The Trials of Nian Gao

By Mark Govier

A tale of resistance, and escape...

The Author delves into the depths of the human mind,creating an incredible journey into the future.
When Nian is imprisoned, part of his sentence is the excision of part of his brain.
Released back into the Empire, his mind is not the same, it works differently... he has fear.
Disowned by his family and desperate to live, he works for the wrong people, fleeing city to city with his demons until finding asylum ...
in unusual circumstances.

A mind-opening, searing tale of big brother in 2084.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: Oct 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301221479

Mark Govier

Mark Govier was born in the UK. With a degree in Chinese Politics, his extensive travels included six months mainly in the western provinces of China. An accomplished writer with a number of articles and a range of poetry published in magazines and journals, he has written several plays which have been performed in London, however The Trials of Nian Gao is his debut novel.

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THE TRIALS OF NIAN GAO

by MARK GOVIER

Copyright © 2012 Mark Govier

Published in the United States by

CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS

SMASHWORDS EDITION

1.Prison

2. Freedom and Xinxi

3. Out of Por

4. The Gangsters of Tsa

5. The Brothel of Lor

6. The Other Side of Beni

7. Jong and the Temple of Vice

8. The New Empire

All the characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Mark Govier was born in the UK. With a degree in Chinese Politics, his extensive travels included six months mainly in the western provinces of China. An accomplished writer with a number of articles and a range of poetry published in magazines and journals, he has written several plays which have been performed in London, however The Trials of Nian Gao is his debut novel.

Part One

Prison

I opened both eyes. It was awake before the bell began to ring. I felt different but I could not tell in what way I was different. I lay there for some time on the bed, on the plastic mattress. My sense of difference grew. The bell sounded, and with it, the lights in the cell came on. The sound was neither harsh, nor violent. It ceased only when I had got out of the bed. The green plastic clock on the pastel green wall said it was exactly six-oh-one... not that I knew if this was true. None of us, condemned for crimes, both real and imagined, could tell if this was true, or not. The black plastic cameras on the walls stared down. Three were in the living area, one in the bathroom.

When I first arrived in Prison Number Seventy-Five, I often wondered what it would be like to watch but such interest had long since gone. The food, another tasteless drug-soaked breakfast, would soon be arriving. At precisely six-fifteen each morning it appeared. The bell chimed again, and breakfast was deposited in the chute. I removed the tray, and the ringing ceased. I stared briefly at one of the cameras watching me. I took the meal to the plastic green table. I ate the food, drank the drink. Neither had any taste that I could discern. I put the tray back in the chute. The next bell would ring at seven-thirty precisely. But today, I definitely felt different.

Suddenly, it was twelve-thirty. As usual, I did not know where the time went... but it had gone. Something was stirring within. The bell sounded... More food and drink appeared. I ate and drank it all, as was required, and returned the tray.

Five-thirty... More time had disappeared, but something had changed in me. I knew what it was... Of course I knew what it was. The Powers-That-Be were changing the chemicals in the food and water. I was returning slowly to the normal state, or as normal as they wanted me to be. Little by little it was happening... bit by bit.

Prior to my arrest I had heard of the System, many of us had. Stories of how those who had confessed, or been forced to confess were sentenced, and placed in tiny cells. Alone, they were fed chemicals to control their moods, feelings, and their behavior. Then, one day, a month before their sentence was due to be completed, they would slowly change the mix. By the time of parole, you would be similar, but not the same, as the person you had been before your arrest.

More days passed, and with each day, the sensation of returning to being myself grew. Not strongly, but slightly. I had marked the wall, very carefully so as to avoid notice, the day I first felt the change. Twelve days had passed since then. Amazingly, I could count, add up, subtract, multiply, divide. I would do all this in my mind, while I sat on the bed and stared at the wall. The cameras were watching me; from time to time I was sure of this. They had always been watching me. Now they were watching me more carefully to see if I was behaving, as I was expected to behave. My time of release was at hand.

