Chapter One: Visitors.

"Biggs. Lights out was ten minutes ago."

Biggs Ryker looked up from his reading and nodded to Colgan. "Five more minutes? I can still read by moonlight, if the weather changes…"

Colgan actually laughed. "You've become a regular Monk."

Biggs looked down at his book. "I suppose I have."

The Guard settled. "You know that I can't make exceptions, Prisoner. Lights Out is Lights Out for everyone."

"Yessir." Biggs put the Bible away.

The Guard flinched. "I remember a time when you would have told me to 'go #@^& myself' a few times. It was six months ago, in fact."

"I remember." Biggs looked up at him. "I can remember a time when you would have busted my nose just for looking at you, let alone be polite about Lights Out."

Colgan just watched him, like he was waiting for Biggs to pull a knife by surprise. "I got your request, for a testimonial. At first I thought you were putting on an act for your Parole Board, but…" He trailed off. "You're up for Visitors tomorrow. Your sister?"

"Yup." Biggs agreed. "Best hour of my month."

~~/*\~~

"Visiting this place makes me want to chain-smoke again." Kit gave him a tired smile as they hugged. "You look good." She checked his hands. "Fewer bruises."

"Fewer fights." Biggs admitted. "Some of the guys in here… They figured what the Guards did, that getting 'saved' was all about winning points for my Parole. Some of them were… aggressive about proving it. I don't blame them. Rule Number One in here is Respect. You see the other guy, you don't want to make no trouble. For a bunch of people going crazy from boredom; they don't react well to change. Someone changes the rules, and sometimes it gets ugly."

Kit nodded, long battle-hardened to her brother's stories of life on the inside. "I asked, about the Day Pass. They say they're willing to do it here if the Warden says no."

"Which he will." Biggs nodded. "Is that typical? That they come to the Prison?"

"Not unprecedented, but…" She lowered her voice. "They're accelerating the study program. Some Congs are being told to 'pass' on students that aren't interested in 'twice a week' studies. Three times a week is considered 'interested' now."

Biggs let out a breath. "I'm up for Parole in two weeks. Last week, a guy was wheeled in here on a stretcher. He was charged with defacing police property. Know what the property was?"

"What?"

"Uniforms." Biggs said flatly. "He was charged with getting his blood all over their uniforms while they beat him. If he did anything else other than be Buddhist, I have no idea what it was."

"Ohh, it's coming." Kit breathed. "We don't really know what's going to happen when it starts, but we know that once it starts, it's not going to stop until it's over."

"This much I've figured out. I'm just saying, the 'get saved' defence means nothing these days."

"I spoke to Benedict. He's willing to do it here, if the parole hearing goes badly." Kit bit her lip. "If you wanted to wait until the next convention, we can do that-"

"No." Biggs said immediately. "I don't want to wait."

Kit smiled at her brother. "I was hoping you would say that. If it goes badly on Friday, I'll have Brother Benedict ready by Friday Night."

Biggs nodded. "One last thing I have to do first. For now, tell me about your week."

"I just lost my houseguest, actually. A sister in the Cong needed a place to land for a while. Her landlord went bust; and sold the house out from under her. She had time to regroup, go back to her family. I've even got some savings for once. Easier to afford food when you have someone else to cook for, and a boarder paying rent."

"Yeah, it's happening in here, too." Biggs admitted. "They're putting Prison Workers in more and more places. They don't have to pay us, so…" He shrugged. "Lets us see a part of the world that isn't gray concrete. There are always lots of volunteers."

She shivered a bit. "By next weekend, you'll be home. What's more, you'll be..." She sniffed a bit, blinking back tears. "I wasn't sure if we were going to make it, Bro. Life wasn't good to us."

"There's still a way to go." He reminded her. "What happens once I'm out? It's hard enough to find a job when you don't have a record."

"Yeah, well… That doesn't put you in rare company, these days. Work For Food schemes are everywhere." Kit told him. "And to be honest, I'm far less worried about where you're employed, as what you end up doing."

He pulled his head in a bit, a little embarrassed. "I've… had a few studies in here, actually. There are all sorts of volunteer programs. Learning trades, playing instruments, book clubs… Your guy Benedict has a few studies, and I sort of… keep up the work between his visits."

Kit laughed delightedly. "You're already doing better than I am, then. This week, we make it official."

"This week…" Biggs bit his lip. "If I don't get parole, tell Brother Benedict I'd like to do it the day after the Convention. You can record the talk for me. I have one last thing I have to do first; before I can put it all behind me."

