EXILE
Chapter 4

“What? You’ve got to be kidding!” Moshe shouted at the guard, who just shook his head. He flipped his visor down, and crossed the terminal to another shuttle. Boarding it, the guard disconnected all but one of the bogies, and then left the crew and the remaining guards. As the shadow and lights of the shuttle disappeared around the gentle upward curve of the tunnel, Moshe turned back to his crew. Rob, a tall, lean man, spoke first. “What’s up, Boss?”

“Winters has been discharged. The sarge has gone to fetch him from the infirmary.”

“The bastards.” Rob turned away, and swiftly turned back. “Its their fucking policy, isn’t it?”

Moshe nodded. “There’s not much that we can do about it. Hell, we’re not supposed to have any civil rights, anyway. We gave those up when we bought our tickets up here.”

“So, do we wait?”

“No. We get back to work, pronto.” Moshe walked briskly past Rob and the other men, leading the way to the new excavation. The guards started after him, prompting the rest of the crew to fall in line in front of them.

The line of workers made their way down the terminal shaft, until they reached a branch tunnel. The branch was very new, the lunacrete lining a visibly lighter shade of grey than the older, axial tunnels. Where the ventilation ducts joined the ducts in the axial shaft, the weld was still raw, not having been painted over. As they walked, the sounds of heavy machinery gradually became louder through the thin air.

Ahead of them, the lunacrete lining of the tunnels ended, leaving bare rock walls. Before the end of the lunacrete was a large, recessed sliding door. On either side of the door were pressure sensors. The door was an automatic airlock, and served to remind all those who passed through it of the reasonably delicate factors that separated them from the void outside.

Scattered throughout the colony were several of these large tunnel seals. The standard protection for the colony inhabitants were the door seals, the hatches to each room. It was a colony policy that no personnel, guards or convicts, were to be in the traffic tunnels unless they were travelling from one room, or hab-space, to another. If the habitat wall was to be breached at any point, the sudden reduction in air pressure as it rushed outside would trigger the nearest hatch seals, whether tunnel or space seals. Each seal had its own independent closure switches, to prevent a potentially lethal malfunction of a centralised control system.

The colony itself was a grouping of smaller colonies, now known as the quadrants. Each quadrant consisted of a central habitat space, a large hall that the dormitory rooms opened off from. The central space was connected to a downwards tunnel that lead to the central laundry, locker and shower area. There was one of these water areas for each quadrant. The male colony included quadrants one, two, four, six and seven; the female colony had quadrants three and five. In the two colonies, quadrants seven and eight housed the guards and the warden’s administrative offices, and the infirmary for each colony. The male colony had been designed to resemble a spoked wheel, but limitations of the local geology had forced major changes on the colony’s layout.

The starting point for each colony had been the surface survey points. These were now the space ports, and were the only permanent surface structures. The geodesic domes had been landed as pre-fabricated kitsets by drone vehicles, and assembled by the military engineers. When the domes had been completed, the ME Corps had established the first permanent habitats inside, and used them as bases while they developed the landing pads nearby. This last task had been simply to level a defined area, remove the lunar soil, and seal the surface with anhydrous cement, and to install microwave location and guidance systems.

Waiting in orbit during this time were the crewed cargo shuttles that held the first shipment of lunar excavation equipment. Designed around established Earth machines for hard-rock tunnelling, the machines had been assembled next to the pad, turned to face down, and used to bore the first elevator shafts. Spreading out from the first shafts, the excavations followed the solid rock according to seismic surveys that were performed as the work progressed. The male colony that developed resembled a cluster of neurons more than it did a wheel.

The ME Corps soon gave way to the first crews of convicts, sent on a one-way trip of hard labour. The oldest quadrant crew was in fact Q6, who had from the start performed all raw excavation work. The next oldest crews were from Q1, who moved into the new spaces and made them habitable. Their work included lining the bare rock with lunacrete, full electrical system installations, and all plumbing systems. Their brief also included any custom interior finishing work for the spaces, whether installing shuttle tracks or bunk beds. The other two male quadrants were Q2 and Q4. Q2 were the space engineers, constructing sub-orbital platforms for communications, solar energy conversion and general research construction. Q4 were the bread and butter outfit, the miners. The hardest, most physically able convicts were assigned to Q4, as were all convicts that had been considered to be expendable by the state.

