“Fuck you, Jones.”

Okay that was rude, but in my defense he woke me up at 3am after I got off a late shift. 4 hours of sleep is not enough for me to bring out my good manners.

“Not my fault you keep screwing up your details and get shit assignments, Lieutenant.” Jones says, with a gravel-filled voice that clearly does not enjoy these early hours either.

“Like I said, Fuck you Jones.” I mumbled back into the headset. “First of all, I do not screw up my details. I get the details no one else wants, the details that no one else can do. I can’t help it if some of them are impossible. Second, I don’t care about getting shit work. Most of the job is shit work. What I don’t like is getting woken up at 3 in the goddamn morning.”

“You need to be at Transfer Lock 4 at 0330, Lieutenant. Assignment is on your comm. Not my call. Be there on time.” And Jones hung up.

It’s not really his fault, he doesn’t really make the schedule. However, when you are tired and lazy you swing at the closest punching bag. I’m sure Jones understood. Or, if he didn’t, I really don’t care.

Having been in this position before, I know the best way to try and get moving is a cold shower. Considering the hour and how little I slept, I went with ice cold water which, when I finally built up the nerve to get in, actually made me scream. Not a good scream either. One of those screams that you make when you are angry at the world for making you take an ice cold shower in the middle of the night.

After that shower, everything else seems easy. I put on my uniform, laced up my boots and read through the assignment on the comm. I always thought it was silly that they have a person call us up when we have a new detail, considering we get everything on our comms anyway. The Director said something about improving morale and making it seem like we are part of a team. I’m just glad they give me someone to curse at.

It was a class 05 detail, which means I might get shot. Always a fun way to wake up. I had to empty out half of my storage trunk to find my body armor, which is somehow always at the bottom. I’m really glad they finally started making women’s versions of the new armor class, because the men’s version did not fit my womanly curves. I got blisters in places I would rather not think about.

Living in the barracks does have some advantages, and one of them is that I can head down to Central Transfer in under ten minutes on one of the high speed tubes. The entire facility is almost ten miles long and almost a mile high so I am always glad I don’t have to run the distance in my body armor. It’s called the Block because it looks like a huge black block, but really it’s just a prison. The highest security prison we have here on Earth.

Unsurprisingly, there is no one else on the tube for my ride to Transfer Lock 4. Probably because it’s 3 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING. I am not happy about being awake right now, if you didn’t notice. Anyway.

Only half of the lights are on when I get to Transfer Lock 4, some kind of energy savings strategy during the off hours. I go straight to the transfer gate to check in with the station master, whose name is Smith or Smuth or something like that. I think it’s Smith.

“Morning, Lieutenant Murphy.” Smith says from behind the glass. He is far too happy at this hour, although he likely works the overnight shift so this is the middle of the day for him.

“Morning, Smith.” I mumble, scanning my comm at the checkin kiosk.

“It’s Sergeant Smyth, Lieutenant.” Smyth says, in a voice that makes me think he has corrected me before. Oh, well.

“Is Douglas here yet?” I ask, with a hopeful smile.

“Yes, he’s prepping the transfer vehicle on the other side of the gate.” Smyth says with a thumb pointing through the thick gate door. “I’ll check you through.”

The computer beeps after completing the scan of my comm and the huge door hisses and creaks before opening slowly. It’s at least a meter thick and made of something harder than my armor. I asked once why they don’t make our armor out of the same stuff as the door if it’s harder and they said it would be too expensive. Typical.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my job. In fact, I love my job. Transporting the most dangerous inmates from point A to point B safely and securely is one of the most prestigious positions in the security forces and I worked long and hard to earn my way onto it. Considering how dangerous it is out there, keeping some of the most evil people under lock and key seems like a fine way for me to serve my duty.

I just really love complaining.

Douglas was already completing the transport systems check when I walked up behind him and punched him in the back.

“Good morning, cowboy!” I said, with whatever cheer I could muster.

“Fuck you, Murphy.” He mumbled back, with a sarcastic gleam in his eye. It’s a common greeting in our line of work.

“How does it look?” I asked, yawning and stretching as I did.

“Do you mean the transport or the job?” He asked, not looking up. “The transport looks great, it’s one of the new reinforced transports with redundant motors and treads. The job is looking pretty fucked. There is some guy in a suit we need to talk with before we pick up our guest.”

“What does a suit need to talk to us about?” I asked, very curious. In four years of doing this I had never seen a suit show up in person to brief a transport.