"Anything I can do to help?"

Biggs was silent for a long moment. "Convince me it's not for nothing?"

"What do you mean?"

"There are only two motives in Prison." Biggs tried to put it into words. "Survival, and escape. I gave up trying to escape; because I knew my survival depended on it… But we're meant to be doing this out of love for God."

"And you're worried it's not the same thing." Kit nodded. "Believe it or not, I had the same question once." She opened her Bible. "Let's make that the topic for today." She lowered her voice. "But don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject."

Biggs said nothing to that, but she was right. His 'last thing' wasn't something he relished telling his sister about.

~~/*\~~

"...and I think you're dramatically overstating the problem."

"I've been a journalist in this country for fifteen years. I'm sick of making a lot of happy noises every time one Religious Leader does something noble, when we all know there's at least seven scandals right there with it. I'm sick of the news twisting itself in a knot every time a random Muslim does something in public; and looking the other way when the Churches throw their support behind some congressman even when they know he's a serial adulterer. I'm sick of the fake humility, and the holier-than-thou."

"It's a matter of law that minorities be respected by the majority."

"They are the minority. They don't respect anyone; so at what point does the majority stop humoring them?"

~~/*\~~

Brother Benedict was touching up the paint on his front porch when the car pulled up outside. From the passenger seat was a familiar face. He waved to Kit as she came over, the car idling at the curb. "Kit!" He called jovially. "Is that Andrew?"

Kit nodded. "I don't have a car, and there isn't a lot of public transportation that goes to the prison. Andrew's kind enough to give me a lift there and back on visitor's day."

"He's a good guy. Pass that screwdriver, would you?"

Kit did so, and Benedict made a small adjustment to one of the hinges on his front door. "You keep the house in good shape." She admitted. "Way better than my rathole."

"I built this house." Benedict smiled up at it. "Put so much of my sweat into her that it's practically a relative at this point. You gotta take care of something you invest a lot of love and effort in." He looked over. "But you didn't come to talk about that."

"No." She admitted. "I just came from Biggs. He doesn't think he's going to be out in time for the assembly."

"Well, he might yet be." Benedict admitted. "Be discreet with this information, because it won't be announced until next week...But we lost the venue."

"What?"

"I know, it surprised us too; but apparently they double-booked us without realizing it. They called the committee last night, and told us we couldn't have our convention there. We're trying to find an alternate; but this late, it's going to be difficult." He set his tools down. "If your brother needs to do this at the Prison, I'm available."

~~/*\~~

The Prisoners were given liberty as far as the common areas, and the courtyard. Almost all of them stepped aside when he came by. His reputation was unchanged, with most prisoners thinking he was only playing at 'seeing the light' for his upcoming parole.

Biggs always took note of the similar way the Prison Guards stood at attention around Grant. Most times, the guards didn't need an excuse to beat a prisoner senseless. Nobody ever called them on the way they treated people under their charge. With Grant, they were polite and respectful. That was the power of fear.

Grant was in the Hospital Wing of the Prison. It took some doing to see him face to face; but Biggs got in. "Sir."

"Biggs." Grant rasped around the oxygen tube in his nose. "I'm told that your parole is coming up soon. I take it you've considered my offer of employment, once you're out."

"I… I'm afraid I have to say no, sir." Biggs said with as much courage as he could muster. Grant could have him put in a hospital bed before he made it out of the room. "In fact, I have to tender my resignation from all the extra-curriculars."

Grant glared at him. "You ratted?!"

"Nosir." Biggs said quickly. "But I intend to go straight. I know we all say that, but some things have changed for me the last few months; and-"

"You've been in and out of The System for decades now, Biggs." Grant rasped, but as bad as his health was, his tone held no trace of weakness. "You know it's damn near impossible to have any kind of a life after they've Marked you. You either work for me on the Outside, or you starve. Because I'll tell you this now, once you get arrested again… And we both know you will, because that's the only way this goes for people like us… you won't be welcome back. If you're out, I won't let you back in. I want you to remember this moment; because it could be the last choice you ever make about anything."

"Yessir. That is understood."

"You have… received a counter offer?"

"I'm no Rat!" Biggs insisted quickly. That was the sort of rumor that could get an inmate killed. "But, I guess you could call it a counter-offer; yes."

"From who?"

Biggs took a shuddering breath, and then pointed a finger upwards.

