It seemed the corpse had been in the cafeteria for a long time—judging by the flies and smell. Bob wondered about the body; did the guards leave it there as a warning to others, or were they simply too overworked and low-manned to do anything about it? Though he wondered, he didn’t ask any of the inmates. He had to be careful when he chose friends. The yearly survival rate in any Galactic Government prison was only 30%, and Bob was sentenced to fifteen.
He watched the prisoners mill about, their bright green one-size-fits-all jumpsuits blending into each other. They were species of all kind: humans like himself, four-armed Ghats, whisker-covered Hruuts, scaled Fyarrs… too many types to count. Both male and female criminals alike were housed together to save the government money. The females tended to stick together away from the men, but Bob assumed it only did them so much good.
Bob wandered his way up to the food window where he was handed a pre-filled plate with nutritious paste and pills. What the pills were was anyone’s guess, but Bob didn’t think twice about eating them. Since they weren’t forced down his throat, he could only assume they were some sort of vitamin.
Eventually, Bob saw an individual of interest; a telepath sat at a table alone, its giant gray eyes half-lidded, stared into nothing. Bob’s best friend on the outside was a telepath, and so he was naturally drawn to the fellow. He sat down across from the yellow-skinned alien, “Hello.” He said tentatively.
The telepath regarded him slowly, then his voice entered Bob’s mind; Hello. It was a subdued voice; slow but rhythmic. What do you want? The alien added with a bit of a sharp twinge that made Bob wince a little.
“Nothing. Just looking for friends. I’m new here.” He answered honestly. “I’m Bob.”
The telepath gave a slow blink. My spoken name is Felix. Telepaths had a spoken name they used when off their home world. They were the only species in the galaxy that spoke through the mind, and so needed a name that could be said for convenience.
Though Bob had heard many telepaths speak English in his mind before, he’d never heard one use his native language—supposedly it was a unique experience that was hard on non-telepathic brains.
“What are you in for?” Bob asked. It seemed a logical follow-up question for prison inmates.
Felix blinked slowly. Perhaps he was considering whether or not to tell him, or perhaps he was tired—it was difficult to tell because he had no mouth and no eyebrows. Finally, he answered; I thought… er… spoke out against something my people are sensitive about. They put me here to silence me.
“I see.” Bob was surprised. He didn’t know much about telepath politics, but it didn’t seem quite right that Felix should be put away for simply speaking out. Perhaps it was only a half-truth. “How long have you been here?”
Six months. He paused again with a lazy blink. Then, I suspect I won’t be here much longer. I don’t feel well these days. You said you’re new here? I can tell. You’re not starving yet. Your jumpsuit is snug.
“I just got here yesterday. I was escorting fugitives to the uncharted regions and got caught.” Before Felix could reply, a commotion erupted across the room. Five women had entered the cafeteria and were chanting something to the guards positioned behind the glass. “More food or no food.” they said over and over. Apparently it was some sort of hunger strike. Bob craned his head to see the guards’ reaction. They either went on about their business or stared at the women blankly.
They’re foolish if they think they can change anything. Felix’s words entered Bob’s head dully. They haven’t even gotten rid of that body. What chance do they have of getting more food if they can’t be bothered to take out the trash?
Bob’s heart sank. Already he could picture his own body getting thrown into an incinerator. He began eating his food quicker—he suspected stealing was commonplace.
Telepaths could speak in other people’s minds, but could not read them. Nevertheless, Felix didn’t need to read Bob’s mind to guess what he was thinking. Yes. He said, rubbing the skin overlaying one of his giant eyes, Fighting for food is a way of life hereabouts. If you’re not quick, there’re many here who’ll beat or kill you for it. The dead man over there is such a victim.
Bob glanced at the body, still slumped against the wall. “I get it.”
Good. You might just be one of few to last a year.
“I was hoping to break out eventually.” Bob said truthfully. “I have connections. But, I didn’t expect to be sent to a high security prison. I have no idea where I am. Do you?” Bob indeed had connections. If he had a location to send to his friends, he might possibly make it out.
What does it matter? Felix said wistfully. His eyes then drifted away, and Bob felt him leave his mind like a mist rolling through hills.
Bob finished his spartan meal, shook the alien’s hand and left. It seemed there wasn’t much more to talk about with the telepath. An alarm sounded just as Bob found more people to talk to. Lines were formed, and the prisoners were marched back to their cells.
Life in the prison was routine. A horrible, monotonous routine. Because of the lack of man power, there were only two days a week the inmates were let out into a courtyard for sun exposure and exercise. The rest of the week was spent in a cell or in the cafeteria.
As for communication, none was allowed. No interspace calls, no access to the Net—not even letters were sent out. Though it seemed his situation was hopeless, Bob was unwilling to give up. He had a life and a woman to return to.
The prison held many unhappy surprises he hadn’t known about. Every night the prison was doused in cleansing liquid which came from a watering system in the ceilings. This was to keep disease and infestations of lice away, but the watering occurred during the middle of the night and stung the eyes.
