Chapter Twelve: Two Futures

It was a two-hour drive from the camp to Rika Chorna, a trip that seemed longer because of the company. Arthur's two days in the hospital had been followed by three days in the camp's infirmary. When the medics decided the swelling had gone down enough they sent him back to the city.

From the minute the guards came to pick him up Arthur sensed that they didn't like him much. Perhaps, he thought, it was their terse manners or the way they handcuffed him and threw him in the back of the van. He didn't have to speculate for long as the driver and his partner laid out their particular grievances against him.

Item 1: It was obviously his fault that a trio of their guard friends had to work night shifts because-
Item 2: Criminal # 88588 had the nerve to go and get attacked by the wild boar, which forced the-
Item 3: Heroic, good-natured, hard-working guards to risk their own lives in an effort to save a dishonored criminal. Which lead to-
Item 4: The wasting of perfectly good ammunition.

Their logic was impeccable but their courtesy could've used some work. After much name calling, lecturing, and a couple slaps across the face for insolent behavior they arrived at the Public Works headquarters in Rika Chorna. Arthur picked up his paperwork and went directly across the street to check in with his spokesman.

Arthur scuttled along on old wooden crutches trying to grip the handles and keep his paperwork in good condition. It was one of the harsh realities that every Danubian criminal struggles with. The enigma of not having pockets, what to do with your stuff?

Ralkliv's secretary made Arthur wait just a minute before sending him back. He hobbled down the hallway, slipping some, as the crutches' worn down rubber pads didn't grip the floor so well. In Ralkliv's doorway, his left crutch slid out a bit too much. Instead of allowing his sore left leg to contact the floor he let go of the crutches, and caught himself with both arms. Since he was down there already he figured he would transition into an awkward kneeling position and greet his spokesman in the formal manner. Ralkliv sighed and said his line, though not with a very welcoming tone.

Ralkliv, in fact looked upset. "Criminal # 88588, have a seat."

Arthur gathered the paperwork off the floor and handed it to his spokesman; he sat as Ralkliv spent a silent minute reading.

�Arthur, I see you have been in trouble again." Ralkliv emphasized 'again'. You were in two fist-fights during your second week in camp?" Ralkliv emphasized 'two'.

�Well sir, the second fight closely followed the first so it was more like one fight with a... brief intermission."

Ralkliv made a sound of disapproval. "You think that sounds better, I do not. This report also states that you admitted to instigating the fights."

�Uh... Yes sir, but it was more of a misunderstanding really. One of the criminals on my work crew took something I said the wrong way, but I do regret that mistakes were made."

�I never get a simple answer out of you, do I?" Ralkliv inclined his head to the side and rubbed his temple with the fingertips of his left hand. "What exactly did you say?"

�It was a joke, actually. An American joke I had translated into Danubian... and uh..." Arthur paused to swallow. "Perhaps I translated badly and he thought I was talking specifically about his mother and sister; I always have trouble with pronouns and..."

A completely humorless Ralkliv interrupted. "Tell me this joke."

With a feeling like he was back in his high school principal's office, Arthur told the joke.

Ralkliv glared. "Prostitution, exploitation, sodomy, incest... This is what you find amusing?"

�Well," Arthur shifted in his seat. "Not when you put it like that."

�With this sort of filth in your mind it's no surprise you get in so much trouble. No other client of mine causes me half as much trouble. Do you know that I have superiors that I have to explain your behavior to?"

�One month after your trial you violate the terms of your sentence." Ralkliv started counting on his fingers for emphasis. "A week after you got back to the city you were taken into custody for causing a disturbance in the middle of the night. Then you cause another disturbance the next week. Last year there was the incident with the horse and the tourists. Now you get into not one but two fistfights and then you almost get yourself killed."

Spokesman Ralkliv had run out of fingers on his right hand. He made yet another sound of disapproval before swiveling to retrieve a folder from his shelf. Ralkliv opened it to place the paperwork inside. "Arthur, this is your file, do you notice how thick it is? I have a client serving his eighteenth year and his file is thinner than this!"

�Sir, I regret that mistakes were..."

�Stop saying that!" Ralkliv closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Criminal # 88588 you will meet me here first thing in the morning. You are dismissed."

�Yes sir." As Ralkliv searched for his aspirin bottle Arthur hopped on one foot, picked his crutches up off the floor, and made his way out hoping Ralkliv would be in a better mood in the morning.

