The cell is cold, even though you are on the surface of the planet now. A thin shaft of light pierces through the ceiling, penetrating to the floor where it warms an inch wide spot of concrete. Other than that small ray of light, this solid building is dark, completely empty of luminescence.
“’Ere’ ye go Bunny, stay warm.”
Right, stay warm. You pull the one blanket given to you closer, wishing that it was thicker. It’s clean though, and it is new. A small blessing, something you haven’t been given for a while. With a shiver you pull your body tighter, and attempt to huddle under the ray of light in a better position.
“Em serry Bunny, but y’ve been sentenced”
Sentenced? Haven’t you already been sentenced? Isn’t that what you’re doing, serving out your sentence?
“T’mrrow y’ll catch teh tail end o’ the hypertrain Bunny m’boy”
Tail end of the hypertr . a .. i … n. Execution. You’re going to be executed.
“M sorry Bunny, but teh ordr comes from the top.”
From the top then. That meant someone has it in for you, in for you good. Perhaps that black eyed humanoid you saw while on your way over here? The memory surfaces, and you relive it, your photographic memory giving clear details. You had turned the corner, followed by the guard, and had begun to go down yet another corridor. Halfway down, a party of people emerged from a hallway to your right, and had turned to the right, walking away from you. Then they turned right again, going down another corridor. One man had looked back, and for a moment your eyes had connected.
You shivered; black eyes made the man look like he was dead. Perhaps they were not truly black, but from that distance…
Perhaps it was him. Or, another in his party. The man dressed in that dark purple suit perhaps. Dark purple suit. Something was jogged in your memory, a memory of someone else that had worn a dark purple suit.
The name escaped you, it had been so long. But the face, and the memory of what had been done was as clear as the Tatooine suns. Amcron, Amcron corp. had been a brainchild of yours. With your friends you gathered some money, and started a company. “We’ll make millions!” was your enthusiastic cry.
And indeed you did. You made so much that a rift grew between the five friends. You, Mr. Hevlar, and Mrs. Hevlar had split, leaving the now hugely successful corporation in the hands of Mr. Rundenbaucher, Mr. Vinda, and Mr. Hutchel. Vinda! That was the man. A young, brilliant entrepreneur who had a hand for dealing with other people, and companies. He had been in charge of publicity, and made most of the deals with other corporations for supplies. He had worn a dark purple suit often.
The chill from the floor pulled you from your reverie. That shaft of light had moved quite a bit, a good two feet at least.
Whiling away my last minutes thinking of a defunct business. Perhaps not quite so defunct, actually. Amcron corp. had never been on the complete up and up. You had been lucky to get out when you did; the same was for Mr. Vinda. He had left just before the whole thing exploded in the face of Rundenbaucher and Hutchel. Rundenbaucher had gone underground, and Hutchel had taken the entire thing on his shoulders. What had happened to him, you did not know.
The last few months had given you time to thing though. You had visited this memory of Amcron corp. several times. Vinda had moved on to start the successful Vinda Co, for whom you had, ironically, worked for. Rundenbaucher had resurfaced several months ago, and was starting a new company. Produced a new cigarra, which was quite successful. The Hevlar’s were dead; they were on a pleasure cruise when the entire ship combusted.
Then, it all seemed to click. Here, in your cell, awaiting your termination from this miserable existence, it clicked. With your death only two more men were known to be alive who had been involved in the old Amcron Corporation. Vinda, and Rundenbaucher. When Hutchel had gone down, he had gotten off light with two years of medium labor, and ten of standard prison confinement. Only two more alive from the old company; only one more person who would be able to hold a threat of blackmail over another’s head.
The CSA had crushed Amcron, and Hutchel had gone down in flames. And now both Vinda and Rundenbaucher were rising to power again. Their history could condemn them, if it was discovered.
It was funny, this struggle for power, and domination. A giggle crept up your throat. Everyone always striving to be the best. You had found the perfect place, as a minion. A wife, kids… who would never see you again…
***********************************
“He wants to see Mr. Vinda.”
“He, what?”
“He wants to see Mr. Vinda.”
“I see.”
“It’s his right.”
“I know…”
“Will you call Michelson?”
“Yeah, sure.”
