Murmansk-13

Jamal’s physique filled most of the frame, his features impassive. Around one arm was draped a couple of soft blue jumpsuits, in the opposite hand stubby fingers juggled two mess tins of still steaming food. The smell of powdered eggs and mycoprotein sausages made Tala’s head rush and her stomach knot. The toxic essence of the generator, quickly dampened her body’s enthusiasm.

Jamal peered around Tala and into Gennady’s cell. “How’s she doing?”

Beyond Jamal, Tala could see several pairs of sleep deprived eyes fixed to the doorway. Tala stepped aside and let Jamal enter, closing the door behind him.

Katja had reverted to the frightened girl, peering out of the conduit, the coverlet pulled over her nose and her piercing eyes contracted to pinpricks.

“Is everything OK?” Jamal looked at both girls, Tala with hands on hips, Katja fearful. His voice wavered. “I brought you guys some food, and fresh clothes. I figured you could use them.”

“When were you going to tell us?”

“Tell you what?”

Tala gestured to the Gulag uniform abandoned in the corner of the cell.

Jamal looked at the garb and sighed. “It ain’t what you think.” He said as he placed the mess tins on the floor.

“Are you prisoners?”

“Most of us,” Jamal pressed his back to the painted glass. “We picked up a couple of station survivors when we got here.”

“What about you?”

“I was bound for the Celestial Gulag. Working some type of special silica mine in some forgotten beat up recess of Soviet Deep Space.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Depends.”

Jamal smiled, his dark intense eyes shifted from Tala to an empty corner of Gennady’s cell. “I could tell you I was innocent, and I was, but would you believe me?”

“Try me.”

Jamal shook his head slowly, his coarse hair grated against the poster paint. “It was all about leverage. That’s the word my attorney used. I was part of the American team competing at the second Friendship Games. Friendship-88. Only part of the relay team, a reserve otherwise. We weren’t even competitive athletes, I didn’t make the national sprint finals. Might as well been drawn from a hat.

“Things weren’t so friendly anymore between Russia and America. I guess they never had been, to be honest I’d never cared about politics or nationalism. I was a black kid from a poor neighbourhood. The world seemed a long way away. All I know was the equilibrium in the global superpower stakes brought by the discovery of the Iban arc had already faded.

“You have to understand, it was a setup. Something was planted on me. To this day I don’t know if it was by an American looking to stir some patriotic anti-Soviet fervour back home or the Soviet’s looking to discredit American’s. Either way they should have chosen a white boy because as far as I know it got virtually no media coverage. Maybe the stuff got put in the wrong bag.

“Anyhow I got detained in Moscow and eventually got shipped out to Siberia. No trial, no appeal. The US lost interest, decided I was guilty. I guess there was some kind of deal. Once my Moms died there was nobody left fighting my corner. My brother had become a gangbanger like my Dad and my sister… I just didn’t hear from her anymore.

“I don’t think the Politburo knew what to do with me. So they sent me out to their deep space mines,” Jamal paused, his voice growing hoarse. “Just bad luck and bad people.”

The undercurrent of anger faded from his voice, his eyes met Tala’s again. “We aren’t bad guys. At least not all of us. In Russia, law is arbitrary and first and foremost it’s about securing the party. Gennady was a dissident, got arrested for handing out anti-Communist pamphlets in a school. Andrei was caught stealing food, not because he is a bad guy, but because his family were starving. Gennady would not let anybody stay in District Four who is unrepentant or guilty.

“Least that was the old rhetoric.”

Tala held Jamal’s gaze. His eyes betrayed no treachery, no furtive movement or ill ease, only a dull sadness. Years of killing time playing Tong-It’s had refined Tala’s nonverbal perception, but cards on a coffee table were rarely a complex endeavour. “You said, ‘at least not all of us.’ What do you mean?”

“That’s pretty much what I came to speak to you about, as much as I like recounting my personal downfall,” Jamal shared his glances between both women, still trying to determine Katja’s wakefulness. “Gennady needs to speak to you. Since you guys fell asleep, things are changing pretty fast here.”

Tala could sense a nervousness in Jamal’s tone that sundered her appetite.

“Get some food in you” Jamal gestured to the no longer steaming mess tins. “It may be some time before we eat again.”

Tala watched Jamal depart quietly, reluctant to draw attention. She could hear something spoken in leery Russian outside.