The mining crews were not often based in the colony. Instead, they were cycled to and from remote stations around the lunar surface where economic mineral deposits had been found. Mineral exploitation had always been highly dangerous, even on Earth. The lunar environment only served to compound the dangers. Fully-enclosed pressure suits had to be worn at all times, as the mines were never sealed. A relatively minor incident would often prove fatal. All minerals were processed at the mine head, using portable extraction cells. Established flotation and frothing agents could not be used, only direct-dissolution and electrotech methods. The pig ingots of the alloyed metals were then despatched to an orbiting cargo barge. When the barge was filled it would transport the spoil back to Earth. It was the product of the miners that earned the capital to finance the colonies. The more human reason for the lunar bases was to be found in the female colony, in quadrants 3 and 5.

Quadrant 3 was an extensive hydroponic farm that produced specialised vegetable protein to feed the wealthier part of Earth’s population. Classic vegetables were not grown as the main crop, but genetically engineered algae and protein-rich sponges were. The sponges were not marine sponges, but self-replicating soy biomass. Bio engineers had effectively done away with the soy bean plant, homing in instead on the biological tissue of the bean itself. With a little manipulation, the tissue of the bean would reproduce on a cellular level indefinitely, enabling a single bean `plant’ to culture at least several tonnes worth of biomass, before slowing down the reproduction rate to an economically worthless level. At this point, a new bean would be altered.

Q3 was very large, using the virtually unlimited direct sunlight to full advantage. With long lunar days and with no interfering atmosphere and climate, the growing season produced spectacular productivity records. The population of Earth had continued to increase to several billion people, placing tremendous pressure on the ability of people to feed themselves. The Q3 program and its regular shipments of raw protein tipped the balance in humanity’s favour. To make sure that the balance did not shift was the job of Q5.

The women who worked in Q5 were the support technicians for scientists contracted by the Global Union to research biomass improvement. Their brief involved many diverse projects, many of dubious ethical standing. Although the engineering of plant genes were their more publicised, acceptable successes, they continued research on animal genetics. For this reason, they were isolated on the moon, far away from civil “morality guerillas” on Earth. On a more practical level, they developed improved habitat ecologies for the lunar bases, and maintained the existing eco-cycles. Two private contractors were based in Q7 with the prison administration, and were responsible for maintaining the male colony eco-cycle.

The male colony was much larger than the female colony, as there was a much greater pool of testosterone-powered labour available through the Global Union’s judicial system. Although the quadrants in the male colony were separate and semi-autonomous from each other, there was a web of interconnecting tunnels, and certain colony facilities were shared. The heart of the colony was Q7, placing the guards and the administration at roughly equal travelling distances from each quadrant and work area. Below Q7 was the infirmary, and below the infirmary was the main canteen, with the confinement cells at the lowest level. Naturally, it was referred to as the dungeon. The multiple levels of the Q7 complex had been excavated as a large, two hundred metre wide spiral, with hab-spaces developed in the centre of the coil.

Each quadrant shared the Q7 central canteen, which served all prisoners in the colony. To relieve pressure, each quadrant operated its two shifts at times different from the other quadrants, so that at any time there would be no more than fifty people in the canteen. The direct result was that, over time, the convicts from different quadrants would come to know each other. This served to create a reliable word-of-mouth communication system.

The crew paused at the sliding pressure seal. Immediately before them was a small passage, a ring-access tunnel. Sealed by a pressure hatch, it led to a broad tunnel that ran around the permanent habitat perimeter of the colony. The ring, as the tunnel was known, was used for moving all heavy machinery from the maintenance workshops below Q4 to wherever the current excavations were. As Q4 was rarely fully occupied by its crews, the domicile unit was smaller, with an additional space below for the engineering shop. Of each shift of twenty-four men, three were maintenance crew. The trio of mechanics in Moshe’s crew lined up before the door. Rob was the first. He flipped open a display panel. On it, a set of LCD panels gave a running readout of the air pressure and composition of the air in the access tunnel. Rob studied it, before pushing the “accept” button, which lit up green.

“All clear. Let’s go.” The lead guard stepped back, as the door slid open to reveal a narrow passage that was lit only by recessed bulbs. Rob and his two companions stepped into the tunnel, the door sliding shut after them.

