I walked through the door into chaos packed into a large, low-ceilinged room. Probably not a surprise that throwing a couple of hundred men into shared living quarters with minimal supervision is going to lead to a lot of mess.

I wrinkled my nose. Void, everyone here needed a shower. Maybe two.

Men milled back and forth, mostly with the casual bullshitting and nods of people who've agreed to leave each other alone.

Three men tangled in a scuffle in the far corner but no one seemed concerned.

I took a step towards them when a skinny older man with red rimmed eyes stepped in front of me.

“You’re new here, I get that, I do, but I really would leave them alone if I were you.” His squeaky voice rode up and down the scale with each word.

“And that would be why?” I asked, somewhere between confused and annoyed.

“It’s the Monts, they all are, it’s what they do. Either over a woman, or rations, or who’s going to be in charge today, or tomorrow. Or yesterday,” he giggled.

I stared at the combatants, noting their relative sizes, weights, fighting ability. They all seemed fairly evenly matched. I shrugged and turned away.

“Good idea, good idea,” the skinny man half skipped next to me, patting my arm.

I looked down at him, frowning. “Who are you, and why do you care?”

“I'm Gozer, I am. I know everybody and everything in here. I keep my points up, yes I do, yes I do.”

His hand trembled, just a bit. I wondered what he had been on when he was scooped and brought up here. But if he had information about the prison, maybe he could help me figure out what I was doing here.

But, first things first. “If you know everything about this place, how do I get a bunk?”

“Follow me, follow me.” He patted my arm again and then, with his odd half-skip walk, darted in front of me, across the open room. A corridor led from the far wall with four more doors branching off of it, but he kept going to the end.

“Richo didn’t come back yesterday, or the day before or before that. Nobody’s claimed his bunk yet, it’s in the back, nobody wants it.” He looked up with a flash of embarrassment for a minute. “Most people don’t want to be that close to me. Richo didn’t mind, but he’s gone now.”

“If it's flat and nothing’s crawling in it, you’ve got a deal. I’ve slept in worse.”

The words jabbed at me. How did I know that? There was no memory to back up my claim, just a brief glimpse of hard-packed dirt under a vast, open night sky.

Oblivious, he bounced over to a small door at the end of the hall. I stooped to follow him into a narrow, barren room. The few beds were occupied by men that could all have been clones of Gozer: skinny, used up, fearful.

Gozer stood next to the sole unoccupied bunk in the back, stroking the thin blanket nervously.

“I do my shift in the laundry, I do, I do.” He looked up slyly. “Our things get done first. Nice and clean.”

The other men looked away, two resuming their conversation, the third flipping idly through a tablet.

I called over to him and he flinched. “Hey, you got access on that?”

“It’s in dummy mode.” He wrapped his thin arms around it, waiting for me to try to take the tablet from him. “Stuff comes in, but I can’t get to the outer network.”

That’s what they tell you, I thought, but… a sharp pain bloomed in my temple where the headache that had hovered just out of sight since I woke in the infirmary took hold.

Gozer still stood anxiously by the bed, rocking from side to side.

“Looks great, thanks.”

I sat on the edge of the bed. The thin mattress was possibly better than just lying on the permasteel deck, but just barely.

“Do you want Richo's job, too?” Gozer asked. “Nobody’s seen him, and they liked him down on the farm. He was strong.” He looked at me appraisingly. “You look strong, too.”

I matched his smile. “I suspect I’d manage.”

For all of his little twitches, Gozer obviously had some brains. Find a quiet place, find a big guy as protector, find a job. He had prison life figured out.

“What happened to Richo, anyway?” I asked.

Gozer’s face fell. “Nobody’s seen him. Must have got shipped out.”

“That's a good thing, right? He's probably somewhere back on the station, waiting for you to get released so he can buy you a drink.”

Gozer shook his head. “I don't think so, I don't think so.”

What an odd little man. I leaned back on the bed, eyes closed. One thing was right at least, the sheets were softened from repeated washings, and clean.

Tomorrow I’d ask him to show me how to get a job at this farm. Have to do something to keep my points up until I figured out what the hell I was doing here and how the hell I was getting out.

I thought about the sick system Zayda had described. Prisoners ruling other prisoners. Sure, it might work if you had some sort of innate belief in people. But I didn't.

I mentally walked back through the day, waking up in the clinic, and then...

There was nothing. It was like staring into a dark fog trying to conjure faces from the twisting mist.

And if I didn't have my memory, I had no idea what I had done to end up here. Had I robbed someone? Killed someone?