Grant stared at him… and burst out laughing. "You're really serious, aren't you?" Grant cackled. "Look, I've seen a lot of guys get Religion in here. And what you believe is your business. But we both know Prayer won't get you a job. It also won't clear off your record. It won't undo a ten year prison sentence; and it won't keep the cops from coming over and beating your brains out whenever they have a bad day."

"I made all those arguments when my sister converted, Mister Grant." He said respectfully. "But I'm looking around the world, and I decided to put my faith in something other than people."

"People like me?" Grant hissed. "I'm offering you money, employment, and protection. What's your God offering you?"

"Eternal Life?"

"My offer seems more realistic."

"Your offer requires me to keep breaking the law on your behalf."

"So what? Obeying the Law never helped anyone. And you've already broken the Law enough times that they'll never let you do anything else." Grant coughed a bit. "And how does it make sense? So, you now believe a talking snake gave a naked lady some fruit in a garden. This, to you, is a rational explanation for the world?" Grant coughed. "Besides, there's nothing that says you can't be a Believer and work for me. The Bible says that The Lord helps those who help themselves."

"No it doesn't. I checked." Biggs said blandly. "You can't be a crook, and an honest man. That's kind of… obvious; isn't it?"

"Your new religion is based on the idea that God can be loving and destructive at the same time." Grant told him. "You know why a cop shoots a black man in the back, or why a prison guard beats an inmate for breathing the wrong way?"

"Because they know they'll get away with it." Biggs said without blinking.

"That's right." Grant coughed. "Dallas, get in here!"

The guard came in. "Yes, Mister Grant?"

Grant waved him over. The guard came closer, and the old man hawked off and spat right at his face. The guard flinched back, but said nothing. Biggs very carefully gave no reaction as Grant laughed and waved him away. "Now, half the guys in this hospital wing have been put here by the Guards; and for a lot less than that. So why didn't Dallas do anything?"

"My guess? You probably bribed him once, and now you have his career in your hands. And if not money, I'm guessing you know where his family lives."

"Right." Grant coughed again. "In this building are killers and rapists aplenty, Biggs. And nobody in here will so much as tell me off; because I have power. From this hospital bed, I have more power than everyone else in this Prison combined. Including the Warden. And God? God has more power than anyone. How does he use it? He orders the masses to love Him completely; or he'll torture them for all eternity."

"Y'know, that was my argument for a while too." Biggs said. "But it turns out that none of that was in the Bible. That was all made up by people who wanted to peddle heaven and hell to people who had never read the Bible before." Biggs couldn't help the smirk. "People who wanted power."

Grant scoffed.

"Let's not pretend you have any concern for me, Sir. No more than Dallas, here." Biggs said plainly. "Every guard, including the Warden, has said that I've changed completely in the few months I've been studying with my sister. And I imagine it's the first time anyone's said 'no' to you in quite a while. But studying to become a Witness has done something that no threat of violence, and no offer of money can do. It changed my personality. Not just suppress it, but actually overturn years of thinking. That's something you couldn't do with Dallas if you had a hundred years." Biggs' head tilted. "In fact, now that I think of it, I finally understand that quote about how Love Conquers All. Maybe it's not true of everything, but it's certainly able to do things you can't do with fear and money."

Grant just looked at him and coughed again. "You… can go."

Biggs turned to leave.

"You're not going to try and 'save me'?" Grant called after him. "That's not the reputation the Holy Rollers have."

"This isn't a Bible study. You aren't interested, beyond wondering if I'm working an angle." Biggs told him.

"No, I guess not."

"I have no doubt you could have me killed before I made it back to my cell, sir." Biggs said seriously. "But that's not what real power is." His gaze went to the hospital machines, beeping steadily. "But I think you'll find out. If I'm right… we'll be able to finish this conversation one day. If you're right, we'll not speak again; and it wouldn't matter anyway."

Grant scowled, and said nothing more as Biggs walked out on him. Even so, Biggs could feel his legs shaking as he walked. His instincts were screaming that he'd just painted a major target on himself.

Dallas came back in as he left, face burning with humiliation; but he said nothing as he approached the bed. "Mister Grant, the Warden wanted you to know…. We're unable to find the Prison Chaplain. He was recalled, for some reason. There's apparently some special event going on, and they recalled a lot of their staff."

"I don't care." Grant coughed. "So, what do you think?"

"I've seen inmates 'get religion' when Parole comes up. Doesn't change anything." Dallas offered. "Those guys always keep up their 'requests'. Cigarettes, moonshine, porn. There's a market for all of it. Biggs hasn't 'placed an order' since he started studying with his sister."