The remaining crew moved ahead into the raw excavation area. A short distance from the isolation seal was a large industrial lift, four metres square, for transporting the excava-gear to and from the ring. Any machines bigger than the lift were modular in design, and were transported in pieces. The tunnel curved gently to the left, following the hard rock, and less than fifty metres past the seal it ended at the base of the excavation. The space was one hundred metres across, and roughly elliptical in shape. Where the tunnel ended a new ring tunnel was being bored, spiralling downwards around the space.

Ahead of the crew were the twenty-one men of the alternate Q6 shift. The crews were finishing their shift, and coming towards Moshe’s men. The shift rotation took about ten minutes, as the two crews briefed each other on work progress and news from the quadrants. Before beginning the new space, the crews had all been fully briefed on the design and intended purpose of the space. As foreman, Moshe had free access to the full design plans.

The space that they were creating was to be a new combined spaceport and ecospace. A new design, the top layer was to have a plexidome manufactured in place to cover a photosyn farm, which would produce the colony’s own bio-space food supply. The lower levels were designed to house an extra quadrant and its own industrial base. Whereas the colony had developed in a semi-planned, ad-hoc fashion, it was now big enough for serious development as a permanent habitat. Moshe knew what others suspected, that the existing, harsh penal colony would soon be surpassed by a lifestyle colony. In the same way that Australia had developed from penal colony to independent nation of free people, the lunar colonies were being considered as an attractive alternative to the wasted, over-populated Earth. The new space was being developed as a prototype lifestyle colony, being trialed as an annex to the existing facility. Should it succeed, then others would be developed on a larger scale elsewhere on the moon. The first dwellers in the new quadrant would be convicts drawn from the other quadrants, with some newcomers. The spaces created in the crews would be filled by new boys, as they usually were.

The new ring tunnel spiralled downwards to the crew’s right; to the left was a pressure seal that lead to the surface airlock. The airlock had been installed early on, but the tunnel and elevator space that led up to the spaceport area was still raw rock, waiting for Q1 to install the port entry. In between the tunnel seals was a transition area. The main purpose was for safety. The area consisted of a low, knee-high barrier, the other side of which were three portable racks of pressure-safety suits. Sitting down on the barrier, the crews removed their boots, and swung their legs over to face the workings. The PS suits were standard issue, and were not personalised. Each worker took a PS suit off the rack, and climbed into it from the rear. The suit was a total body envelope, with boots included. Built into the back of each suit were two flat tanks that were connected to the helmet by teflon tubing. Inside each helmet was a regulator, two-way intercom radio, and an ambient-store valve. Under normal working conditions the crew would breathe the air around them. If the wall was breached, the drop in air pressure would close the valve and open the regulator. The reserve tanks would give each man two hours of air. The suits provided optimal UV protection, and some electromagnetic field protection. They were designed and worn as a life-extension system, not preservation. Correctly used, in the event of a breach, the crew involved would have up to two hours in which to be rescued.

To avoid the cross-over confusion, the relief crew got kitted out first, while the working crew waited. As Moshe was sealing the suit of Harlon, the seismic surveyor, he heard footsteps approaching them from the tunnel. He knew who it was before he turned. “Nice to have you back, Graham.” He checked Harlon’s tube connections, and plugged in the cross-body pressure seals. “But, of course, it would be better if you had stayed in the infirmary.” He sealed the back-flap, and patted Harlon’s shoulder. “All yours, mate.” He turned, and saw Winters.

Graham looked a bare shadow of the already lean recluse that he had been an hour before. He had been cleaned up and issued with some new fatigues, but his balance was still shaky. The sergeant who had escorted him gave him very little assistance, pulling him in line if he ever wandered against the wall. Graham looked up, and squinted. “Uh, Moshe, sir. Thanks.” He blinked, and raised a hand to wipe a tear. “Still don’t have my contacts. Doc’s making some more for me.”

“What about now?”

“Eh?” Graham squinted again, and flinched as his nose reminded him not to use too much expression.

“Can you see?”

“Yes, I think.”

“You think? Harley, check him out.” Harlon moved back over the barrier, and slowly approached Graham. Reaching out, as he moved closer he took Graham’s shoulder and guided him gently to where Moshe stood, before walking back several paces into the space.

“Stay where you are, mate. Look right ahead. Good. Now, can you see me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He raised a hand. “What hand am I holding up?”

“Right.”

“Is the palm towards you, or the space?”

“Space.”

“Sorry, wrong. Hang on.” Harlon moved forward, and repeated his questions. When he was four metres away, Graham could see enough detail to see Harlon’s palm.

