NSP Ficathon entry - For sonya
Title: End of the Road
Author: skripka
Pairing: none yet
Rating: PG 13 to R; subject to change
Recipient: virtualinsomnia
As far as prison cells went, it wasn't much of one. Not that it wasn't obviously a cell; Simon counted ten paces square, if he made the paces small and estimated generously. It was probably a lot closer to five. The light was regulated to be uniformly dim. There was no window, no cot; just a palette to sleep on, a multi-purpose hygienic facility that folded into the wall opposite him, and a door.
As far as torture techniques went, the cell was pretty effective.
Simon hated it. He couldn't even remember how he had arrived, although a cursory examination of his bruises and scrapes once he had awoken indicated more than little rough handling. A bout of nausea and vomiting afterwards made Simon think that a concussion blaster had been used on him.
After that, with blood and bile and dirt on his shirt, he had waited in the dim light for any indication of just why he was in a cell that had no signs of any Alliance regulations.
That was two weeks ago.
Since then, he had had nothing to do. The first couple of days, not that he was able to tell time, he had begged for information and clean clothes from whichever guard would hand him a plate of protein for his daily meal. Despite the bright light that usually haloed them and semi-blinded him, he had been able to identify three different ones.
Grumpy seemed to be in charge, with Thug trying to imitate his every move. Babyface initially appeared to be cowed by both of them, but Simon had heard a row through his door once, presumably during a shift change. He couldn't tell exactly what had happened, because he hadn't gotten their voices completely straightened out, but when Babyface handed over his dinner plate, Simon caught a glimpse of satisfaction on his face.
Simon spent part of his time picking at his protein, wondering if the bland meals were meant to soften his resolve. That thought made him laugh a few times, the sound echoing oddly in the little room. He had survived on far worse for far longer on Serenity. He tried not to think about the time before the Operative, and Shepherd Book's talents in the kitchen.
The rest of his waking hours, of which he was convinced were getting shorter the longer he stayed in his cell, Simon speculated. He speculated on the relationships between the guards, on their unmarked uniforms, who would have arrested him...
Escape plans and thoughts on what had happened to Serenity only made Simon despair, so when he found his mind headed that direction, he stopped thinking and paced his cell.
***
Simon was dozing fitfully when the door opened. He blinked at the bright light and let himself be dragged to his feet. Babyface cuffed him while Thug held a concussion rifle pointed at Simon's gut. Simon grimaced as the cuffs pinched his skin.
The guards were silent as they brought Simon out of the cell, into the hall, and up the elevator. For a brief second, Simon considered looking for identifying markings, but decided not to bother. He had no idea what planet he was on, much less where he could escape to. Better to just see what was going to happen next.
He was a little relieved to be brought to a wood-paneled office rather than some abattoir. Babyface undid his cuffs, only to buckle his wrists to the arms of a chair. A young woman with black hair and in doctor's robes was consulting an infopad in the corner. Grumpy was there, standing behind the large desk and the tiny, red-haired woman in the chair opposite Simon.
She was studying some plasfilms and books, making impatient notations on her own pad. Simon blinked at the fading daylight from the window behind her chair.
Simon hadn't realized how messed up his time sense was; he had guessed it was noon or so. He started calculating the rotation of the planet he was on, taking into account the human propensity to 27-hour days.
"Simon Tam." His name snapped him out of his reverie. Simon focused on the red-headed woman. Her eyes were cold and her lips were thin in displeasure. "You have caused me no end of trouble."
Some perverse pride had Simon correcting her. "Doctor Simon Tam."
She snorted. "I think not. According to Alliance statute 215.08.73, subsection 13," here, she read off a piece of plasfilm, "'Any and all medical personnel convicted of any crime against the state may be tried in absentia for said crime.'" The film went back into the pile, and she picked up a new piece. "'Simon Tam, formerly of Osiris, convicted of High Treason, Alliance court 65, Gezi District.' I believe the punishment was... ah, yes. Here we go." Simon felt his gut go into knots as his eyes focused on the woman.
