Prisoner
an excerpt

The faintest whisper of an unfelt breeze caused her to check her passage down the long, monotonous channel. The repetitive forms of bulkhead doors stretching infinitely in each direction disconcerted her senses if she dwelt on it, so instead she cocked her head slightly to the side and stared at the closest one. Straining to hear the slightest sound, scuffle, determine how even the gentlest movement of air could penetrate so deep into --

The heavy impact of flesh and bone on the titanium reinforced door made her flinch back in shock, hands gripping her own arms in an effort to stave off the instinctive response of flight.

A shrill, eerie sound followed in the heavy silence, indistinguishable as human, or even sapient. It could very well be some previously unknown alien, feral creature secured behind the impenetrable strength of the bulkhead.

“And your official introduction to prisoner Delta fifty-six nine seventy culminates your orientation tour,” declared her coworker’s scratchy, flat voice from behind her. “We call this particular Human Conan. All brawn and no brain. Every one of the personnel here has their own collection of tales about Conan. I don’t doubt you’ll hear all of them, more than once, before long.”

Yes, she thought acerbically, especially since the delta sector is all mine. Their originality astounded her. In a strictly sarcastic sense, of course. At least they had chosen a nickname with origins in the prisoner’s own racial culture.

“Are they all... ?” She released one hand long enough to motion impotently at the bulkhead, incapable of verbal description. The monotone keen continued, as if the creature on the other side had no need to pause for breath.

“This one will be your greatest challenge,” he assured her. “Though I have been assured that your ... unique abilities ... might offer the opportunity to gain some headway.”

She tore her gaze from the single cell and glanced furtively in either direction at its identical siblings. Endless monotony. Clones. Imprisoned individuals behind each one, no doubt. Good thing she had little on her hands besides time.

The squeaky gear gets the grease? The leaky valve gets the sealant. A patch fix to reduce the level of irritation in the symptoms demonstrated. And into the nearest black hole with the cause.

Though she followed after him as he retraced their steps, she looked back over her shoulder more than once. One indiscriminate bulkhead amongst many. So many.
The keening sound continued persistently until she moved beyond the range of her physical capacity to hear it. And even then, it echoed ominously from her memory.