With the same sort of flash I'd had of that unknown night sky, I realized that yes, I had killed someone in the unknown past. But it wasn't something I felt guilt over, just flat. It was a job.

Suddenly the men’s section with its noise and stench was too close, too confining.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” I muttered.

“We all say that,” Gozer giggled, and bounced on his bunk.

“No, right now.”

He shot up with alarm. “You can’t do that. Curfew is soon.”

“Are the doors locked?”

“No, not yet. There’s a warning siren. Don’t get inside, have to stay outside. Outside with the ghosts.” Gozer looked honestly worried.

“I’ll be fine”. My words, an echo of Zayda’s earlier, didn’t seem to calm him much.

I looked for anything to leave as a token that the bunk was spoken for, but all I wore was the light gray pants, shirt, and jacket I’d woken up in. No pockets. Wouldn’t have been anything in them anyway.

“Keep my bunk for me, alright?”

He nodded, face still screwed up with concern. I headed back down the corridor, planning to go straight through the large gathering room to the halls of the corridor proper. There had to be one corner in this entire place quiet enough to think.

A large hand fell on my shoulder and I brushed it off. “Later,” I growled, glancing back to see a pair of men who looked vaguely familiar. A tall blond and a stocky gray haired man to his side, both looking like they could handle themselves. On the neck of the gray haired guy I could see a black mark, disappearing into the collar of his jacket.

“You don’t want to try to go this alone,” the taller one said. “Loners tend to disappear.” He turned away. “Let us know when you figure it out.”

As the door slid shut behind me, I realized I didn’t have any idea of the layout of the prison. I’d been to the clinic, the mess, and here.

“Let’s change that,” I muttered to myself as I jogged down a random hall. “Time for a scouting mission.”

As I moved, I traced a map of the corridors in my head. Just having a better idea of the lay of the land eased some of the tension from my shoulders. One more pair of turns, and I’d head back to the dorm. No reason to take stupid risks on the first night.

Turning another corner, I heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight. I slowed, considered if I should get involved, then one sound cleared any doubt.

“Like hell, asshole.”

That was Zayda’s voice.

I tore through the corridors at full speed.

So focused on reaching her, I almost tripped over the arm of a guy sprawled across the corridor floor.

Zayda faced off against the jerk who harassed her in the mess hall. Another man sat slumped against the wall, shaking his head slowly.

The guy I had almost tripped on started to sit up. “Not today, bastard.” I slammed his head back against the decking and he stayed down.

Zayda landed a sharp elbow into the asshole’s throat and he staggered back, eyes wide with shock.

She crouched, sweeping her leg in front of her and knocking him to the floor. In a flash, she was over him, her knees hitting him in the shoulder socket while she choked him into submission.

Her fire, her fierceness mesmerized me. So much so, I almost didn't notice when the third joker pushed himself away from the wall.

“Back off, you bitch,” he shouted and reached for her.

I reached him first and threw him back down the corridor. He hit the deck with a satisfying thud.

I turned back to Zayda. The idiot had finally gone limp.

“Nice job,” I said as she stood up from him.

She whirled, fists ready to fly.

I raised my hands up. “Just me. Glad to see you didn’t need help.”

She looked at the guys on the deck past me. “Not much. Thanks.”

Her shoulders slumped and with an unexpected flash of rage I saw a bruise beginning to bloom on her cheek. She saw where my eyes landed and scrubbed at it as if it were a stain she could just wash away.

“A couple of them landed. Shouldn’t have happened. Got sloppy. As for why I'm still out here…” She raised her cuff and tapped it.

“I thought you said they didn't go below yellow.”

“I said I’d never seen anybody below yellow. Probably just a malfunction, next dayshift I'll see what I can do. But for now…”

She looked tired, lost. I turned away, looked anywhere else. This felt too private, too personal. But still, something had to be done.

“I was thinking about getting my bearings, checking out some more of the satellite. I did sleep most of the day, and, to be honest, the men’s quarters are a little...close.”

Her smile only twisted half her face up, but I’d take it. “I’ve always wondered about that, but never enough to check it out.”

She leaned against the wall, obviously weighing options, finger tapping against her thigh. “I’ve been waiting for a sign. Maybe this is it. Hell, maybe you’re it. Let’s go.”

With a final kick at the prone form of her vanquished opponent, she headed off through the corridors.

A small knot unwound from my gut as I followed her.

It was a good thing she’d agreed to let me stay with her.

I’d planned to, either way.