"'To be stripped of all rights and privileges thereof; all licenses and practices revoked'" She smiled grimly at Simon. "In short, according to this, you're a nobody, Simon Tam."
Simon couldn't speak through the constriction in his throat for a long minute. "Who the hell are you, anyway? This is no court--you have no right..." His tirade was stopped by a nod from Grumpy and hard, tooth-rattling punch in the jaw by Thug.
He spat blood as the woman continued. "Oh, it's revenge, pure and simple." The woman sat back in her seat. "You were involved in that Miranda incident. Some might say you were the catalyst for the whole mess.
"You see, " she tented her fingers, "there was quite the shake up in the Parliament. Many of us were summarily dismissed after years of service.
"Anyway. It's behind us now." She fixed Simon with a hard look. "Now you get to make it up to me. I think hard labor on Huron moon will placate me." A wave of her hand had the lab coated woman stepping up to Simon, a subdermal injector in her hand. "You'll be tagged and sedated. I hope to never see you again."
Simon fought back the edge of panic as the red-haired woman gathered up her notes and left the room, followed closely by Grumpy.
"Sorry about this." That was the only warning Simon got as the injector pinched the back of his neck. He jerked, wanting to rub the site, but still restrained. He watched in horrified fascination as the doctor prepared another injection. "You'll want to be asleep for the ride, anyway. Trust me." She smiled as the injector pressed into his neck again.
As the world swam around him and went gray, Simon thought he heard a male voice laughing in agreement.
***
Waking up to moonlight was a novel sensation. Simon had gotten used to Serenity's artificial light and then the non-dark of his cell. The rhythm of the work camp was simple and grueling; wake before light, protein bar with water for a meal, work in the mines for ten hours straight, more protein, and sleep. The twenty-hour day of the moon kept things on an even keel, and Simon would generally sleep like a rock until the next workday started.
It wasn't as bad as Simon had feared; once it was general knowledge that he had medical training, the small amount of petty harassment stopped. Most of the prisoners were too exhausted to do more than shove around the new guy, fortunately. Considering the groggy state he had been in when he got off the shuttle initially, any attempt at fighting off an assault would have been futile.
Simon was still a prisoner, but his skills had landed him a place in the prison colony's hierarchy. The irony wasn't lost on him, naturally. A fugitive doctor, formerly the brightest star in the surgery, now reduced to treating minor fractures and cuts that even on Serenity he would have sneered at. It was a small rebellion against the bitch who had put him here and who, he assumed, had stripped his rank from him.
He had never figured out who she was, although he had talked to other prisoners. While there were a few who recalled the red-haired woman, there were many others who had never seen her or appeared to have been 'sentenced' by others. Simon's guess was that the moon was a place for the powerful and formerly powerful to dispose of private prisoners.
A shuttle arrived monthly with food supplies. There were occasional new prisoners as well, shoved unceremoniously out of the hatch, groggy and cuffed. While the current residents moved supplies, they covertly studied the newcomers as they were revived and given instructions by the guards. Simon recognized Thug and Babyface occasionally, along with a short woman with long, curly hair who seemed to be the pilot.
Life passed. Simon dug and carried and ate and slept. He set a few bones, cleaned scrapes and wished for painkillers. He tried to not think about either of his lives from before, although he would wake in the night, wondering if River was still alive. At some point, he realized, he had become resigned. Not a great trait for a surgeon, fatalism, but it was all he had left.
Several shuttle runs had come and gone, and the supply run had come around again. Simon smiled briefly in recognition as Babyface exited the shuttle and prepared the doors. He was in the stocking line, as usual--one of the perks of his position on the colony's ladder--when he noticed a commotion from the front section of the shuttle.
Thug and Pilot were wrestling a new prisoner onto the tarmac. She was thrashing, trying to get out of her cuffs. When she tripped and glared at the guards, Simon was shocked to realize he knew her, even with her hair dyed blonde and short. Saffron. Whoever, whatever her name was. The little con artist who had gotten them in trouble more than once.