Grant grunted. "Well, he'll be back. Nobody out there will hire an ex-con. When his new friends get tired of a convict on their couch, he'll be begging for work from me."

"Yessir." Dallas commented.

Grant looked at him. "You hate me, don't you?"

"Not at all, sir; it's a privilege to have your spit in my eye." Dallas said flatly.

Grant kept laughing, even as the pain in his chest grew thick and heavy. "Put the word out that Biggs needs to be reminded of who his friends really are. Cryin' shame. He was my best enforcer."

~~/*\~~

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~~/*\~~

Biggs lined up for evening chow. Mashed potatoes. Vegetables. Some kind of rubbery meat in thick gravy. Biggs heard the rhythm of the place. Slap. Splish. Thwack. The serving dishes slapped the food down on the trays so fast the line barely slowed down.

Biggs held out his tray, and received nothing. He waited, and the line pushed him along. "Wait-" He started to say. "I didn't get…" And his instincts started screaming suddenly. A lifetime of these moments had taught him to be aware when the hit was coming.

He hadn't been overlooked. They'd deliberately left his tray empty. He was now recognizable in a sea of people with the same build, haircut, and outfit.

Biggs looked around carefully, looking for guards. There were none in sight, which was against Prison rules. Biggs started praying automatically.

He felt the presence of someone behind him, and he did what he could to spin to the left. Old instincts made him lash out with his right, and the first attacker was sent sprawling. His empty tray came up to block the shiv automatically. Grant was ready to punch, but hesitated, unsure if he should follow through. JW's can defend themselves, right? But so close to Parole... He paused long enough for the next punch to clip the back of his head, but it wasn't enough to put his lights out. He spun with it, putting his hands up defensively. It was one of Grant's men.

"You knew this was coming, Biggs." He spat thickly. Biggs knew this man. He'd been a heavyweight in the Prison's boxing tournaments. The only man he'd never beaten down was Biggs, and they both knew it.

But this time he had friends. Biggs lurched to his feet and tried to get clear, get to some place where they'd have to be noticed by the Guards…

They caught his arms, and held him still. Biggs saw the kick coming, and tried to turn with the blow...

~~/*\~~

"...makes the third Transport Union to go on strike in the last six weeks. For more on this, our Business Editor, Annie James. Annie?"

"The unexpected crop failures last month were attributed to soil quality and heavy drought conditions; but despite assurances that shortages were temporary; it's caused a run on Supermarkets in several states. As a result, the food trucks supplying these markets; to say nothing of the food depots where the food was stored, have faced violence. The Depots are protected, but the highways are not. Scattered reports of trucks being stopped have come in. With their drivers under attack; the Unions have called for a nationwide trucking strike; until such time as their members can be protected."

"Annie, Trucks and Highways are this nation's most common way of moving goods around. What does this mean for consumers?"

"Every Supermarket in the western world keeps costs down by having deliveries of replacement stock arrive on a strict schedule. There's very little excess stored in any store. If the strike goes on more than a few weeks; it could be a serious problem. But that's not the real issue."

"What is?"

"The trucks are being attacked on the highways because the shortages are hitting hard in poorer communities, in fact-"

"Annie, I'm going to have to stop you there. We have breaking news: Hollywood's most talked about secret romance has just been confirmed; as Social Media photos of a private wedding have begun to emerge; as well as some steamy honeymoon pics…"

~~/*\~~

Biggs came out of his stupor, and found Garret mopping his face with a wet cloth. Probably a sock. "Garret?"

His cellmate shushed him. "You'll live." He promised. "The Guards tossed you in here, instead of the hospital wing. Grant sending a message?"

"Yup." Biggs coughed a bit. "Ooh. I knew what the response would be."

"Then why do it? You could have taken those guys apart. You've done it before. This time you take the beating? Why? Because God wants you to be 'nice'?" Garret hissed. "And before you say it, please remember that of all the people you know, the only one even bothering to clean your wounds is me. Even the doctors and guards are busy looking anywhere else. The people you offered to study with? The people you're in the workshops with? The people you trained for the Boxing Tournaments? All of them have written you off. Grant put the word out: You got no friends here anymore."

"You're still here." Biggs coughed painfully. Garret said nothing to that, and Biggs tried to smile around his fat lips. "It's… good to know who my friends are." He groaned. "Can you pass my Bible?"

***

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