“So, do I work?”

“You know as well as I do what the policy is.” Moshe began to sound impatient, and glared at the sergeant as he spoke. “You’re here, you work. No exceptions. You were assaulted, fair enough. You weren’t infectious, had no internal bleeding or broken bones other than your nose, so you were patched up, questioned and released to the shift. Shit happens, Graham. None of us, except for the guards, are here by choice. If we can walk, we work. Now get changed.”

Graham just looked ahead, at the waiting crew. The guard coughed. Taking the cue, he limped forward towards the barrier. Harlon had already returned - being in his PS suit, by rights he shouldn’t be on that side of the barrier. Every man on the crew knew how far their sympathy should go - no further than what they should expect in return should they be hurt. They stuck together as far as their mutual security was concerned. Otherwise, it was every man for himself.

As Graham approached the barrier, Moshe’s crew finished changing and checking each other, and started thinning towards the space, so that the other shift could get undressed. As they moved in, they all saw Graham lower himself to the barrier.

“Fuck! What the hell happened to the weed?”

“Shut up, Henry.” Moshe turned to face Henry Rawlinson, his counterpart on the second shift. “Smithy and his boys stuffed him in the shower.”

“Yeah? What about his ear?” Winters’ ear was covered with a syn-skin kit.

“Pinker, I think.”

“Figures. That boy’s been a loose cannon since he arrived from Q4. Word has it they couldn’t handle him.”

“And they thought that I could? Nice of them.”

“Don’t take it personally. You’ve been here eight years and still intact. P’raps they’re sick of you hanging around, screwing up the mortality figures.” Henry smiled at Moshe.

“Thanks, Hank. Remind me to return the favour.”

“Sure.” Henry sat down next to Graham. “Heard some fellas took a bit of a shine to you, boy.” Graham just ignored Henry, choosing instead to take his boots off. Moshe turned back.

“Better leave him, Hank. He took quite a beating, more than the average new boy gets.”

“Yeah, okay.” Henry stood up, and another of his shift started to open the back of his PS suit for him. “Better get a move on, Moshe. Looks as if you’ve got your work cut out for you now, what with bugger all crew left.”

“Seems that way.” He breathed deeply, and looked around at the space, before looking back down the tunnel. “Personally, I’m glad to be rid of those goons. They didn’t fit in, anyway.”

As he looked, he heard some more steps, and soon the long shadows of two men extended their flickering darkness along the smooth, curved wall of the access tunnel. The shadows soon shrunk back rapidly as Joe and Tom strode into view. Seeing them, the guard who escorted the crew touched a button on his wrist communicator, and spoke a hushed confirmation to Q7 of their arrival. As they approached, Moshe called to them.

“That didn’t take long. Warden in a good mood?”

“You know him,” Tom replied. “Fairly straight forward. Corporal Singer saw most of it.”

“Yeah,” Joe continued. “He only needed confirmation of Singer’s statement.”

“Cut and dried, then?” Moshe asked.

“Yup. They’re in the brig at the moment, waiting for the next sub-orbital from the pits.”

“They’re getting orbital, then?”

“Six months, Warden said.” Tom was smiling broadly. Graham continued to suit up, not giving any sign that he was listening. After all of his recent trauma and indifferent treatment, he may have ceased listening anyway. He gave no indication whether he was pleased with what his attackers faced. But then, he may not have known.

All offenders in the colonies faced doing time in the cells, instead of the labour sentences that they were serving. For serious offences, solitary confinement was the next option available to the warden. Under most circumstances, prisoners who were confined to solitary just sat out their time in a small cell in the main Q7 lock-up. For major problem children, the equivalent of total sensory deprivation was used. Collected and released from the mineral cargo shuttles that transported the spoil of Q4 to the sub-orbital barges, the orbital solitary cells were hollow globes with life-support systems surrounding their skin like a web. The hatches could only be opened from the outside, and the globe’s inmate was fed a nutrient sludge. There was no gravity, no light, and no sound other from what was made inside. Orbital solitary was tantamount to execution, as very few convicts survived a sentence. The prison system cared little for the mortality rate in the colonies, as the Global Union had created such a detailed and intrusive legislative oppression as to make sure that there would always be a plentiful supply of labour to the colonies.