Before he knew it, he was out of the line and jogging over, hands in the air. Pilot swung her concussion rifle at him. "Stop right there. No laborers past the red line," she commanded in her heavily-accented English. Simon checked his feet--his toes were close, but not over--and stopped.
"I..." he paused and coughed, voice scratchy from the dust. "I'm not threatening you. I'm trying to help."
"Well, thanks," retorted Thug, sarcastically. "We've got it under control." His concussion rifle was pointed at Saffron's head as she turned to face Simon, frowning.
"No, wait!" Simon hated those guns. Supposedly humane, the aftereffects were hellish, and he never wanted to be on the receiving end again, and would rather use a lead-bullet pistol on his worst enemy."I... I know her."
Pilot made a face. "Is this true?" she asked Saffron.
Saffron blinked once and her expression changed so rapidly that Simon was stunned. "Of course it is. He and I go way back." She smiled at Simon. "Fancy seeing you here." Simon licked his lips and watched the two guards as they communicated silently for a minute.
Thug shrugged and put his rifle up, "Fine. Whatever." He yanked Saffron to her feet and undid the cuffs, pushing her over the red line. She stumbled and Simon caught her. Thug stepped up right behind her. "Look, Doc," his voice made a slur out of the title. "You're not quite making waves but we know what's going on here. Don't step out of line again. I don't want to have to shoot you." Thug flashed a bright smile before turning back to Pilot.
Simon let out the breath he had been holding and led Saffron away from the landing zone. She followed docilely, eyes intent on Simon's face and frowning as they made their way to his pallet and shelter. He gestured for her to sit and took out his meager supply of water.
"Drink," he ordered and rubbed a hand over his face. "It will help flush the sedative from your system." Saffron obeyed, her eyes still focused on Simon's face. "What?"
"Do I really know you?" she asked and Simon snorted. Of course.
He nodded. "Well, I've met you. You probably don't remember."
She chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment longer. "I didn't ever get married to you, right?"
(to be continued)
Author: skripka
Pairing: none yet
Rating: PG 13 to R; subject to change
Recipient: virtualinsomnia
As far as prison cells went, it wasn't much of one. Not that it wasn't obviously a cell; Simon counted ten paces square, if he made the paces small and estimated generously. It was probably a lot closer to five. The light was regulated to be uniformly dim. There was no window, no cot; just a palette to sleep on, a multi-purpose hygienic facility that folded into the wall opposite him, and a door.
As far as torture techniques went, the cell was pretty effective.
Simon hated it. He couldn't even remember how he had arrived, although a cursory examination of his bruises and scrapes once he had awoken indicated more than little rough handling. A bout of nausea and vomiting afterwards made Simon think that a concussion blaster had been used on him.
After that, with blood and bile and dirt on his shirt, he had waited in the dim light for any indication of just why he was in a cell that had no signs of any Alliance regulations.
That was two weeks ago.
Since then, he had had nothing to do. The first couple of days, not that he was able to tell time, he had begged for information and clean clothes from whichever guard would hand him a plate of protein for his daily meal. Despite the bright light that usually haloed them and semi-blinded him, he had been able to identify three different ones.
Grumpy seemed to be in charge, with Thug trying to imitate his every move. Babyface initially appeared to be cowed by both of them, but Simon had heard a row through his door once, presumably during a shift change. He couldn't tell exactly what had happened, because he hadn't gotten their voices completely straightened out, but when Babyface handed over his dinner plate, Simon caught a glimpse of satisfaction on his face.
Simon spent part of his time picking at his protein, wondering if the bland meals were meant to soften his resolve. That thought made him laugh a few times, the sound echoing oddly in the little room. He had survived on far worse for far longer on Serenity. He tried not to think about the time before the Operative, and Shepherd Book's talents in the kitchen.
The rest of his waking hours, of which he was convinced were getting shorter the longer he stayed in his cell, Simon speculated. He speculated on the relationships between the guards, on their unmarked uniforms, who would have arrested him...
