Prologue
Warm and smooth, Hawker Johns’ espresso coffee hit the back of his throat as he drank deeply, savouring the rich flavour. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes for a moment, stretching out the knots from his muscles. Running his hands through his short brown hair, he took a deep breath, relishing the brief moment of calm and reflection.
The prison manifest lay on the desk in front of him. Five new inmates were scheduled to arrive this week, and Aurora 5 was already filled to capacity. He would have to fit them in somewhere.
Hawker reached down and picked up his weekly report, scanning through it in search of ways to house the new prisoners without upsetting the fragile peace within the facility. The report indicated that no new incidents had occurred this week—a testament to the hard work that Hawker and his team put in with the inmates. Hawker cared deeply for each and every prisoner, no matter how badly the rest of the world had written them off. He always had time for people and endeavoured to get the best out of everyone under his care.
However, a lot of his time recently had been consumed by lobbying against the new Galactic Government’s initiative, “The Trash Program.” Today was the all-important vote to see if the motion would pass. The motion, if approved, would effectively turn prisoners into tradable commodities. In the eyes of the Galactic Government, once someone was sentenced for a crime, they became the property of the state. Their sentence could be sold to create room for more inmates and generate a handsome profit for the government—a win-win situation for the bureaucrats.
The soft murmur of the television chattered behind him, set to the news channel. Hawker was waiting eagerly to hear the result of the vote on the Trash Program. The tension in the room was palpable.
“What’s the manifest looking like this week, Hawker?” Karl Johnson, the new inmate officer, inquired from the desk opposite.
Hawker put down the weekly report and picked up the manifest again. “Not good. We have five new inmates to try and fit in. Two are down for manslaughter, we have a fraudster, an arsonist, and...” his face grew grave, “another mobster serial killer. Oh, I hope to God that enough government officials can see how stupid this Trash Program is and vote against it.”
Johnson turned to face Hawker, curiosity etched on his face. “Why is the Trash Program so bad? It gets inmates out of our prison and gets the government more money. Hey, we might even get a pay rise.”
Hawker shook his head, frustration clear in his eyes. “They’ll pay themselves bonuses, and we won’t get a penny. On top of that, the mobsters have far more money than the government. They’ll just ‘employ’ anyone of their own who is sent away. It means government officials will have their pockets lined, and the mobsters will always have a huge presence is the systems. Good people who just made a mistake will suffer the most.”
“I see your point,” Johnson conceded, the reality of the situation dawning on him.
Just then, Hawker noticed something on the television. “Turn that up, Johnson.”
Johnson grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. The news anchor’s voice filled the room, reporting live from the Galactic Government’s headquarters.
“We interrupt this program to bring you the latest update on the controversial Trash Program vote. The proposal has been met with significant opposition from various advocacy groups, citing concerns about human rights and ethical implications. However, proponents argue that it is a necessary measure to alleviate overcrowding in prisons and generate much-needed revenue.”
Hawker leaned forward, his heart pounding. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen.
“The final vote count is in. By a narrow margin, the Trash Program has been approved by the Galactic Government.”
Hawker felt a cold wave of despair wash over him, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The vote had gone through—the Trash Program approved. The very thought of it turned inmates into mere commodities, traded for profit, sent shivers down his spine. He clenched his fists, fighting back the surge of anger and frustration threatening to overwhelm him.
He slammed his fist on the desk, the noise echoing through the room, a visceral release of pent-up emotions. Johnson looked at him, wide-eyed, witnessing a rare crack in Hawker’s composed demeanour.
“Shit, this is a disaster,” Hawker muttered, his voice hoarse with emotion, as if each word carried the weight of his convictions. He rubbed his temples again, trying to quell the headache creeping in. “I can’t believe they actually passed it.”
Johnson’s face reflected a mix of sympathy and concern, mirroring the turmoil brewing inside Hawker. “What do we do now?”
Hawker took a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts of the inmates under his care, now more vulnerable than ever. “We keep doing our jobs, Karl. We protect these inmates as best as we can,” he said, the words a mantra to steel his resolve against the looming threat. “There is nothing else we can do now but continue our work with the inmates that are sent here.”
Johnson nodded slowly, sensing the gravity of their situation. “Can we not fight this?”
Hawker’s jaw tightened, his gaze intense as he met Johnson’s eyes. “We can protest,” he said slowly, each syllable measured with determination, “but the odds are stacked against us. For now, we have to accept it, but that doesn’t mean we stop looking for a way to fight back.”
Johnson stood by Hawker’s side, their shared commitment palpable in the air. “So, what do we do?”
Hawker glanced at the manifest on the desk, the names of the incoming inmates staring back at him like a grim reminder of their duty. “Let’s focus on our immediate problem: fitting in these new inmates. Aurora 5 is already bursting at the seams,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “Let’s start with this mobster; he’s my biggest worry right now.”