Moshe looked quickly behind him, where his crew were running pre-shift checks on the gear. “Time moves on, guys. Seal each other in, and get with the crew, pronto.” He turned, and moved back in to where Harlon was reviewing the last shift’s seismic data. Tom sealed Graham’s suit, and then busied himself with his own suit, and with sealing Joe’s PS suit. The other shift were busy around them in the transition area, removing their PS suits and hanging the useable suits for their next shift. Any suits that were damaged were thrown into a hopper that would then be taken to the maintenance workshop. Joe and Tom finished each other’s checks, and turned towards the space. The last shift had just left with their guards, the shadows shrinking down to curved tunnel wall. Graham had gone, presumably to his station in the space. Owing to his slight build, he was a machine operator, in charge of the auxiliary excavators.

As the pair walked, they noticed the lack of activity. Moshe turned, and saw them coming. “Did you bring Graham with you?” He seemed impatient. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“No, Boss,” Joe replied. “He should be here.”

“He’s not. We’ve been waiting for him to come and clear the rock-pile.”

“Well, hey, he left after Tom sealed him. We’re the last one’s out.”

“Fuck.” Moshe turned to the crew behind him. “Okay, everyone. Manhunt. Winters is AWOL.” The guards stood back. There were only three ways out of the space, and they were guarding two of them. No-one would try to escape through the third.

“Stay where you are,” Moshe continued. “Has anyone seen Winters in the space?”

The crew were roughly distributed through the space, and had been there since before Moshe had arrived, while Graham was suiting up. No-one had seen him. The obvious solution was one that others had chosen before. He had not left with the other crew, or joined the team in the space. They crossed to where the ring tunnel met the transition area, and checked the pressure sensors. The lower tunnel was normal, but the upward, exit tunnel showed zero pressure, despite there being an airlock. Moshe called the guards over.

“Permission to leave the space, Sir.”

“Why?”

“You know why. One of the men has left through there. I need to bring him back in.”

“By yourself?”

“No.” Moshe looked to either side of him. He was hoping like hell that Graham’s pressure suit was working, and that he was alive. If he was, he would have over an hour. However, if he was as disturbed as Moshe suspected that he was, he would resist, and Moshe needed to be certain that Winter could be brought in, dead or alive.

“I need Billings and Sloan.” He thought for a second, and then added, “He may be trouble, but nothing that we can’t handle.”

The two guards talked briefly, quietly to each other. The sergeant then turned and nodded. “Fifteen minutes, understand? Then we seal the airlock.”

Moshe nodded, then turned to the control panel. Entering his personal security code, the lock sent the code to the Q7 mainframe, which cross-referenced his i.d. with his in-colony security record. Satisfied that Moshe posed no threat to the colony or to himself, the lock access flashed green.

Taking this cue, Moshe used a small track-ball to run down the small screen menu to the heading “Establish Integrity.” Pausing on this entry, he punched the large “select” button. Within seconds, the airlock closure cycle began.

Outside, Graham had reached an outcrop twenty metres from the hatch. Slightly disoriented, his rational self had been overwhelmed and suppressed by his subconscious. Traumatised both physically and, more long-term, emotionally, he no longer had any sense of his self or identity, only a vague sensation that took blind control, driving him away from the place and people that was his world. Where he was going, he did not know, nor was he at all curious. He was cold, and the glare of the lunar colony made him squint through the darkened visor. His breathing was shallow and irregular, and his gait was awkward. An annoying red light was flashing at the edge of his peripheral vision, encouraging strange visions to creep from his imagination. Soon, the visions had voices, calling him, asking him where he was, if he was awake, if he was alive. Graham just kept repeating one word - “No.”

The men inside couldn’t hear the outside door close, but they soon saw the airlock air pressure climb from zero to within ten percent of the colony ambient. When the pressure had been maintained at this level without being held up by the duct pumps, the screen flashed with the message “Ambient Positive.”

The instant that the screen flashed the okay, Moshe slid the slide control on the panel as far to the right as possible. The airlock door slid open to reveal the interior of the airlock, a sealed, alloy and lunacrete-lined chamber. The three men entered, and sealed the door behind them. The trio then closed their safety helmet hoods, and checked each other’s seals. Rather than wait for their suit sensors to make themselves known, they activated their own life-support systems. Secure for the next two hours or less, Moshe activated the depressurisation sequence. The hum of the duct pumps were disturbingly loud at first, but became fainter as the air was sucked out. The sequence lasted only three minutes, at the end of which the outer door opened.