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�Jakt," Arthur handed a cardboard box to the old man. "I got you something for your birthday. I know you didn't have to take me into your household, and you certainly didn't have to treat me so well. I suppose I just wanted to thank you for that."

�Bah... I wanted somebody to mow my lawn and patch the roof and you were some good cheap labor for the business." Jakt shook the box.

�So you invited an enemy of the state into your household for maintenance? You took quite a risk, I mean a spy like me could have made off with your entire fishing lure collection while you slept."

Jakt ripped open the end of the box. A baitcast reel and graphite rod was inside.

�I had my sister send it over... never been used. A friend of mine gave it to me and I never got a chance to use it." Arthur didn't mention that he had won it gambling on baseball.

�Looks expensive."

�Yeah, its got titanium doodads and everything. My friend only bought the best when it came to fishing; lived in a shack though."

While Jakt examined his new toy Samantha arrived with the cake. A cake she had baked herself. "So how did it go today?"

Arthur stood on his right leg and grabbed some plates from Jakt's cabinets. "Spokesman Ralkliv still wasn't in a very good mood this morning so I didn't bring up the subject."

Samantha finished setting up the table, and stuffed a napkin under one side of the platter so the cake didn't look so lop-sided. "Where's he got you working now?"

Arthur wondered if the cake had been dropped on the floor and stuck back together. "Uh... he had me assisting one of his clerks with paperwork, but I'm not really very good at it so I keep getting loaned out. Tomorrow I'll probably be doing something else."

�Are you going to ask him tomorrow?"

�Definitely... I would have brought up the subject today but he kept going on and on about how my behavior was causing him all kinds of problems and warning me that if I kept getting in trouble he would be forced to take action."

Samantha looked up apprehensively. "What does 'take action' mean?"

�I didn't ask but I bet it involves a switch; that's their answer for everything around here." Arthur changed from English to Danubian. "Jakt, your cake's ready."

It was a remarkable cake; both chewy and gritty; bitter and sour. How Samantha could forget to put sugar in a cake was baffling. Arthur forced himself to swallow the first bite. Jakt had the stomach of a goat, and wolfed his slice down greedily.

�Mmm... Samantha, what type of cake is this?"

�Oh... it's a coffee cake; do you like it?"

Coffee grounds, that accounts for the grit. Arthur tried to wash it off his tongue with a big swallow of water. "It's really good!"

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The next morning Arthur acted as apologetic as possible as he got up off the floor. "Sir, there is something I need to discuss with you."

Ralkliv looked like he was almost afraid to find out. "Yes, criminal # 88588 what is it?"

�Spokesman, as you know Samantha and I have been seeing one another for almost two years. We talked it over and we want to get married. We were hoping to have a wedding some time next year after she completes her sentence."

Ralkliv had a relieved expression; he leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together in one of his 'deep in thought' gestures. "Arthur, I have no objection to a marriage but you must realize a marriage between a foreign criminal serving a long sentence and a soon to be released foreign criminal raises unique challenges. Samantha has about eleven months left of her sentence and you have almost eighteen years. This situation is difficult... Is it true that Samantha is willing to stay here throughout the entire term of your sentence?"

�Yes sir."

Ralkliv paused and thought a bit. "After Samantha is released in June she will have the legal status of any other traveler. However, Danubians have great respect for the institution of marriage and there are laws that might apply in your case. I believe that I can get permission for Samantha to remain in Danubia... perhaps at some point if she wishes to apply, Samantha might even be eligible for citizenship."

�That's good to hear sir but is there anything I can do?" Arthur decided to head off Ralkliv's response. "I mean besides staying out of trouble?"

Ralkliv gave Arthur one of his dramatic looks, placing a forefinger on his desk for emphasis. "You just concentrate on that, I will handle everything else."

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Arthur said goodbye to Jakt and Samantha and then boarded the Public Works bus feeling only a little pain in his left calf as he climbed the steps. It was noon on August 2nd, hot and dry. He never told Samantha how apprehensive he was about the return; certain the guards were still angry with him.

After traveling a hundred kilometers the bus pulled off the highway onto a rough one-lane gravel road. Half an hour later, when the road got even worse, the bus stopped by a gray Public Works truck. The criminals unloaded and faced the two guards that now had their custody; both were apparently aggravated to be kept waiting so long. Arthur recognized the man as one of the brutal guards he had met at the hard-labor camp at Novo Sumi Ris two years earlier.

�Form three lines of ten." He kept his shotgun raised and ready as his partner retrieved chains from the truck bed.

