Sunday 18 December 2011

Back to the sci-fi...

After a few posts about my German children's story, here is more from the latest sci-fi story I'm currently writing. As always, please let me know what you think...

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He Who Knows

The sun was soft, as it usually was at this time of day and during this season, but it was still strong enough to keep me warm. The water was quietly running up the beach and inched closer to my feet with every new wave. It was peaceful and there was nobody around. I slowly closed my eyes to concentrate on the sounds around me, the silent ssshhh of the water, the chirping of the birds and the comforting hum of my PDA1’s fan. I completely relaxed.

"Zero-one-zero-three-six, this is your wake-up call," a voice came from the PDA. I had fallen asleep. The sun was much closer to the horizon than it had been before and I estimated it to be about a couple of hours later. I lifted my arm and looked at the small computer on my wrist. The tiny display showed that there had been an incoming message. I pressed the reply button to acknowledge the call.

"Zero-one-zero-three-six, thank you for choosing ZS&S2. Have a good day."

It was time for me to go back to the Centre. I did not really want to go, but I knew that I had no choice. If I was only a second late, I would be locked away in isolation for at least a couple of days. That was the price you had to pay when you took part in the Outdoor Prisoner Scheme – and I had been lucky to be allowed to participate. The OPS had been introduced only recently and all participants were watched closely. Even a single breach of a single rule was punished hard-heartedly. The authorities wanted to make the scheme a success at any price to allow the government to look good in the eyes of the public – and the public didn't know what was really going on.

I got up and started walking to the bus stop. I passed a lot of people who stared at me uneasily. From my clothes and the security device that was tightened around my left arm showing the OPS logo, they could see that I was a prisoner. I had learned to avoid the stares, but whenever I happened to lock eyes with somebody I felt a nagging sensation until the person looked away again. I thought that it had to be my conscience reminding me of what I had done – but then, I had never thought that I had done anything that could ever justify a prison sentence – not even a caution. Well, times had surely changed.

I caught the bus back to the Centre at one of the quieter stops. The bus' system scanned the tag on my left arm as I entered and then the driver closed the door. The trip was free for me, because the Social Office3 paid for it – or so they told us OPS's. At the end of the day it was taxpayer’s money and that was one of the reasons why everybody looked at me half angry, half afraid, as I made my way to the bench at the back of the bus. They were angry that I was allowed to walk around freely, but scared at the same time, fearing I might attack them at any moment. If they were ever to find the courage, they would not hesitate to kill me with their bare hands right on the spot. In a strange way the prison clothes were like an amour, protecting me from the angry mob.

I really felt for them. I would have paid the bus fare if I had been able to, but OPS's weren't allowed any forms of payment. Everyone else was given pocket money once a month, which was usually spent immediately on cigarettes or drugs – but I didn't have that luxury. I was not even allowed to keep my pre-prison possessions. They had listed everything on their IF303 – the standard inventory form, which I had to sign – and then locked everything away, including myself.

The bus turned right to leave town and drive into the desert where the Centre was. The bus was already nearly empty – nobody liked to come too close to the prison complex anymore, what with the OPS people around – and anyway, the prison was outside town in the middle of nowhere.

As the bus approached the prison, I pressed the button and got off at the stop. The huge building sat there in front of me – like a huge cobra, tantalising, teasing, luring, wanting to swallow me whole. The tall doors seemed to be smiling at me a wicked, devious smile. "Come on in," they seemed to hiss as they slowly squeeked open and allowed me to walk into the cobra's mouth.

I was back on time and ready to go straight to my cell – being locked away again. Room service was due to come round in a minute or so to give out dinner, if that was what you wanted to call the slop you got there.

I hated the place.

1PDA – Personal Digital Assistant; a very small computer, usually with a handheld display for viewing files and information, that is either linked up to the Information and Services Network (ISN) and/or has a restricted set of information stored locally. PDAs are often used for scheduling and appointment reminder services or as digital dictionaries, as well as phones, diaries and notebooks.
2ZS&S – Zentral-System und Service; a German service provider of a huge database of diverse of information as well as a free appointment reminder service, which is what it was being used for mostly these days. Formerly, it was a huge telephone company, but after telephones had become something of the past not too long ago, the company made the transition to the information trade.
3Social Office – the governmental body that funds and supervises prisons; after prisons were privatised five years ago, there had to be a central body that would supply both money and supervision for prisons. Originally, the Social Office was also concerned with social security issues, but after the Right to Live Act, its services in that area were no longer required.

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