Douglas shrugged and finished his systems check. The diagnostics system beeped and then our comms beeped letting us know the transport was ready to go. Nothing more to do than load up the guest and get going, so we headed back to the station master. There was a man with a suit on waiting for us, just like Douglas had said.

He was a bit taller than me, maybe 2 meters tall, and was wearing a pitch black suit that must have been tailored because it fit him very well. I spent a few moments looking him over to determine just how well it fit him and decided it was extremely well. Also, he was very attractive.

“Good morning, Lieutenants.” He said, in a friendly voice. “My name is Tyler Vance from the High Risk Inmates Management group.”

“Mornin’” We mumbled in unison. Douglas because he was tired and me because I was still examining his suit fit. I am easily distracted in the early morning on no sleep.

“Your detail this morning is extremely important and very sensitive.” Vance said, in a low voice. “It is classified as a class 06 transport and the inmate is a level 10 risk.”

“Wait, I thought that transport classes only went from 01 up to 05?” I asked, shocked. I thought I knew this job pretty well.

“Yes, well, there are not many class 06 transports.” Vance replied. “We have, maybe, one every ten years. This is one of them and you two were picked for this job specifically because of your performance over the past two years.”

“Our performance? You mean good or bad?” I joked, bumping Douglas in the shoulder. He shot back a glance that said it was too early for my sense of humor. I ignored his glance and smiled back at him.

“Class 06 is not only more dangerous than Class 05, it represents a serious strategic risk.” Vance continued, ignoring my joke. “There is an almost certainty that there will be attempts to liberate the inmate during your transport. If that does happen, it will result in a fresh outbreak of hostilities and a likely re-igniting of the war.”

Ho-leee crap.

“Why just send two of us?” Douglas said, asking the obvious question. “Should we not do a garrison transfer with full security?”

“No, we cannot risk attracting more attention to this transport.” Vance replied. “The only hope we have of you successfully completing the transport without unacceptable losses is to complete the transport quickly and quietly. There will be a dozen similar transports leaving at the same time for different destinations, which should serve to distract and confuse the factions.”

“So, are we transporting the actual inmate or are we a decoy?” I asked.

“You will be taking the inmate to a location in the Ambershire Mountains, 20 clicks away.” Vance continued, ignoring my question. “The location is already loaded in your transport and your comms. It is very important that, once you leave the Block, you do not stop for ANYTHING before reaching your destination. Once there, the receiving team will verify transfer and you will return here on the same route.”

“The detail is missing an inmate identification number.” Douglas said, looking down at his comm. “We will need that number to verify transfer when we get there.”

“I’m sorry, the inmate identification number is classified.” Vance replied. “The receiving team will be able to verify transfer without you having the number as part of the detail. You will be transporting the inmate in a Box.”

Damn. I don’t know who this person is or what they did but being locked in a Box was a special kind of hell. A Box was a two meter cube of metal that had no doors. Inmates were literally welded inside and passed food through small slits in the sides. Ever since the death penalty was abolished, they put you in a Box if they wanted you dead. The only advantage of a Box, really, was that they were easy to transport and had all of the inmate information encoded on it so that there was never any confusion. It made our work easier, but the inmate’s life hell. Such is the way of things.

“One more thing, Lieutenants.” Vance said, with the air of someone who wants to leave as soon as possible. “Losing an inmate during a Class 06 transfer is a punishable offense. If you do lose the inmate, you two will become inmates yourselves.”

“Fuck you” I replied, not thinking before I did. “I’m not doing that.”

Douglas shot me a glance, but it was too late. My love of complaining is not always an asset.

“You have no choice, Lieutenant.” Vance replied, clearly expecting my response. “These orders come from the General himself.”

“Then why aren’t they being delivered by our commander?” Douglas asked, always the thoughtful one.

“Class 06 transports are not managed by your division.” Vance replied. “They are managed by an outside entity. That is why I am here, to make sure the stakes are clear to you and the transport is launched successfully. If you do fail and lose the inmate, I will be the primary witness in the trial that will lead to your incarceration.”

“Damn, Douglas.” I said, regretting my admiration of his figure. “Vance is not here to help us get started. He is here to testify against us if we screw up. Everything he is telling us is just legal form to make sure we have no defense in our trials.”

“Good luck, Lieutenants.” Vance replied in a level voice, before walking away.

...

TO BE CONTINUED