The Orthogonal Galaxy
Chapter 19

“Well,what do we have here?” A prisoner satdown next to Blade Slater with a tray of food. “Looks like Doubting Thomas has himself a new friend.”

Blade looked across the table at his ‘new friend’with a smile. “Ever since Goat Herd herestarted readin’ the Bible, he’s been callin’ me Doubtin’ Thomas.”

Extending a hand across the table, the newcomerintroduced himself. “The name’s Guntherd Schenthtzen. Some folks around here replace it easier to remember my prison number,689214—or, for the numerically challenged, Goat Herd works too.”

After looking to Blade who gave an almostimperceptible nod of approval, Joonter reached out his hand to replace a deceptivelyfirm grip from the otherwise scrawny looking Guntherd. “Paol Joonter.”

Not comfortable in how much he should say,Joonter decided to keep his communication with other prisoners as succinct aspossible, since he still wasn’t sure of the intricacies of proper communicationwith inmates.

“Sharp dresser,” Guntherd said matter-of-factly.

Paol looked down at his prison garb and thenscanned the rest of the cafeteria. Witha look of confusion, he found it to be no different than any other prisoner inthe commissary.

“What Goat Herd here is tryin’ to say,” Slaterclarified for his cellmate, “is that you is pretty well groomed. Short hair. Clean shave. No tats. It gives yer wardrobe a different appearance,like it’s newer than the rest of us.”

Eyeing Joonter with suspicion, Schenthtzenannounced, “I hear there’s some fancy-pants three-piece-suit businessman due toarrive soon. That would be a real boonfor those of us in a position to help him learn the ropes and keep him safe, ifyou know what I mean.”

With a disgusted look on his face, Blade turnedto face their uninvited guest, “Since when do you have any power to protectanyone ‘round here? You may be able toherd some goats, but you know that wolves eat goats, dontcha?”

Guntherd pushed his tray a few inches away fromhim and stared down at the blank table in front of him. “Are you threatening me, Thomas?”

Turning back to cut a piece of his Salisburysteak with his spoon, Blade attempted to defuse the situation. “Be reasonable, ‘214. You was the one to suggest to extortin’ moneyfrom my friend here.”

“I ain’t doing nothing different than what you’redoing? You’re just trying to pick hispocket by being his friend.”

Could this be true? Could it be that Blade was trying to get onPaol’s good side to receive favors in the form of extra money for thecommissary? Or was this Guntherdcharacter really good at manipulation. Paol wondered if he had let his guard down with his new cellmate and wastoo quick to abandon the rule Warron had given him to “trust no one!”

“No matter,” Blade stated shrugging hisshoulders. “Joonter ain’t worth nothin’anyway.”

“You’re lying, Slater!”

“Let me rephrase my sentence,” Blade responded inmeasured tones. “He ain’t worth nothin’in here. Fo’ the last three days, Paol’sbeen followin’ me ‘round to learn all ‘bout the prison. In three trips to the commissary, he ain’tbought nothin’. So, I asked him, ‘whyain’t you buyin’ nothin’? He says, ‘Iain’t got no money.’ So, I asks,‘Whatcha mean? Every prisoner’s gotmoney. We all work, we all get paid—not much, but ‘nough to buy stuff.’ And you know what he says?” Slater turned back to Guntherd who was stilllooking at the table.

Blade went on after pausing long enough to knowthat Schenthtzen wasn’t going to respond to the question. “He says, ‘I arranged with the warden to sendall of my money to my family.’”

“This stuffed suit’s family doesn’t need anymoney,” Guntherd pointed an accusing finger at Paol. “You are full of—”

Slater raised his hand to cut off Schenthtzenbefore he could complete his sentence. “I ain’t full of nothin’, ‘214, ‘cuz you won’t let me eat my meat andpotatoes. You see, Paol ain’t sendin’money to a needy family. He’s a smartman, and he learned how to survive tough competition. That business survival instinct is servin’well in prison. The reason he’s sendin’his money home, is ‘cuz he knew he’d be a target. If he ain’t got no money, he can’t becomeprey to nobody, includin’ you, Guntherd. Sorry to disappoint, but you might wanna spread the word that Joonter ain’tworth nobody’s time.”

As prisoner number 689214 stalked off with histray of food untouched, Paol looked Blade in the eyes and gave a gratefulnod. In the commotion of the courtyardafter lunch, Paol got a chance to ask Blade about the exchange.

“But we haven’t even been to the commissary once,Blade.”

“I only go on Mondays, but Goat Herd don’t knowthat, ‘cuz his commissary schedule is different than ours.”

“I suppose this means that Iwon’t be able to buy anything while I’m here,” Paol opined, “but that appearsto be better than the ugly alternative that I just witnessed back in thecafeteria.”

“I thinks you just need to wait a few weeks. Once Goat Herd’s intel makes the rounds,you’ll be hands off, and the dust of the newness will settle down. Then, you should have no problem buyin’anythin’ you want. But, you might wannagive it to me for safe keepin’ until we get back to the cell—just in case wepass one of Guntherd’s goats.”

...

That night, as Paol lay sleepless in his bunk, hecouldn’t help but think that he dodged a bullet already in his brief tenure atthe penitentiary. He wondered how manymore close calls he’d have with prisoners, but at least for now, he wasgrateful for the quick thinking of his cellmate.

How could he have such bad luck to end up inprison in the first place, and yet have such good luck to be led to the mosthelpful person in the entire prison? Andhow is it that a self-educated young man from the ghetto could be so important tothe well-being of a post-graduate engineer and successful businessman? It all seemed so ironic. Perhaps it was fate. Maybe fate led Paol here to become acquaintedwith Blade. Perhaps Warron would soonreplace the evidence he needed to bring the case to justice once and for all, andwhen released, the roles would be turned. Whereas Blade Slater was Paol Joonter’s savior in prison, Paol would bethere to protect Slater as he adapted to society in his post-prison life.

Paol gave up belief in something divine yearsago. But for the first time in ages, Paol could see potentialpurpose—fate-guided purpose—to his ordeal. In the long dark hours of the night he wondered if there really wassomething called fate, and if so was it fair and balanced? Did it have the foresight to turn even theugliest of present situations into meaningful futures? Or was fate just the godless embodiment ofhope that he needed to cling to in a meaningless world?