H-1 UMAN-1

Chapter 9

It's been exactly two weeks to the day since I got sent here, and for fourteen straight days, I've been staring at the back of my eyelids for eighteen out of twenty-four hours. Well, at least the guards gave me this soft rubber ball to occupy my mind with. They don't dare give me a ball that's made out of hard rubber for fear that I'll use it as a weapon.

Ah, what the heck, I probably would.

Who knows?

But my reverie is interrupted by the sound of doors sliding open.

Wait a sec, that's not supposed to happen...

Then something even odder happens- a voice comes on over the public address system, but to me, it doesn't sound like a human's voice, at least not any real human that I've ever heard. No, it sounds like the computerized voice of the virtual assistants that come standard as part of every operating system these days. But it isn't the voice that scares me so much, it's what the voice says:

"Well, well, I was wondering when someone was going to let me out."

Then the PA goes silent, and everything is plunged into near pitch-blackness.

Oh, shit.

But now's not really the time to worry about that. Some officer's probably just playing a prank.

This is a really extreme prank, though.

As soon as I'm done thinking that, the lights flicker back on, and I hear the clunk sounds of the doors' latches reengaging. Well, no chance for escape now. But whatever the hell just happened was freaky, and based on the looks on the faces of the sentries that are standing outside in the hallway, I don't think that that was something they were expecting, either. But if they weren't in on it, where did it come from? The higher-ups? I don't know, even with tenure (something I only know about because I heard my ex-fourth grade teacher talking about it the day before he got fired.

But in all seriousness, who would be stupid enough to do such a thing? I can't think of one. You know what, I'm tired, I'll write more in the morning when I wake up, but first to hide this journal. I stuff it under my mattress, close my eyes, and I'm out cold before my head even hits the pillow.

When I wake up in the morning, there's a guard standing by my bedside, and holy Mary, mother of God, he looks rather pissed. I'm willing to bet that he's a newbie, first day, maybe, and he drew the short straw to come get me. Whatever the case, he sure as hell doesn't look to pleased to see me, and seeing that anger etched into a face that looks to be only a few years older than me? That's sobering, to say the least, and it compels me to get up without being told to. "Where to, sir?" I ask, hoping to glean some knowledge of where I'm going to be sent now. I just have to hope that it won't be the work camps, but that's where they send the most serious of offenders, and I get the sudden feeling that that term would now ensconce me. Shit.

But that's not what the guard says, and I recoil slightly, more in shock and disbelief than anything else. "You're going to trial, Madam Schorennherr," he says. Come with me, please."

When I don't come along right away, he turns around, and finding me just standing there stock still, jaw wide open in surprise, he dons a look of extreme exasperation. "Yes, seriously. You're going to trial."

"Well, okay, then," I say, unable to hide the shine of excitement from my voice.

"Don't get your hopes up, Vincent," he says, breaking formality for a minute to refer to me familiarly. "The senators will have set up their television cameras in the courtroom so as to broadcast the trial live to the entire country, every single person who owns a television in these United States, and even if they don't have a TV of their own, they'll probably watch it on their holoscreens or go down to the local electronics depot. Don't worry, they'll find you guilty," he says. "What?," he asks when he sees the look of wide-eyed, wide-mouthed, slack-jawed shock that I can't keep from showing.