What did I remember, actually? I had been operated on a long time ago, when I had been first sent down. It was a part of my sentence – three years in solitary confinement with a Marginal Operation, as the procedure was called. Once they had ascertained the chemicals in the food and drink were in the correct amounts, and that these worked as they were supposed to work, I could be operated on. I was taken from my cell to a pastel green room in the Hospital Department. I only saw three people – the guard who took me there and back, the doctor and a nurse. They ordered me to lie on the operating table. Thanks to the medication, I could only obey. I was sedated, and put to sleep. I awoke in one of the pastel green recovery rooms with bandages around my head. I was numb. The guard returned me to my cell. Some days later, the same guard took me back to the same room in the Hospital Department. The same doctor and nurse removed the bandages. They asked me questions. I cannot remember the questions they asked, or my replies but they seemed pleased with the answers, whatever they were. I do remember the doctor saying it was a good response. The guard returned me to my cell. I looked at my face in the plastic mirror. There was a small bruise and cut just above both of my eyes. I cannot recall if there were stitches, but I stared at myself for some time. There was the sound of the bell, and the lights went off. Beyond this, I remember nothing of the operation.

Twenty-seven days after I noticed my changed appearance in the mirror, a guard came to my cell. Like everything else here, he was dressed in a pastel green uniform.

‘You have an assessment to attend,’ he said.

I followed him down the long pastel green corridors. We passed hundreds of cells that looked just like mine, at least from the outside. We went down in the lift, walked along more pastel green corridors. A sign in the middle of one door said Assessment. The guard entered, I followed and he told me to sit on a pastel green plastic chair. He went through a closed door marked 104B. He emerged some time later, and ordered me to enter an unmarked room opposite, shutting the door behind me. The room was plastic, and painted pastel green. A panel of three assessors sat in high chairs behind a pastel green cover. The illuminated sign hanging in front of them said Assessment Panel. Although only able to perceive their silhouette, I knew they could see me. They asked some questions. Despite my slowness, a mixture of chemicals and the long period I had spent in isolation, I answered.

The first voice said part of my sentence was about to end. The second voice said it would take me some time to adjust. The third voice said I was being sent to Halfway House Number 23 to be reassessed and given useful employment. The first voice said, depending on my reassessment and how I conducted myself in my employment, I would go before another panel in six months time. The aim would be to ascertain if I was able to be set free. The third voice said that if I was able to leave, I would be on my own. One asked if I thought I would be able to cope. I nodded in the affirmative. There was the sound of the bell. The three persons behind the plastic screen talked to one another but I could not hear what they were saying. The guard came and returned me to my cell. He did not speak; guards seldom spoke.

Three days later, the same guard gave me a grey plastic bag containing a new grey uniform and a pack of grey toiletries and accessories. He told me to change into the new uniform. Once I was ready, he led me down a line of seemingly endless plastic pastel green corridors. We seemed to be going round in circles but unsure, I became apprehensive. I spoke, but the guard ignored my comment and continued walking. Suddenly we were at the Deception area. Through an intercom the guard said something to three other guards sitting in a room with a large plastic window. They all looked at me for an instant, a gate opened and the guard told me to enter. I obeyed and the gate slammed shut leaving me encased by four pastel green walls, a pastel green ceiling and floor. I remained there in isolation for some time while no doubt a check was going on, of which I was the focus. What this was all about, I had no idea. Another door opened and I was told to continue walking down a long, thin passage. I walked until I stood in front of another guard room, again with a window and three guards. I entered yet another plastic pastel green room with more checks. A door opened and I was out.

The sun was shining. It was the real sun. My eyes hurt so I closed them. I heard some voices, but I could not understand what they were saying. One of the voices came closer.

‘Nian Gao,' said the voice in a gruff, antiseptic tone.

I nodded my head and replied, ‘Yes sir…’

I opened my eyes, slightly; the guard looked tranquillized. Told to follow, the guard led me onto a long white train, the type that glides down a monorail track to whereabouts unknown. The floors were white, the ceiling was white... everything was white. The train comprised a distant drivers’ cabin, a less distant guards’ area, and an unending FP section – former prisoners. I was placed in a small, totally white cubical with room for only one person and made of white, opaque plastic. I sat on the hard white plastic seat next to a window on the left. Although unable to see out, neither could anyone see in. The guard locked the door, and vanished. There was no sound and time passed, but I did not concern myself. I knew it was the chemicals in the food and water; instead of coming off, as I imagined, the amount and no doubt the type of chemicals had been changed. My sense of time was thoroughly distorted.

