Blake Halls felt his stomach heave as he looked outside the station’s viewport where the prison world awaited him.

He shuffled, shoes scraping against the metal-grated flooring. It was a heavy metal—probably imported from the Veron system.

He realized his hands were trembling.

Shit, he thought, lacing his fingers over the metal table as the chains rattled with his handcuffs. He wouldn’t let Sandra see him like this. Scared.

From what Blake had heard from the other inmates, Acheron was a total hellhole. It looked like a hellhole. No water masses visible from orbit. No forests... Just deserts. Someone would need to have survival skills to make it out there.

Shit!

Maybe the Alliance brought water shipments for the inhabitants. No. That was probably too much to hope for.

He started shaking again when the door opened, revealing a burly guard, Sandra standing beside him. Sandra was tall for a woman, and thin. She had her blonde hair tied up in a tail. That’s how she looked for business. The guard left them alone together.

The intercom cracked when he stood up on his feet. “Standing is not permitted, prisoner 0078! Sit down!”

Blake sat back down on the hard metal chair. The table was bolted to the floor so he couldn’t tip it, or in the case of a stronger man, throw it at someone. He couldn’t reach his chair on account of being handcuffed to the table with an eight inch chain anyway.

He breathed out a sigh of relief, smiled. “Thank the gods you’re here. Sandra, you have to get me out of here. They’re going to send me to the surface tomorrow!”

His wife’s beautiful lips tightened. She only made that expression when she found something distasteful. Somehow Blake didn’t think it was because he was about to be sent to that world the Alliance called a prison. “I’m not here about that,” she said, sitting down across from him.

Blake frowned as she pushed a stylus toward him. “What is this?”

Sandra took a breath. She looked uncomfortable. “Divorce papers.”

Blake flinched. “What? No!” He pushed the stylus away. “Where’s Dasen?”

Sandra crossed her arms. “He doesn’t want to see you, Blake.”

Blake frowned, breathing in deeply. “Why did you stop coming to the trial? Why haven’t you come to see me before now?”

Sandra opened her mouth to speak, but Blake cut her off. “It’s been two months and you come on the last day before I get sent to that hellhole?” He pointed toward the viewport.

Sandra was breathing more heavily now, her chin jutting forward just slightly. “Why do you think I stopped coming to the trial?”

Blake shrugged. “I don’t know.”

That distasteful look again.

“You’re a damn coward, Blake!” She leaned forward. “You tried to save your own ass and you got an innocent man executed because you were too much of a chicken shit to testify about what really happened.”

Blake glanced at his hands. “The weapons smuggling—“

Sandra scowled at him. “I don’t care about the weapons smuggling charges. You already made me hate you when you never came home. All you ever did was work and party with your friends and hang out with your sluts when our son needed a father.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he said, heat rising in his face as he jabbed a finger toward Sandra. “That pleasure cruise was business. I never slept with any of those sluts and what happened I had no part in—I wasn’t involved!”

She shook her head, blonde ponytail whipping from side to side. “It doesn’t matter. You showed your true colors at the trial. You’re basically a murderer and you know it.”

It was true.

He nodded. “Fine. I screwed up—I am a screw up—is that what you want to hear? But Sandra, you’ve got to get me out of here. Please! There’s got to be something you can do?”

She sniffed. “Like what, wave my magic wand? Do I look like a mage to you? Blake, it’s over.”

He rubbed his temples, then slammed his fist on the metal table, “Shit!”

The intercom cracked to life again. “No more outbursts, prisoner 0078. If it happens again, your visit will be terminated.”

Blake nodded vigorously, smiling viciously at the camera.

“Blake,” Sandra said, nudging the stylus forward. “Please sign it.”

He looked down at the stylus. He felt so tired as he hiked up the sleeves of his orange prison garb to rub at the chafe marks the handcuffs had made. Sandra was right. Who was he kidding? It would take nothing short of a miracle to get him out of this.

Finally he bent over, took up the pen. “The only thing I ever wanted was to make you and Dasen happy. I wanted you to have a comfortable life.”

You failed, Blake.

He continued. “Will you tell Dasen that I’m sorry?”

She nodded. “I will.”

Blake scribbled his name onto the digital paper before pushing the stylus back to Sandra. He didn’t look at her. Instead he watched Acheron through the viewport.

She got up, buzzed for the guard. Before she left, Sandra wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry, Blake.”

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically, then looked up at her.

She smiled slightly. “Good luck.” She left and the guard closed the door, leaving him in complete silence.

At least Sandra and Dasen would have his money. They would have a good life—without him. They didn’t need him.

He suppressed the urge to cry. He chuckled when he looked out the viewport again. Hell awaited him. He deserved it. “Blake Halls” probably wouldn’t last two days on that fucked up planet!

When the guard came back for him, Blake started sobbing.