Arthur heard the rattle of chains and memories of that camp flashed sharp in his mind. Those three months were unforgettable, the Judge would've been pleased, she taught him a harsh lesson. Arthur revisited that horrible place often at night, his nightmares came in fragmented scenes: chained and abandoned, left crying in despair shivering wretched in the cold rain, or cowering alone in terror in the shadows of merciless guards, their switches and batons raised and ready to strike, or screaming but unable to make a sound while under the control of the Major and her brutal methods... and there was always the sound of chains.

The panic told him to run- anywhere so they wouldn't lock that chain onto his collar. To slow his racing heartbeat and regain control Arthur took deep breaths and tried to focus on some movement in the distance, a bird of prey soaring southward. He lined up a couple seconds slower than everyone else. The guard noticed.

�Are you trying to disrespect me criminal?" Arthur was sure he was recognized.

�No officer." Arthur just finished in time for a slap across the face.

�You better not." He drew his forearm back again and Arthur flinched, his partner thought it was pretty funny. "You dishonored bastards better learn to answer quick. Now get on your knees so we can get you dogs chained up." The curl of a thin smile formed as she locked his collar's loop onto the end of the ten-meter chain. She gripped it in both hands and pulled the chain, dragging the criminal forward by the neck, she laughed again at his panicked expression, obviously enjoying her work.

The crew marched for about two hours on the narrow uneven farm road, chained by the neck in three separate groups. In the late afternoon they arrived at the work camp; it was bigger than before with tents spread out into an adjacent field. Arthur's old work crew was surprised to have the gunshot American back so soon; he joined in immediately working in the late August heat.

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In their typical love for efficiency, Public Works concentrated all the judicial punishments down to just four days per month. With the huge size of the camp that still amounted to around a hundred criminals at a time; inconvenience to court officials, guards, and work foremen was kept to a minimum though.

While taking that uncomfortable walk to the guard's camp, Arthur complained bitterly to whatever gods were listening. "This is so unfair! I get attacked by a boar, shot in the fucking leg and then I have just enough time to make a full fucking recovery before the next switching. Damn it, why didn't those bastards shoot me in July?"

Two clusters of criminals stood in the courtyard already, arms folded in the predawn chill. The men all looked the same. Earlier that week the guards decided to head off an infestation of lice in the simplest way. Forty or so naked hairless men stood in formation with their metal collars reflecting morning sunlight, looking like aliens waiting to board the mothership. Dozens more apprehensive criminals came streaming in from all over the camp, Arthur joined the rest of the men waiting in silence.

The guards' tents were arranged into a hollow square fifty meters across, with a courtyard in the middle. There were a few trucks parked inside, and two chain-link detention cages to the right of the entrance, but the criminals' dread focused the long row of platforms down the middle.

Sunlight pierced the hedgerow east of camp and a group of guards came out to start their morning shift. One of the officers, an administrative type who always seemed to have a clipboard in his hand took charge; as he called out each number, a fearful man or woman stepped forward. He read forty-eight names off his list and directed the first group to the line of platforms; the second group was cataloged and told to wait nearby. The judge, five spokespersons and several police arrived just as he finished. Condemned to their fate, forty men and eight women stood in a long line across the courtyard.

Arthur was not pleased to be in the second group, better to get it over with quickly. His group had to watch from just a few meters away, presumably to further humiliate the criminal being punished and to torment the criminals anticipating their own beatings. Arthur kneeled upright facing a young female criminal. She did look young, probably seventeen or eighteen though if her hair wasn't braided she could've passed for fifteen. She stood on the other side of the table, looking so fragile and innocent, sandy-blonde hair held in tight braids, lithe form with small breasts, smooth skin pail with fear, the curve of her hips not yet full, she stood nervously shifting her weight with legs slightly parted. The young woman took in a sharp breath as a guard approached her with his switch in hand; she trembled, Arthur could see it from four meters away, the guard had certainly noticed.

Her skin turned even more pale when he ordered her into position, she leaned forward across the table; when she looked up, her eyes were already full of tears. Arthur didn't want to stare at someone in such a vulnerable state but he knew better than disobey direct orders right in front of a guard. They understood each other in one aspect at least; he knew her desperation well, a subtle nod of encouragement was all he could offer though.