The train moved off, almost silent. The sound of the engine, and the movement on the monorail, could not really be heard, only felt. I stared out through the white opaque window but I could only make out the shadow of a building, or a hill, or if the sky was covered by a dark cloud. The train sped up. Hours or minutes disappeared; I could not tell which. The train slowed and stopped. Darkness lay outside the window. A voice came over the speakers; we were to leave. The doors to each of the hundreds of cubicles opened one by one, then closed. We stood, each dressed in the same grey post-prison uniform, in a long line down the centre of the endless train. They could see us through cameras positioned every ten metres. The voice came again, this time from the speakers in the ceiling.

‘Walk at a measured pace to the front of the train; you shall not look to the left, or to the right, or behind. When you reach the exit, a post-prison Agent will scan you. Once they confirm who you are, you will follow the Agent to your room in Halfway Centre Number 23. You will wait in your room without causing any trouble, making no noise or causing any concern…’ The announcement finished. The line moved forwards slowly and methodically without looking to the left, right, or behind.

It was a long line. Each FP was led by an Agent. I eventually exited the train and went down a long white passage. Nothing had any smell at all, just like prison. To the left, and to the right, although I did not look to the left or right, I could glimpse FP’s dressed in white. They worked slowly, mopping or sweeping the long plastic floors and yards and walkways. We were told these prisoners had committed further crimes and as punishment, had incurred further interference with their brains. Some had been lobotomized.

My Agent said, 'Left...'

I turned, following him down another long white walkway. There were windows, but these were again made of the opaque white plastic. There were long lines of agents with FP’s ahead of me, and behind me. The agents’ uniforms were white, like the walkways, like the walls and ceilings. We entered a large white vestibule, the words Accommodation Block F glowed in white above. Given the distance between each FP and their Agent, we waited for some time before reaching one of the six lift doors. My Agent pressed the button for floor fourteen and the lift rose quickly. The Agent got out. I followed him into the all-white corridor to room one-one-seven where he removed a white plastic computer key from his pocket. He inserted it and the door opened to a small apartment. Everything was white – a single bed, single wardrobe, a desk, and a chair. Everything was made of plastic, white plastic. It was like prison, too much like prison. There were no facilities for cooking or making a drink, only a single bathroom and toilet.

The Agent pulled back the white plastic curtains. I looked out of the one small window. At first the light was almost overpowering; I soon became acclimatized. I could see the shape of the building, but it had too many floors. The window looked down on the centre and I could make out a small square of green at the bottom, sure this was plastic too, but I never had the opportunity to see. He told me to sit, giving me the white plastic room key and a white plastic book called Rules and Regulations. He gave me another white plastic book with details of the location, the eating times, and the rules of conduct in the cafeteria.

‘This is your identity card,' he said, passing me a second plastic key – also white.

‘You will use this when you go eat, when you go to work, and to enter and leave the building. There are punishments for losing or misusing the card. The details are contained in the relevant section of the Rules and Regulations. A second case of loss or misuse may be considered a criminal offence. As you are on parole, this would automatically lead to your return to prison. Should you fulfill your work, and other duties and requirements in a satisfactory manner, for the next six months, you will be eligible for release. As you know, this includes full removal from the Chemical Code…’

My Agent ordered me to sign a white plastic signing card which stated I had been provided with the two books, the two keys, and information on how to use them. He removed a glass of clear water from the tiny refrigerator and ordered me to drink. It was tasteless, but I knew the glass contained chemicals. He went to the wall where the desk was positioned and pressed a small switch on the right hand side. A screen appeared on the wall directly in front. After he input some codes, the Agent told me how it would operate as the screen ran through its programs.

‘There are three cameras in the room,' he said, ‘and they are permanently operating…’

I started to look for where they might be, but did not continue.

‘The screen is the portal into your life in Halfway Center Number 23. It will observe you and, if necessary, it will speak to you about your work, duties, your commitments and progress, or lack of it. The screen watches everything you do, or you do not do, within this environment.