. "He did me when I got here and it wasn't fun."
"What did you do afterward?" Maro asked.
She shrugged. "Came up behind the little bastard and broke his arm. He doesn't bother me now."
I'll bet , Maro thought. I'd bet nobody bothers you much .
"Got to finish my last set of squats. See you later." Raze drifted away.
"This is Chameleon," Scanner said, gesturing to a short, bearded man walking toward them. To him, Scanner said, "How do you stand the heat with that beard?"
Chameleon smiled. "You've got a point." As Maro watched in astonishment, the beard seemed to fade, grow lighter, and start to disappear. He realized that the hair was being absorbed back into the skin. After five seconds it was gone. And more—Chameleon's skin darkened from a medium tan to a dark brown. It was like watching a sun-sensor plate react to light.
Scanner, grinning, said, "Chameleon is from Raft. Before the Interdiction they did some interesting experimental genetic work there. Some of it stayed viable, some not. About one in ten thousand Raftians can do his tricks."
"Only about one in a million's got my kinda control, though," Chameleon said. "I can make all kinds of things change."
Scanner laughed. "Chameleon is in for sex crimes," he said to Maro.
"A drop-shot! I was innocent!"
"The ladies loved him, but their fathers, brothers, and spouses didn't. He got too close to a Confed hiwate's daughter."
"She didn't complain."
"She was underage, wasn't she?"
"Six friggin' months! You can't put a limit on love, now can you?"
"The Confed can," Scanner said.
They moved away, leaving Chameleon to ponder his memories.
"Over there, that skinny guy, that's Fish. He's crazy. Holds the record for murders, if you count long distance and not face-to-face."
"What did he do?"
"Torpedoed an intersystem shuttle just to watch the people die of explosive decompression. Six thousand, including the ones in the bomb-rigged lifepods.
He recorded it all on spheres. Still carries them—see the little steel marbles he's fiddling with? He's what they call a muerte-orgasmic; he gets off
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