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fredbassettTitle : Within These Walls, Chapter 2 of 30
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Nick, Stephen, Connor, Ryan, Lester
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count : 59,000 words in 30 chapters of approx. 1,500 – 2,500 words each
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ending up in Dartmoor prison for refusing to recant their belief in evolution is only the start of the problems facing Nick, Stephen and Connor. And Sir James Lester soon ends up with other problems on his hands than just an over-crowded prison population.
A/N : See Part 1 for acknowledgments etc.
The soldier led the three men down various corridors in what appeared to be an administration wing of the prison. Another man, dressed slightly differently in a grey uniform, and carrying fewer weapons, had fallen into step behind them as they’d left the examination room. Not that Nick, or – he presumed – either of his companions, held out any hope of escape. They had been sentenced to five years hard labour in one of Britain’s maximum security prisons. Their best option was to keep their heads down and their noses clean, so to speak, but somehow Nick Cutter didn’t think life was going to be that simple. In his experience, it never was.
He glanced to one side and offered Connor a small smile and a light touch to one arm. The boy’s eyes were wide and frightened. He had none of Stephen’s defiance and was clearly in a state of shock. They’d been sentenced barely twelve hours ago and it still hadn’t really sunk in. The worst of it for Nick was that he blamed himself and himself alone, a fact that curdled in his guts like bad milk.
Captain Ryan stopped outside a door and rapped sharply on it.
A voice from inside replied, “Enter!”
The soldier opened the door and preceded them into the room, gesturing to the man at the rear of their small procession to remain outside. Nick, Stephen and Connor trooped after him and lined up in front of an imposing wooden desk. Nick knew, without needing to be told, that they were facing Sir James Lester, the newly-appointed governor of Dartmoor Prison.
The man looked them up and down, staring along the bridge of an aristocratic nose with an air of carefully cultivated disdain. Even the short length of time he’d been enmeshed in the prison system had been enough for Nick to have heard snippets about the man’s reputation. Lester was a hard-liner, knighted for services to the government. It had been at his insistence that the army had been deployed in an attempt to stamp out the wide-spread abuses of the system that had led to the recent riots.
Lester had previously been a high-flier in the Home Office, responsible for implementing tough polices against drug-dealers and drug-users, all of whom had swelled the ever-increasing prison population. He was also the man who had devised the concept of the floating prisons, now moored off various parts of the British coast, dubbed by the more left-wing press – or what remained of it – a return to the Victorian practice of prison hulks.
“Cutter, Hart and Temple, sir,” said Ryan. “The rest are still being processed.”
Sir James Lester nodded, staring hard at each man in turn, making Nick feel uncomfortably aware of the slight burn in his arse from the internal examination and the unpleasantly sticky feeling between his buttocks. He longed for a really hot shower, something he doubted he’d get again for at least five years. There was certainly no concept now of remission for good behaviour in the prison system.
“Ex-Professor Nicholas Cutter and his loyal minions.” Lester leaned back in his chair and steepled his long fingers under his chin. “What on earth made you think you could get away with it, Cutter? You’re not the first Creation Denier to come to trial, and you won’t be the last. Why on earth didn’t you simply do what others did and take early retirement? At least that way you wouldn’t have dragged these young men down with you.”
“The bloody country’s gone mad!” Nick knew it was futile, but he still couldn’t stop himself.
Lester smiled wolfishly. “I’m tempted to remark that that is your opinion and you’re entitled to voice it, but we all know that isn’t true, don’t we, Cutter? The teaching of so-called Evolutionary Theory was outlawed twelve months ago. Frankly, it’s nothing short of a miracle that you lasted so long.” He sighed and glanced at Stephen and Connor. “What a waste of promising young lives.”
Nick opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. He was concerned, not for himself, but for his companions. He had a nasty feeling that their sentences could easily be increased if this man cared to so direct.
It had been impressed on them by the trial judge that their release at the end of their sentences would be dependant on them showing remorse for their crimes and recanting their beliefs. Nick supposed they should be thankful that the current government hadn’t seen fit to bring back burning at the stake as a punishment for recusants such as himself who refused to conform to the beliefs of the Established Church. A church that now promulgated as a ‘fact’ the creation of the earth on the night preceding the 23rd October 4004 BC.
