were regularly swapped places: one by one they were transferred to other cells or to newly-joined cells. Occasionally, prisoners were given the opportunity to communicate not only with their cellmates, but also with other residents of the prison through the internal communication system, but few became buddies or even friends in such an environment. The majority suffered from loneliness.
And the owners of the station turned it to their advantage.
Maintaining a prison in orbit was not cheap, even with stably operating space elevators and available energy. Therefore, the ECS became a base for experiments: they were always well paid, especially the extreme ones. And where to find test subjects for this, if not among criminals? A longstanding practice, in general.
And if you turn everything into a show… A show, with stakes on the outcome of each experience. A show with stakes on someone else’s life. Will the subject survive chemical blood modification? Will the subject remain sane after exposure to infrasound? Will the bones withstand the wave blows? Will a person be able to descend into the atmosphere without a capsule, only in a spacesuit?
The ECS program has long rivaled the profitability of the best casinos on Earth: the chances of winning are so slim – prisoners almost always go to waste – but the sweeter the desired prize.
Only in recent years, it has become increasingly difficult to understand the true meaning of the station’s existence: the isolation of scoundrels from society plus scientific achievements or, all the same, the spectacle.
Well, anyway, he’s already made up his mind. He can be a lab rat, a clown, a buffoon for a while, if the final result is what they promise. If he wins.
Christophe heard bursts of laughter behind the thin bulkhead of his room: the old buddies managed to have fun even here in the cage.
At first, when he just arrived here, the other people, the other inhabitants of this enclosed piece of space, seemed a boon. You might say they helped him get used to it. But now the cellmates only got in the way. For three days now – since the announcement of his participation in the descent experiment – they had dissuaded him as best they could. They assured him that it was a lost cause, that no one could manage it, that there was too much unpredictability in the case.
By the devil, he’ll manage to get through the suit and make it all the way down. He’ll go all the way and come back down. And then… then we’ll see.
Yes, everyone on Earth considers him a monster, perhaps even his former comrades-in-arms, his friends. But he would explain it to them, prove it to them. He was right, no matter what. It was worth it.
It was worth it!
***
In the experimental sector A, work was in full swing.
Preparing for the descent. The experience was to be the seventy-third, unless a participant dropped out at the last minute. This was the year that about half of the applicants withdrew from the experiment before launch. Fear, and justifiably so.
Flying down from the station to the stratospheric port, without pods or anything like that, just in a spacesuit – it was scary for her too. Of course, there was a rope, but it was rather for the cameras – so that the participant of the experience did not fly out of sight. And this thin string is not too reliable: even thick webs of space-lift systems sometimes break, but here is only a triple tape of the twentieth order.
Eight to ten hours total, if the wearable engines work properly. Eight to ten hours of uncertainty and stress for the participant. All for the purpose of testing a new suit. Or was it for the show?
A successful descent will give the prisoner his freedom, so one can understand his motives. But why return someone so dangerous to Earth? Take this one, the current one…
A middle-aged woman in a thick, light-colored jumpsuit was scrutinizing the file on the holoscreen.
«Christophe Jes. Thirty-two years old. White.
Born in Spain. Parents unknown.
Boarding School…
School…
Technical University… Included among the most promising graduates.
«Cyclone» Corporation, Development Department
Dismissal. Participation in protests against the new intrachip.
Video: «The installation of the sixth generation of Cyclone subdural chip is to enslave you! Your habitual assistant will become your controller, your overseer, your judge and executioner! Don’t switch to upgraded programs! Refuse to modify for your children! Our designs are stolen and corrected.
The possibility of total external control is real, and you may even suffer physically: reactions to stimulation are not well studied. There are victims in experimental groups who are hidden from you.
Get rid of the chip…»
First detentions. Litigation with «Cyclone» Corporation and the International Modification Agency.
Involvement in the explosion at the «Cyclone» plant in Monterey. Destruction of three million intrachips. Casualties: thirty killed (five terrorists), fifteen wounded. Damage…»
Yeah, and this guy could end up on the outside, back downstairs! How can you give such a guy a chance? So many people have suffered, died, and he calls them «accidental, but justified victims»! Does trying to save millions – supposedly save millions – justify the death of even one person? «The factory workers were involved…they knew who they were working for…the costs…It’s hard to conduct such an operation without getting dirty.» Jes’s words came up again and again in her brain, making her wrinkle in pain.
Is it possible to return such madman?
But it’s not up to her to decide. The corporation expects a super-successful edition of the show: the culprit has managed to become recognizable in the farthest corners of the Earth. The stakes almost broke the record of the biomodeling experience before last (ugh, creepy critter came out then).
The woman turned off the projection, turned around. Through the half-glass door of the A-11 airlock she could clearly see the manipulators being operated by her assistants. Metal arms, hoses and visors were completing the final assembly of the descent suit, checking seams, joints, fuel cells, and oxygen cylinders.
In ten minutes, the prisoner will be brought in. In twenty, he will enter outer space and slowly fly toward his desired freedom.
But it’s not up to her, is it?
***
It took him minutes to get into his spacesuit, but it seemed unbearably long. However, he was too impatient, and there were still ten hours of one-on-one time with the space. But when every moment brings you closer to Earth, it is difficult to remain calm.
His heart was pounding more than usual, but Christophe managed to pull himself together: the art of meditation was doing its job even now, when silence and solitude were out of the question.
The suite fit him perfectly –