Escape plans and thoughts on what had happened to Serenity only made Simon despair, so when he found his mind headed that direction, he stopped thinking and paced his cell.
***
Simon was dozing fitfully when the door opened. He blinked at the bright light and let himself be dragged to his feet. Babyface cuffed him while Thug held a concussion rifle pointed at Simon's gut. Simon grimaced as the cuffs pinched his skin.
The guards were silent as they brought Simon out of the cell, into the hall, and up the elevator. For a brief second, Simon considered looking for identifying markings, but decided not to bother. He had no idea what planet he was on, much less where he could escape to. Better to just see what was going to happen next.
He was a little relieved to be brought to a wood-paneled office rather than some abattoir. Babyface undid his cuffs, only to buckle his wrists to the arms of a chair. A young woman with black hair and in doctor's robes was consulting an infopad in the corner. Grumpy was there, standing behind the large desk and the tiny, red-haired woman in the chair opposite Simon.
She was studying some plasfilms and books, making impatient notations on her own pad. Simon blinked at the fading daylight from the window behind her chair.
Simon hadn't realized how messed up his time sense was; he had guessed it was noon or so. He started calculating the rotation of the planet he was on, taking into account the human propensity to 27-hour days.
"Simon Tam." His name snapped him out of his reverie. Simon focused on the red-headed woman. Her eyes were cold and her lips were thin in displeasure. "You have caused me no end of trouble."
Some perverse pride had Simon correcting her. "Doctor Simon Tam."
She snorted. "I think not. According to Alliance statute 215.08.73, subsection 13," here, she read off a piece of plasfilm, "'Any and all medical personnel convicted of any crime against the state may be tried in absentia for said crime.'" The film went back into the pile, and she picked up a new piece. "'Simon Tam, formerly of Osiris, convicted of High Treason, Alliance court 65, Gezi District.' I believe the punishment was... ah, yes. Here we go." Simon felt his gut go into knots as his eyes focused on the woman.
"'To be stripped of all rights and privileges thereof; all licenses and practices revoked'" She smiled grimly at Simon. "In short, according to this, you're a nobody, Simon Tam."
Simon couldn't speak through the constriction in his throat for a long minute. "Who the hell are you, anyway? This is no court--you have no right..." His tirade was stopped by a nod from Grumpy and hard, tooth-rattling punch in the jaw by Thug.
He spat blood as the woman continued. "Oh, it's revenge, pure and simple." The woman sat back in her seat. "You were involved in that Miranda incident. Some might say you were the catalyst for the whole mess.
"You see, " she tented her fingers, "there was quite the shake up in the Parliament. Many of us were summarily dismissed after years of service.
"Anyway. It's behind us now." She fixed Simon with a hard look. "Now you get to make it up to me. I think hard labor on Huron moon will placate me." A wave of her hand had the lab coated woman stepping up to Simon, a subdermal injector in her hand. "You'll be tagged and sedated. I hope to never see you again."
Simon fought back the edge of panic as the red-haired woman gathered up her notes and left the room, followed closely by Grumpy.
"Sorry about this." That was the only warning Simon got as the injector pinched the back of his neck. He jerked, wanting to rub the site, but still restrained. He watched in horrified fascination as the doctor prepared another injection. "You'll want to be asleep for the ride, anyway. Trust me." She smiled as the injector pressed into his neck again.
As the world swam around him and went gray, Simon thought he heard a male voice laughing in agreement.
***
Waking up to moonlight was a novel sensation. Simon had gotten used to Serenity's artificial light and then the non-dark of his cell. The rhythm of the work camp was simple and grueling; wake before light, protein bar with water for a meal, work in the mines for ten hours straight, more protein, and sleep. The twenty-hour day of the moon kept things on an even keel, and Simon would generally sleep like a rock until the next workday started.