Lester met his eyes and smiled. “You’re lucky you came up before Bloody Mary on a good day, Cutter. She’s been known to hand out double that sentence for Evolutionists if she gets out of bed on the wrong side.”
Nick couldn’t hold back a grimace at the mention of Lady Mary Colquhoun, the first of the hard-line Creationists to be appointed to the judiciary. More had soon followed, and gradually the tide had turned in all walks of public life. Academics such as himself and Dawkins had found themselves increasingly marginalised and demonised. A self-confessed evolutionary scientist or atheist now had as much chance of gaining – or holding – high office as they had of flying to the moon. A moon that was also believed to be only just over 6,000 years old. He was simply surprised that he hadn’t been expected to teach his students that the bloody thing was made of green cheese, but he confidently expected that day would come.
“You’re thinking again, Cutter,” said Lester, in a quiet, dangerous voice. “It was thinking that got you into trouble in the first place, remember. Followed by your inability to keep your mouth shut, of course.” The governor’s voice was now flint-hard. “You three men have been sentenced to five years hard labour, with no remission. You will use that time to reflect on your crime and reach a new understanding of the world. You will attend remedial classes and when you leave here, you will be fit to rejoin civilized society. Or you will not leave here at all. Do you understand me?”
Lester’s eyes held each man’s gaze in turn, and Nick Cutter shivered at his words.
The idea of living and espousing a lie chilled him to the core. But so did the thought of a sentence without end. Five years he could cope with – or at least he hoped he could. What he didn’t yet know was whether he could buy his freedom at the price of denying everything he believed to be true.
The speculative look in Sir James Lester’s eyes told Nick he wasn’t the only one thinking that.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Nick, Stephen, Connor, Ryan, Lester
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count : 59,000 words in 30 chapters of approx. 1,500 – 2,500 words each
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ending up in Dartmoor prison for refusing to recant their belief in evolution is only the start of the problems facing Nick, Stephen and Connor. And Sir James Lester soon ends up with other problems on his hands than just an over-crowded prison population.
A/N : See Part 1 for acknowledgments etc.
The soldier led the three men down various corridors in what appeared to be an administration wing of the prison. Another man, dressed slightly differently in a grey uniform, and carrying fewer weapons, had fallen into step behind them as they’d left the examination room. Not that Nick, or – he presumed – either of his companions, held out any hope of escape. They had been sentenced to five years hard labour in one of Britain’s maximum security prisons. Their best option was to keep their heads down and their noses clean, so to speak, but somehow Nick Cutter didn’t think life was going to be that simple. In his experience, it never was.
He glanced to one side and offered Connor a small smile and a light touch to one arm. The boy’s eyes were wide and frightened. He had none of Stephen’s defiance and was clearly in a state of shock. They’d been sentenced barely twelve hours ago and it still hadn’t really sunk in. The worst of it for Nick was that he blamed himself and himself alone, a fact that curdled in his guts like bad milk.
Captain Ryan stopped outside a door and rapped sharply on it.
A voice from inside replied, “Enter!”
The soldier opened the door and preceded them into the room, gesturing to the man at the rear of their small procession to remain outside. Nick, Stephen and Connor trooped after him and lined up in front of an imposing wooden desk. Nick knew, without needing to be told, that they were facing Sir James Lester, the newly-appointed governor of Dartmoor Prison.
The man looked them up and down, staring along the bridge of an aristocratic nose with an air of carefully cultivated disdain. Even the short length of time he’d been enmeshed in the prison system had been enough for Nick to have heard snippets about the man’s reputation. Lester was a hard-liner, knighted for services to the government. It had been at his insistence that the army had been deployed in an attempt to stamp out the wide-spread abuses of the system that had led to the recent riots.
Lester had previously been a high-flier in the Home Office, responsible for implementing tough polices against drug-dealers and drug-users, all of whom had swelled the ever-increasing prison population. He was also the man who had devised the concept of the floating prisons, now moored off various parts of the British coast, dubbed by the more left-wing press – or what remained of it – a return to the Victorian practice of prison hulks.
“Cutter, Hart and Temple, sir,” said Ryan. “The rest are still being processed.”
Sir James Lester nodded, staring hard at each man in turn, making Nick feel uncomfortably aware of the slight burn in his arse from the internal examination and the unpleasantly sticky feeling between his buttocks. He longed for a really hot shower, something he doubted he’d get again for at least five years. There was certainly no concept now of remission for good behaviour in the prison system.