Johnson leaned over his desk, studying the manifest with a serious expression. “We can’t put the mobster with anyone vulnerable. He’ll cause chaos.”
“Agreed,” Hawker replied. “Maybe we can put him in solitary for now, just until we find a better solution.”
Johnson nodded. “That could work. And the others?”
“The manslaughter cases,” Hawker mused, “might be okay in general population, but we need to keep a close eye on them. The fraudster and the arsonist... we’ll have to be careful where we place them too. We can’t afford any disruptions right now.”
Johnson sat back down, rubbing his temples. “It’s a lot to handle, especially with this new Trash Program hanging over our heads.”
Hawker gave him a reassuring smile. “I know it’s overwhelming, but we’re in this together. We’ll find a way to make it work.”
The soft murmur of the television continued in the background, now reporting on other news. The weight of the new policy loomed over them, but Hawker refused to let it crush his spirit. He glanced at Johnson, seeing the same resolve in his eyes.
“We’ll get through this,” Hawker said firmly. “One step at a time.”
Johnson nodded, a flicker of determination crossing his face. “One step at a time.”
As they returned to their work, the gravity of the situation settled in, but so did their commitment to the inmates of Aurora 5. They would protect them, fight for them, and find a way to navigate the challenges ahead.
The rest of the week passed in a blur of activity. Hawker and Johnson worked tirelessly, reviewing inmate files, coordinating with staff, and ensuring the prison ran smoothly despite the looming threat of the Trash Program. Each night, Hawker found himself lingering in his office, staring at the manifest and wondering about the future of his charges.
It was during one such late evening, the quiet hum of the facility a stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind, that the door to his office burst open. Danton, the communications officer, stormed in, his face flushed with urgency.
“Hawker, you have a call. Shall I transfer it to your communicator?” Danton’s voice was sharp, cutting through the relative quiet of the office.
Hawker looked up, a crease forming between his brows. “Yes, please, Danton.”
Danton nodded briskly and left the room. After a few moments, the screen on Hawker’s desk lit up, revealing a face. The image flickered slightly before coming into sharp focus.
A man with a short white beard and piercing blue eyes appeared on the screen. He looked experienced but not old, with a rugged appearance that suggested years of hard-earned wisdom. His clothes, though well-worn, clearly marked him as the captain of a ship. “Do I have the pleasure of speaking with Warden Hawker Johns?” he asked, his voice steady and authoritative.
Hawker nodded slowly, trying to mask his surprise. “I’m Hawker Johns, yes.”
The captain smiled, a hint of warmth in his otherwise stern expression. “Excellent. I am Captain Hank Sinclair. I trust you are aware of the new government program. I’ve scoured your inmates’ information with a fine-tooth comb. I’ll be arriving at your prison tomorrow. Please ensure these inmates are available and ready for my arrival.”
Hawker’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve looked through our logs?”
Captain Sinclair’s smile didn’t waver. “It is part of the new Trash Program. I am paying for these inmates, after all. I need to know what I’m getting and whether it suits my needs.”
Hawker thumped the desk in frustration. “These are dangerous and vulnerable people. They are exactly where they need to be.”
Sinclair paused, his expression softening slightly. “Look, Johns, the government screws everyone, me included. I did what was called a routine job for them a few months back and lost eight crew members. When I returned with the payloads, the credits they gave me wouldn’t cover the costs to hire even one new crew member.”
“Oh, my heart bleeds. You’re as bad as them,” Hawker stormed, his anger barely contained.
Sinclair’s face softened further, almost sympathetic. “I need these people. The deal is done, but rest assured, they will be in better hands with me than some of the captains they could end up with. They will be my crew, and I will treat them as such. If they do a good job, I will keep them on or let them leave. Hey, we might even find a way to get back at the government, but for now, I need a crew.”
Hawker took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. “These inmates are more than just names on a manifest, Captain. They have lives, stories, struggles. How can I trust that you’ll treat them with the respect they deserve?”
Sinclair leaned forward, his eyes earnest. “Because I’ve been where they are, and I know what it’s like to be discarded by the very system that’s supposed to protect you. I won’t promise it will be easy, but I will promise to give them a chance. A real chance.”
Hawker’s resolve wavered. He knew the government wouldn’t back down, and fighting this alone seemed impossible. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine. But know this, Captain Sinclair: I’ll be watching. And if I hear even a whisper of mistreatment, I’ll do everything in my power to bring you down.”
Sinclair’s smile returned, softer this time. “Fair enough, Warden Johns. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The screen went dark, and Hawker leaned back in his chair, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. The days ahead would be challenging, but he knew he had to face them with the same resolve and integrity that had guided him thus far.
