"The guards will escort you to your core compartment. Normally, you would have started orientation and psy-phys testing immediately. Your schedule is different. Your first orientation lecture will be in two hours. Sergeant Jenkins," he motioned the lead guard forward, "will escort you to and from orientation. Don't play games with him; he knows them all." "All yours, Jenks," he said. "Move 'em out." Jenkins came forward, pointed to a hatch further along the passageway. "Follow me." Lieutenant Malcolm stepped aside. He watched the line move past silently and climb the companionway out of sight. None looked back. Lining up in loose formation at the head of the companionway and responding to Jenkins signal the prisoners started along a passageway. The other guard brought up the rear. They crossed spidery overpasses that spanned busy workshops and agriculture bays under cultivation. People and service robots moved about; the new prisoners drew few glances. Jenkins drew them to a halt in a wide corridor. Ahead was a shimmering force field. He murmured words and placed the palm of his hand on a dull composite plate embedded in the wall. The force field faded to a haze. They passed through, and the haze resumed its shimmer behind them. A portal came into view up ahead. Jenkins motioned toward it and stepped aside as the prisoners passed him and on through the opening. The guards did not follow. Of a sudden minus their escorts, the inmates clustered inside the entry and stared about. The compartment was generous by space habitat standards. Well-lighted, it stretched ten meters from wall to opposite wall. Parallel in the center of the room a double line of four gray tables stood fused to the deck, each with benches on each long side, similarly immobilized. Evenly spaced along the wall were curtained sleep-privacy enclosures. Behind partitions on opposite sides of the compartment were entries to two standard wash-lavs. The furnishings were functional and clean. One after the other, the prisoners drifted off to inspect the enclosures. All were back in less than a minute; they silently kept distance from each other. The inmate who had so carefully examined the corridor while Malcolm talked, leaned against one of the tables and crossed his arms. He repeated his scan of the compartment, but this time one sector at a time, turning to take it all in yet pass over each cell-mate that entered his field of vision. His movements gave the group a focus; it was easier than to just stare at the walls and the austere furnishings. "I don't get this," the table-leaner locked arms across his chest as he spoke with a puzzled expression on his face. His voice was low, flat yet courteous. "We may as well get the formalities out of the way. Who are we? Names will do for starters. I'm Brad." Faces relaxed a mite. One of the women sat on a bench. The ice may have cracked, but the silence held. Brad had their attention. Seconds passed. "Hodak."