The Fringe Wars

5.8

Unpaid Debts

Devil Town, Spate

Devil Town had been built on gambling and prostitution, so it was no surprise that Debtor's Row was the largest wing of Devil Town's prison. When tourists didn't return home, chances were they were either dead or locked up in Debtor's Row, which wasn't much better. There, debtors worked off their obligations through hard labor, mostly cutting through rock to enable Devil Town's expansion. Working outdoors day in and day out, wearing breather masks, would be hard on even the healthiest person. Add vigs to the mix—vicious rodents the size of swine—and every hour outdoors was dangerous.

Spate, for its sizable human population, was a desolate world with an atmosphere devoid of oxygen and carbon. Every building, including the massive city gardens, were sealed ecosystems. Outside the protective biospheres, Spate was as rocky as Terra but had nothing else in common with Critch's home world.

There was a reason the first colony on Spate was called Devil Town. It drew in its victims with promises of pleasure, only to take their souls—and all their money.

A debtor had to work one year for every thousand credits owed, which meant many of the current inmates would die long before their debts were written off. The punishment was harsh, but living in a colony without air was harsh. Colonists had a hard enough time scraping by as it was, though Critch suspected the economies across the colonies would improve now that the Collective no longer played puppet master.

Devil Town's prison stood tall on the colony's outskirts. Critch removed his breather mask after entering the prison. He ignored the stares and whispers and approached the front desk. The guard didn't look up from his screen.

"I'm here to pay off someone's debts," Critch said.

The guard looked up then, recognized Critch, and after a brief startle, spoke. "Sure. What's the debtor's name?"

"Gabriel Lang. He's a Darion."

The guard swiped through several screens. "There he is. Looks like he owes eighty-three thousand two-hundred and fourteen credits."

Critch's jaw slackened. "Sounds like he had a good time in Devil Town."

"He did. He owes three casinos, two brothels, and a hotel." The guard then tapped a small pad on the counter. "You can send payment through here."

Critch tapped the amount on his wrist comm and held it near the pad, which chimed as soon as the transfer processed.

"Looks like we're all good here. I can have him brought to you."

"I'd rather go see him first."

"No problem." He returned to the screen in front of him before looking back up to Critch. "Vance is coming to bring you to your friend."

"He's not my friend," Critch corrected.

The guard hesitated but didn't speak.

A door to Critch's right opened, and a young guard stepped through. He couldn't have been over eighteen. He stopped when he saw Critch. "You're—"

"Here to pick up my crew member," Critch finished for him.

"Oh, yeah, of course. This way." He motioned to the hallway on the other side of the door. They departed the main entrance. Offices and interrogation rooms lined the long hallway, all with doors closed.

"My name's Vance," the guard said as they walked. "You saved me from being conscripted by the Collective."

"A lot of people fought for our independence. It wasn't just me, kid," Critch said.