The Rig by Joe Ducie

That’s what happened, in the end, I was too clever and I didn’t see all the people I was affecting. All I saw was the display, you know. Lines of code, numbers on a screen, moving information back and forth like it was a game.’
    Drake kept silent, which Tristan took as invitation to continue.
    â€˜By the time I was thirteen, I’d figured out that people were willing to pay for access to the networks, or to have those networks destroyed, modified, unlocked and dispersed … Everything is connected these days, Drake. I mean everything. I could hack into NATO using one of the consoles behind the counter at Burger King.’
    â€˜Really?’
    Tristan chuckled grimly. ‘No, not really, but you get the idea. I was good.’
    â€˜So what happened?’
    â€˜Like I said, I didn’t see the people, you know. Just the screen. I … I shut down the power grid for all of Perth one night. A million people in the dark. Sounded cool, you know, and I wanted to see if I could do it. They still use the old CERCO systems down there …’
    Drake didn’t know what that was, but from the tone of Tristan’s voice he imagined it was something outdated. ‘So you switched off the lights?’
    â€˜All of Perth, in the dark, in the middle of summer, where the heat often forces power cuts anyway. The generator at Princess Margaret Hospital couldn’t handle it, and blew. Eight patients there died, and a whole load more got a lot worse.’ Drake could almost feel the wave of despair from the bunk below. ‘One of the patients was only nine years old …’
    â€˜Damn, mate,’ Drake said. ‘I … I don’t know what to say. So they caught you and threw you in here?’
    â€˜They didn’t catch me. Like I said, I was good. One of the best for my age, even. No way they could have found me.’ There was pride in Tristan’s voice, but also regret. ‘I turned myself in.’
    Silence reigned in the small cell for a few minutes. Drake could hear Tristan shuffling around.
    â€˜I don’t want to talk about it any more, Will.’ Tristan sighed, and Drake was thankful for the dark, because he thought he heard tears in that sigh. Last thing he needed was the awkwardness that would follow seeing Tristan cry. ‘Let’s just say I deserve to be here and leave it at that.’
    Thinking of how isolated the Rig was from the real world, of Tubes and the heavy-handed tactics of the guards, particularly Brand, and of that line between justice and vengeance, Drake said, ‘I don’t think anyone deserves to be here, mate.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ Tristan said. ‘Maybe not.’
    Something Tristan had said a few minutes ago clicked over in Drake’s mind.
Not as secure as you think …
    â€˜Tristan, do you know how to get the trackers off?’
    Nothing save silence from the bottom bunk. After a minute, Drake turned to face the wall, thinking Tristan was done talking for the night. Then a moment later a tiny, almost inaudible word floated up from below.
    â€˜Yes …’

10
    Rigball
    Drake tried, in the weeks following Tristan’s revelation, to enlist his help in removing the tracker, but his cellmate wouldn’t budge. His reluctance irked Drake, who didn’t like to rely on anyone for anything, but despite his best efforts he had failed to come up with a way of removing it himself, short of cutting off his hand. Despite his frustration, Drake needed Tristan. But Tristan seemed resigned to a fate that saw them both spending the next five years on the Rig.
    In the first week of February, Tommy cornered Drake after work in Tubes and handed him an old, faded jumpsuit.
    Drake held the suit up and raised an eyebrow. The number 10 was scrawled crudely on the back in black spray paint. Ruby-red stains also dotted the collar, the sleeves, and – well, most of the suit. Drake didn’t like to think what those