“Ex-Professor Nicholas Cutter and his loyal minions.” Lester leaned back in his chair and steepled his long fingers under his chin. “What on earth made you think you could get away with it, Cutter? You’re not the first Creation Denier to come to trial, and you won’t be the last. Why on earth didn’t you simply do what others did and take early retirement? At least that way you wouldn’t have dragged these young men down with you.”
“The bloody country’s gone mad!” Nick knew it was futile, but he still couldn’t stop himself.
Lester smiled wolfishly. “I’m tempted to remark that that is your opinion and you’re entitled to voice it, but we all know that isn’t true, don’t we, Cutter? The teaching of so-called Evolutionary Theory was outlawed twelve months ago. Frankly, it’s nothing short of a miracle that you lasted so long.” He sighed and glanced at Stephen and Connor. “What a waste of promising young lives.”
Nick opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. He was concerned, not for himself, but for his companions. He had a nasty feeling that their sentences could easily be increased if this man cared to so direct.
It had been impressed on them by the trial judge that their release at the end of their sentences would be dependant on them showing remorse for their crimes and recanting their beliefs. Nick supposed they should be thankful that the current government hadn’t seen fit to bring back burning at the stake as a punishment for recusants such as himself who refused to conform to the beliefs of the Established Church. A church that now promulgated as a ‘fact’ the creation of the earth on the night preceding the 23rd October 4004 BC.
Lester met his eyes and smiled. “You’re lucky you came up before Bloody Mary on a good day, Cutter. She’s been known to hand out double that sentence for Evolutionists if she gets out of bed on the wrong side.”
Nick couldn’t hold back a grimace at the mention of Lady Mary Colquhoun, the first of the hard-line Creationists to be appointed to the judiciary. More had soon followed, and gradually the tide had turned in all walks of public life. Academics such as himself and Dawkins had found themselves increasingly marginalised and demonised. A self-confessed evolutionary scientist or atheist now had as much chance of gaining – or holding – high office as they had of flying to the moon. A moon that was also believed to be only just over 6,000 years old. He was simply surprised that he hadn’t been expected to teach his students that the bloody thing was made of green cheese, but he confidently expected that day would come.
“You’re thinking again, Cutter,” said Lester, in a quiet, dangerous voice. “It was thinking that got you into trouble in the first place, remember. Followed by your inability to keep your mouth shut, of course.” The governor’s voice was now flint-hard. “You three men have been sentenced to five years hard labour, with no remission. You will use that time to reflect on your crime and reach a new understanding of the world. You will attend remedial classes and when you leave here, you will be fit to rejoin civilized society. Or you will not leave here at all. Do you understand me?”
Lester’s eyes held each man’s gaze in turn, and Nick Cutter shivered at his words.
The idea of living and espousing a lie chilled him to the core. But so did the thought of a sentence without end. Five years he could cope with – or at least he hoped he could. What he didn’t yet know was whether he could buy his freedom at the price of denying everything he believed to be true.
The speculative look in Sir James Lester’s eyes told Nick he wasn’t the only one thinking that.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 05:09 pm (UTC)Intriguing AU!
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Date: 2014-04-07 07:08 pm (UTC)As
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Date: 2014-04-07 05:30 pm (UTC)And *meep* for the release being contingent upon recanting!
*keeps beady eye out for next installment*
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Date: 2014-04-07 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 05:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 07:02 pm (UTC)Also, the thought of not getting a decent hot shower for 5 years is depressing enough :)
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Date: 2014-04-07 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 07:19 pm (UTC)*purrs*
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Date: 2014-04-07 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 07:29 pm (UTC)Well, more than kitty-kat was ;)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 08:04 pm (UTC)I'm going to enjoy seeing how this society operates now!
Great stuff!
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Date: 2014-04-07 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 08:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-08 05:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-08 10:52 am (UTC)Oh, Nick, if only you were less honest. (Or not, really, since then we wouldn't have 60,000 words of prison fic to enjoy.)
One suspects Lester has no time for the Established Church but is wise enough to keep his mouth shut.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-08 01:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-09 07:29 pm (UTC)And, yes, I can't see Nick seeing his way to recanting, though he might for Stephen and Connor's sakes.
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Date: 2014-04-09 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-10 06:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-11 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-02-08 10:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-02-08 10:39 pm (UTC)