She was tougher than he thought she would be, staying silent and mostly still through the first 20 hard strokes of the switch. She kept her eyes shut tight; face rigid in an expression of agony, tears streamed down the bridge of her nose onto the flat metal surface. It was only when the guard struck several times along the tender flesh of her upper thighs that she cried out in a thin sharp voice. Her sobs blended with sounds of misery throughout the courtyard as the switching continued; some groaned, or screamed, or made hysterical sounds like demented laughter followed the sound of switches whistling through the air and whipping down hard on already punished skin.

The guard concentrated his last few blows across the sensitive lower curves of the young woman's bottom, overlapping previous welts. She was crying hard, arms pulling in vain against leather restraints; she screamed horribly as he struck the last blow.

Once the restraints were removed her hands went immediately to her face as she cried hysterical with pain, writhing from side to side on the tabletop. The guard proudly yanked the violently sobbing young lady to her feet and marched her the short distance to display her severely beaten bottom and thighs to the judge. When he released his grip the weakened girl collapsed on the dusty ground; it seemed to amuse the guard to watch her struggle. It took her over a minute to crawl forward, kiss his shoe and choke back her sobs enough to thank him for the cruel beating.

There was a brief break, apparently for the judge's benefit, and then the second group of criminals were called up. Some of the same officers stayed and some new ones arrived; Arthur stared at the dirt and waited for Officer Stashak.

�Criminal # 88588, you will kneel before me!" Arthur was startled to look up and see the female Public Works officer who lectured him endlessly after the fight. He thought perhaps a two-hour drive was too inconvenient, even for Stashak, a fortunate turn of events since this woman looked scrawny in comparison and she certainly wasn't driven by the kind of personal hatred that Stashak held toward him.

Arthur stretched across the table and the officer began tightening the straps, he wondered if she had ever done this before. She was slower than everybody else getting his ankles bound and then she hurried to the front and started tightening the restraints on his wrists.

Arthur could feel blood gathering in his right hand. He considered not saying anything, but figured he really didn't have anything to lose at this point. "Officer, its too tight, your cutting off my circulation."

She gave the "you will speak only when spoken to" line but she did loosen it a notch. Arthur glanced down the line- all the other guards and police were waiting for her to finish her clumsy attempts at wrapping the final strap around his waist. It seemed to embarrass her; as soon as she finished, she yanked out her switch, whipping it through the air perhaps to regain some confidence.

The guards up and down the line glanced at one another and then all struck in unison. Arthur gritted his teeth, and forced himself to remain calm- it was painful, just not as severe as he was used to. This switching, he thought, might be tolerable. Methodical strikes of the switch every half minute or so followed; it was at least proceeding quickly.

Arthur pressed his forehead down on the aluminum tabletop still wet with the girl's tears. Half way through the punishment several criminals were crying out but he was still holding on. His tormentor looked uncomfortable as the American criminal remained silent.

She struck her hardest, intent breaking his silence. Criminal # 88588 groaned and pulled at the restraints but even after the fiftieth blow he did not cry out as she wanted. Arthur got himself off the platform, quickly wiped away his tears and stood defiant once again.

The August sun made his punished skin burn even hotter, though it wasn't the same severity of his usual beating it was still an excruciating to walk back to his cot. The pain would soon fade and he wouldn't have to worry about another switching until November. It wasn't much but that was the only positive thing Arthur could think of right then.

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Besides the sun setting two minutes earlier every day and the gradual cooling as summer faded into autumn it was difficult to distinguish one day from the next. It really didn't matter, the work was the same grueling struggle that left a person hungry, dirty and exhausted at the end of the day.

Cold weather slowed work but didn't stop it; it was normally just the top few inches of soil that froze at night, and the metal claws of an excavator or dozer ripped through it quite well so the project could continue. Keeping on schedule was about the only thing that mattered to Public Works, in November they even issued real cold weather gear so criminals could work longer shifts, and thick sleeping bags so they could endure the bitter nights. Even judicial punishments were moved indoors, though that was more for the guard's convenience than the criminal's comfort.

The frozen winter transitioned into a wet miserable spring, with the camp mired in a swamp of sticky red mud. It covered everything; workers wore the mud on skin and work clothes, and slept in muddy tents on muddy cots. Work continued regardless, even with irrigation ditches half full of floodwater and roads so sloppy that supply trucks had to be pulled by bulldozer.

By the end of April the Ministry of Public Works was already crowing about their tremendous accomplishment; completing over two hundred kilometers of irrigation canals before the summer growing season. Arthur had to admit; it was impressive what a few pieces of heavy equipment and three thousand laborers could accomplish in nine months, but he didn't care much for the celebration that a handful of government officials held on the last day of the project. Arthur just wanted to leave the muddy fields behind and go back to Rika Chorna and Samantha.