It wasn't as bad as Simon had feared; once it was general knowledge that he had medical training, the small amount of petty harassment stopped. Most of the prisoners were too exhausted to do more than shove around the new guy, fortunately. Considering the groggy state he had been in when he got off the shuttle initially, any attempt at fighting off an assault would have been futile.
Simon was still a prisoner, but his skills had landed him a place in the prison colony's hierarchy. The irony wasn't lost on him, naturally. A fugitive doctor, formerly the brightest star in the surgery, now reduced to treating minor fractures and cuts that even on Serenity he would have sneered at. It was a small rebellion against the bitch who had put him here and who, he assumed, had stripped his rank from him.
He had never figured out who she was, although he had talked to other prisoners. While there were a few who recalled the red-haired woman, there were many others who had never seen her or appeared to have been 'sentenced' by others. Simon's guess was that the moon was a place for the powerful and formerly powerful to dispose of private prisoners.
A shuttle arrived monthly with food supplies. There were occasional new prisoners as well, shoved unceremoniously out of the hatch, groggy and cuffed. While the current residents moved supplies, they covertly studied the newcomers as they were revived and given instructions by the guards. Simon recognized Thug and Babyface occasionally, along with a short woman with long, curly hair who seemed to be the pilot.
Life passed. Simon dug and carried and ate and slept. He set a few bones, cleaned scrapes and wished for painkillers. He tried to not think about either of his lives from before, although he would wake in the night, wondering if River was still alive. At some point, he realized, he had become resigned. Not a great trait for a surgeon, fatalism, but it was all he had left.
Several shuttle runs had come and gone, and the supply run had come around again. Simon smiled briefly in recognition as Babyface exited the shuttle and prepared the doors. He was in the stocking line, as usual--one of the perks of his position on the colony's ladder--when he noticed a commotion from the front section of the shuttle.
Thug and Pilot were wrestling a new prisoner onto the tarmac. She was thrashing, trying to get out of her cuffs. When she tripped and glared at the guards, Simon was shocked to realize he knew her, even with her hair dyed blonde and short. Saffron. Whoever, whatever her name was. The little con artist who had gotten them in trouble more than once.
Before he knew it, he was out of the line and jogging over, hands in the air. Pilot swung her concussion rifle at him. "Stop right there. No laborers past the red line," she commanded in her heavily-accented English. Simon checked his feet--his toes were close, but not over--and stopped.
"I..." he paused and coughed, voice scratchy from the dust. "I'm not threatening you. I'm trying to help."
"Well, thanks," retorted Thug, sarcastically. "We've got it under control." His concussion rifle was pointed at Saffron's head as she turned to face Simon, frowning.
"No, wait!" Simon hated those guns. Supposedly humane, the aftereffects were hellish, and he never wanted to be on the receiving end again, and would rather use a lead-bullet pistol on his worst enemy."I... I know her."
Pilot made a face. "Is this true?" she asked Saffron.
Saffron blinked once and her expression changed so rapidly that Simon was stunned. "Of course it is. He and I go way back." She smiled at Simon. "Fancy seeing you here." Simon licked his lips and watched the two guards as they communicated silently for a minute.
Thug shrugged and put his rifle up, "Fine. Whatever." He yanked Saffron to her feet and undid the cuffs, pushing her over the red line. She stumbled and Simon caught her. Thug stepped up right behind her. "Look, Doc," his voice made a slur out of the title. "You're not quite making waves but we know what's going on here. Don't step out of line again. I don't want to have to shoot you." Thug flashed a bright smile before turning back to Pilot.
Simon let out the breath he had been holding and led Saffron away from the landing zone. She followed docilely, eyes intent on Simon's face and frowning as they made their way to his pallet and shelter. He gestured for her to sit and took out his meager supply of water.
"Drink," he ordered and rubbed a hand over his face. "It will help flush the sedative from your system." Saffron obeyed, her eyes still focused on Simon's face. "What?"
"Do I really know you?" she asked and Simon snorted. Of course.
He nodded. "Well, I've met you. You probably don't remember."
She chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment longer. "I didn't ever get married to you, right?"
(to be continued)