Ahead of them lay the rightward curve of the surface tunnel. Carved out of solid rock, it circled lazily upwards for a few dozen metres, before venting outwards to the bleak plain outside through a security hatch. There was very little light in the tunnel, most of it coming from the two ends. There was a fluorescent light that was turned on by an infra-red motion sensor at the airlock, so that people coming in would be able to see the lock control panel. The rest of the light was unfiltered sunlight that lit up the open entrance to the tunnel.

The three of them stepped out of the airlock, which remained open for only two minutes. The door was on an automatic timer that supposedly left the airlock open long enough for ten people (the lock’s maximum headcount) to leave, and another ten to enter. None could hear the lock close, but the drop in the light level told them that they were now isolated from a safe environment. As they walked, the soft shadows before them slowly shortened to give way to the harsh black shadow behind. Approaching the bright, sculpted mouth of the tunnel, Moshe broke the silence.

“Tom, Joe. Do you copy?” There was a brief silence.

“Tom here, Boss. Loud and clear.”

“Joe?” Moshe turned to face Joe. Through the solar glare, he could see Joe’s mouth moving, before his voice broke through the static.

“Here, Boss. My suit charge is down twenty percent.”

“Which system?”

“Comm only. I’ll use to receive only, unless necessary.”

“Confirm. Switch your mike off. Over.”

Joe nodded, and there was a quiet click as his voice circuit was isolated. Moshe continued.

“Alright, Tom, stay quiet. If we’re both calling, we may miss him. I want the two of you to be the ears. Over.” Tom and Joe each nodded. “Let’s go. Tom, I want you to scan the sixty degrees from the left. I’ll take the middle sixty. Joe, the rest.”

Moshe then began to call for Graham, asking him to make contact. As they left the tunnel mouth, each man began to visually scan their sector, while listening for voice contact. Behind them lay the rough-edged, gaping pit that led into the colony. Before them spread the larger portion of the Sea of Tranquility, a vast expanse of barren lunar formations with minimal impact damage. On the curved horizon lay a low ridge, one of the radiating stress ridges from a neighbouring crater. Ahead, to the right, lay the eroded rim of a volcanic crater. Barely visible at the base of the crater were the lights of the portable power plant that supplied the Q4 mining camp there. The terrain between the searchers and the miners was rough, with some low hillocks and scattered boulders.

The men continued with as brisk a pace as the low gravity could allow. Still, they shortened the distance between them and their quarry until, with the tunnel a few dozen metres behind them, Tom called out. “Whoa. Boss, we’ve got him. Listen.” Moshe was quiet, and then they all heard what Tom had - a broken, stuttered “No!” repeated over and over, as if Graham was trying to escape from something. Not wasting any time, Moshe lifted his intercom control unit from where it hung on his utility belt, and activated the ranging unit. The intercom used a directional aerial, and the optional circuitry used it to compute the range and direction of anyone speaking on the same wavelength. Moshe used it now, holding the control unit up. As they listened, he turned his head until the flashing red light on the unit stopped blinking, and remained on. Instantly, all three turned and started walking in that direction. Looking carefully, they soon saw the glint of sunlight reflecting off Graham’s helmet. Seeing that, they were able to swiftly focus on the rest of Graham. He was only a short distance ahead, but his grey PS suit blended almost perfectly with the lunar landscape. Moshe called for him to stop, and he did. Graham stood still, and turned to face them. But they did not expect what happened next.

Graham heard the voices, and they only got louder. Even here, there was no peace. He stopped, and turned to confront his demons for perhaps the first time in his life. Before him were three anonymous figures, faceless, approaching him. In his worst nightmares, they were always faceless. These were the worst yet, for they were pretending to be his friends. Friends? He had none, never had. Three demons to torment him further. He had to wake up. Above, the sun glared mercilessly. He knew what he had to do. He reached behind him, and found the fasteners for his straight jacket - how he had hated those things when he had been a child - and found the pull tag. There were some cables there, he pulled those, too. Then the world kicked him in the chest, blowing the air out of his lungs. At the same time, his ears burst in a silent explosion of pain, a cloud of atomised blood erupting from the wounds. His stomach rapidly distended like some kind of evil bloat until, a second later, his abdomen ruptured with ballooning entrails. In the split second that his body blew apart, the world exploded into white light, a thousand times brighter than the sun above, and then all was dark.

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