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The eighth of June was a special day, Samantha and a crowd of other criminals made a rare happy trip up the courtroom steps, Arthur walked by her side. Her three-year sentence was going to be over in a matter of minutes.

Samantha's nervous goofy smile made Arthur laugh. "I'm wondering how many guards it's going to take to wrestle your head into the collar machine- what was it last time four or five?"

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Arthur, your totally messing up the dignified nature of this moment- and it was only three guards."

�Oh, excuse me... I'm not quite sure what to say at an event like this- maybe they sell de-collaring greeting cards downtown?"

Once inside Arthur stood in the vacant area usually reserved for court officials. The ceremony was quick and simple. A line of male and female criminals formed by the collar machine, when it was her turn Samantha went along gracefully. White skin formed a ring low on her suntanned neck, she and the other released criminals listened to a short speech and then posed with their broken collars for a series of pictures.

Arthur had brought the engagement jewelry along, with the traditional white dress, braided hair, and jewelry Samantha now looked like a traditional Danubian woman. More importantly, the sentence was over, the torment and humiliation was over, Samantha was free.

Her first priority was to move out of her host's household, which the couple wanted as well since they could no longer order her around like a slave. Arthur looked forward to visiting Samantha without that hellish little boy whacking him on the head, or the girl doctoring him. For the remaining time before their October wedding Samantha had arranged to stay in the household of one of her friends from work, it was a major improvement.

Arthur and Samantha spent some of his very limited spare time looking around the city for a place to live. Arthur's fame preceded him; if landlords had 'No Spies Allowed' signs on their doors it would have simplified things considerably. Not everyone cared though, especially in the less fashionable neighborhoods.

To Arthur, a person who had spent much of the past few years sleeping next to a horse or in a crowded army tent, every house looked good. Samantha was more discriminating but they eventually decided on a decent small rental house that would be available in September.

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By July Arthur had everything arranged. Samantha had plans to visit friends and family in the US. She would be gone much of September, a wedding was planned for when she returned. For Arthur, it still seemed strange seeing her in clothes again; she looked just like that naive schoolgirl who asked him for directions three years earlier. Samantha was no longer naive but three years of living as a Danubian criminal hadn't changed her completely either.

Tee would visit on the twelfth of August. Arthur wanted her to come a few days later to allow more recovery time after his August 9th switching before he had to put up with her, but Tee was uncooperative as usual. This would be her second trip, though thankfully the police had lost interest in him the last couple years. Tee had been staying in Belgium with her boyfriend, who was some sort of mid-level bureaucrat for the State Department. She was spending the whole summer with the man, who was five years older than Arthur; either the age difference didn't bother Tee, or his other attributes made up for it.

One day in mid-July Spokesman Ralkliv took Arthur to meet with the manager of a small business. Ralkliv felt this was the opportunity he was looking for to get his client a job that better suited his talents and education. A married criminal, he thought, needed more stability in his life and a career offering greater income, especially if they decided to have children.

Work in the field Ralkliv had in mind would require the dropping of several restrictions having to do with technology. According to Ralkliv, most Judges still regarded him as an enemy spy but his somewhat improved behavior, his engagement to Samantha, and conversion to the Faith of the Ancients had swayed some minds.

Arthur was ecstatic when Spokesman Ralkliv got him a hearing before a more open-minded judge to ask for permission to work as a technician for the company. It would require that the restrictions on the use of computers and electronic communication would have to be dropped. The judge questioned Arthur extensively trying to uncover any hidden agenda, but unable to do so, he finally relented. Arthur started work the next day.

For Arthur, it was a real treat to do work that required thinking instead of muscle and endurance. American companies made most of the software the company used so Arthur had a much-needed skill. Danubians evidently had little training in modern technology and Arthur understood computers well. Though he was required to stay under the close supervision of a senior Danubian engineer it became clear after a couple weeks that he knew their system better than they did. If he had been a real spy, Arthur thought, he could easily bypass their meager security and send whatever messages he wanted to the outside world.

Arthur was no spy though, just a foreign criminal desperate to improve his life, and that summer it did improve, he had a girl whom he loved, a job that offered real opportunities, a few friends, even the church services started to make sense in their own peculiar way. For the first time since his arrest Arthur felt like his plans for the future were finally coming together, for both him and Samantha. The life he wanted was just within his grasp. 

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The Not so Secret Agent - Chapter 13