One of the more inhumane practices of the prison was to render all occupants infertile upon arrival. When he’d first been brought in, he heard women and men weeping and yelling. The warden had explained to new arrivals that this was done to prevent unwanted pregnancies from possible intimacies—consensual or not. Luckily for Bob, he was fifty-two and beyond the age of wanting children, but his heart went out to the others. He was appalled he’d never heard of this cruelty on the outside. Not that anyone could do anything about it; the crumbling Galactic Government was giant, slow, inept, and corrupted beyond belief.
During one of the short courtyard sessions a few weeks into his incarceration, Bob saw Felix standing alone in a corner, bruises about his frail body. Telepaths were naturally thin and physically weak, but Felix seemed cachexic—on the verge of throwing in the towel.
Bob strode up to him. “Hey Felix. What happened?” He gestured at the marks on his arms.
Felix gave one of his long blinks. The other telepaths beat me.
“Why?” Bob asked, surprised. There were only a few other telepaths in the prison. He thought for sure they’d band together.
Because of my crime. Telepaths are very sensitive to new ideas. …I should never have spoken out.
“What did you say to them to make them hurt you?”
Oh. It’s not what I said to THEM. It’s what I said back on the homeworld. I’m famous for being a deviant. It’s no problem, though. As I said before; I’ll be dead soon anyway.
Bob didn’t like that the poor fellow was giving up. “Is there anything I can do?”
Not unless you want to be my bodyguard. No telepath could stand against a human in strength.
“I could do that.” Bob replied simply.
Felix was taken aback by his kindness. His words entered Bob’s head at a higher pitch, Really? Why?
“You remind me of my telepathic friend on the outside.”
Ha. I’m sure we all look alike to you?
“Not really. You’re smaller, your eyes are gray, and you blink much slower than him.”
Blink…? Oh. That’s because of the drugs. I’m usually very tired after they give me those.
“Drugs?” Bob couldn’t help but inquire further.
For my mind. I’m a deviant in several ways; my ideas AND my physiology. I’m a mutant among my kind. Dangerous. Felix moved closer to the wall where his body would be more covered in shade. It seemed he burned easily.
“A mutant? In what way?”
Felix looked about, reluctant to answer despite the fact that his part of the conversation could not be heard outside of Bob’s head. Unlike other telepaths, I can read minds, and I have extreme distance on my telepathy. The later I only have when I’m not drugged.
Bob was dubious. Perhaps Felix was actually in jail because he was crazy. “And these… powers you have… Did they lock you up because of them?”
The other telepathic inmates were watching them curiously from across the courtyard, distrust in their big eyes. Felix looked down and fretted with his green jumpsuit distractedly. Partly. Because of the reach I have with my telepathy, I could relay my messages to entire planets in moments. They didn’t like what I had to say.
Bob could understand how reading minds and relaying information over extreme distances could almost be considered a weapon. Not that it was true. Still, he probed the telepath further; “How far can you use your telepathy when you’re not on the drugs?”
A galactic distance. Felix shrugged and leaned against the wall, stroking a bruise under his right eye. I know you won’t believe that. I’m not asking you to.
Bob shook his head slowly. “That is hard to believe. Not even the Galactic Government can make communications from one end of the galaxy to the other without relays and time delays.”
That’s fine. Felix didn’t try to explain himself. My days are numbered anyway. The other telepaths will take care of me soon enough. If they don’t kill me by taking my ration of nutrition, they’ll kill me by hand.
“They’ve been taking your food?” Bob turned around and looked at them. They stood in the shade as well—so similar to Felix and yet hell-bent on seeing him dead.
Yes. Being in jail for my crime doesn’t seem to be enough punishment in their eyes. Again, he touched the bruise under his right eye and sighed.
“What could you have said to warrant being sent to prison?” Bob asked again.
I dare not say. I have enough enemies. But, I have been thinking about YOUR ordeal during the course of this conversation... Telepaths were known for being able to follow many lines of thought at the same time. You said you wish to find out where we are so that you might tell your friends on the outside? Well, if you can help me get off these drugs somehow, I can help. It’d be all too easy to relay information with my galactic mind-reach.
Bob smiled delicately, though on the inside he chuckled to himself. Felix certainly believed he was a mutant, and it made him want to believe as well, but it was just too far-fetched. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, how about I just help keep those other telepaths off your back?”
Felix bowed his head politely. I’d be grateful.
Soon after their conversation ended, a dull alarm arose from the prison’s speaker system, signifying the end of the courtyard hour. On his way back inside, the two Telepaths who’d been eyeing the duo approached Bob. What are you doing talking to that degenerate mutant? One of them, a tall fellow with clear blue eyes asked sharply.
Bob winced a little at the alien’s tone in his head. “Mutant? Are you saying he really is a mutant?”
The telepaths looked at each other as if Bob was an ignoramus. The second, shorter one with a deep voice gestured with long yellow fingers. Of course he’s a mutant.
And he’s the worst type of telepath criminal there is. The taller one chimed in.
“He’s a violent man, then?” Bob looked back at Felix, who was still in the shade, waiting for everyone else to leave first, looking more frail than ever.
Hardly. The smaller one’s deep voice echoed about in Bob’s brain. He used his power for crime-of-thought—to send propaganda into the minds of every telepath on the planet.
Bob was confused. “Then… what’s his crime?”
That ingrate’s a racist. The taller one said with such disgust that Bob almost felt like he spat inside his head.
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