The Orthogonal Galaxy
Chapter 17

The prison bars echoed throughout the hall asthey slammed shut behind the newest inmate at the U.S.Penitentiary in Atlanta. PaolJoonter shuddered at the noise, which resounded with finality, as if theycouldn’t be more sealed had they been welded in place. It was fitting for someone who truly believedthat the judicial system had let him down harshly, had ruined his life. He had no reason to believe anymore that itwould see justice through in the end. Inthe last few weeks, he had become calloused and bitter at having been thrown ondeath row as a first time criminal, convicted of a crime he did not commit! And what about his family? They were suffering even more than he. Their sobs for justice were callously deniedby a flawed judicial system which has locked up an innocent man, and ceasedinvestigating the real perpetrator of the crime.

Paol turned to look out of the cell. It would be his only view for most of theday. Nonetheless, he needed to see itnow, as the prison guards retreated down the long corridor, leaving him aloneto his new surroundings.

“Well, I say,” a voice said behind him. “You ‘da most odd character I ever seen inthis cell, and I seen some doozies, let me tell ya’.”

Paol didn’t know how to respond, or who torespond to for that matter. Gazingaround, he finally spotted an inmate similarly attired as himself in a veryunfashionable orange and green jumpsuit sitting in a back corner of the cellwith a rather large book in his lap. Hewas a thin black man with a very long face, and very short spiky hair. Paol would’ve guessed his age at around 35,but that was because he would have failed to factor in the decade of aging thatoccurred to his new acquaintance on “the streets.”

“Fo’ ‘xample,” the voice continued to reminisce,“there was Hans Van Kemp, the Strangla’. He never did like it when I suggested that his first name shoulda beenHands instead of Hans.” He made himselflaugh heartily, baring a full set of yellow teeth, which contrasted vastlyagainst his skin. The joke was lost onPaol, who was certainly in the least humorous attitude of his life. “Then, there’s Luke ‘Skeleton’ Stilton. Tall and skinny, but when he stared at youwith those gray eyes, why you’da thought they’d start to burn a hole rightthrough you.”

“But that Rall McHerd character…” At this, Paol’scellmate shivered. “Just thinkin’ ofthat dude is frightful. He was 6-5,weighed 350 pounds in the least. Andhairy? Why he looked more gorilla thanman with all that long, mangy hair runnin’ down his face and body. He sent couple inmates to the hospital withwho knows how many broken bones each. I’s glad that it wasn’t me, and that they moved him off to solitary realquick like after the second attack. Theyshould’a done it sooner, ‘xcept there was no room in the schoo’.”

At the pause, Paol asked, “Schoo?”

“Schoo’, or S-C-U, Special Confinement Unit,”offered his chatty companion. “That’sthe joint where they have them padded 6- by 9-foot boxes they use to keep thereally nutso jobs from hurtin’ others and themselves.”

With a low whisper, as if he were divulging asecret that Paol should never reveal, he leaned towards Paol and continueddescribing the SCU. “I hear that when ya’go to one of them boxes, ya’ never come out the same. And fo’ the good of society, ya’ done betternot be let loose ever ‘gain.

“Of course, I never knew nobody to be releasedthat ever spent any time in solitary,” stated the inmate as he returned to hisprevious posture and demeanor.

At this point, the man placed his book on the cothe was seated next to and stood to reveal a tall and lanky frame. At six feet, three inches tall, he weighed nomore that 190 pounds. It’s no wonder hewas afraid of McHerd. Judging by thedescription offered, the violent character could’ve snapped this jail bird inhalf.

As he created images of McHerd and the damage hecould have done to himself, Paol inquired, “So, this McHerd character was yourcellmate, and he never touched you?”

“No, sir.”

“How long did you two spend together?”

“I reckoned ‘bout sixteen days.”

“And in those sixteen days, he thrashed twodifferent inmates?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But not you?”

“No, sir.”

“Even though he had more access to you, I trust,then he did to anybody else—what being your cellmate and all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, educate me.” Paol got to the point. “What do you do around here to preserveyour—um—health?”

“Well, sir…” the inmate started, but wasinterrupted by Paol.

“By the way, the name’s Paol, Paol Joonter—notsir. Judging by the way you and I aredressed, I suspect we’re pretty much equal around here, so I think formaltitles can be dismissed.”

“Blade Slater,” Blade introduced himself byextending his hand.

Paol received his hand and was surprised at thestrength of the grip for such a scrawny frame. “Well, Blade, I’m glad to meet you. I think if you can avoid the McHerd treatment, you can certainly teachme a thing or two about self-preservation here.”

“Well, ya’ just have to replace the right balance ofavoidin’ confrontation without demonstratin’ weakness. Fo’ ‘xample, don’t get in no ones’ way, anddefinitely, don’t get in their faces, meanin’ don’t yell at ‘em, don’t call ‘emnames, don’t be goin’ insultin’ ‘em or nothin’.”

“But, what if somebody tries to start somethingwith me?”

“Happens all the time, especially to new guys.”

“Like me,” Paol’s voice quavered as he lookedtowards the ground.

“No!” exclaimed Blade, calling Paol back toattention with a start. “Mistake numberone: weak voice. Mistake number two, lookin’ down. What ya’ just done, man, is exactly what ya’need to not do. Yer response should’nt’abeen, ‘like me.’ It shoulda been ‘LIKEME!’”

Paol turned around to see if Blade was startingto draw undesired attention to the conversation with his strong voice, butsince their cell was at the corner of a hallway, all he could see was the longhall leading to the exit of the ward and the bars of cells lining thathallway. This gave him comfort as herealized that he wouldn’t have to confront other inmates in conversation of anyform while he was in his cell.

“I follow you,” nodded Paol approvingly of hisnew education.

With the pause, Blade accepted an opportunity to changethe conversation. “By the way,” Paol asked. “I trust that ‘Blade’ is your nickname?”

“True ‘nough.” Blade chuckled. “The real name’s Thomas—you know, like fromthe Bible. Seems like nobody gets Biblenames these days, but Momma liked ‘em better than the names we hear now ‘days.”

“I don’t suppose Blade has reference to thereason you’re in here, does it?”

Slater chuckled heartily. “Not at all. My Momma caught me playin’ with a knife when I’s three years young. She says I’s pretty good wieldin’ the blade,and didn’t even nick myself. She startedcallin’ me Blade, and—well—it just stuck I s’ppose.”

For the first time, Paul lifted the corner of hislip into a smile. There was somethingheart-warming and genuine about his cellmate that some of the anxiety andtension were starting the melt away.

“Whatcha in fo’, Paol?” he inquired with aninspectful gaze. “Ya’ don’t look likeya’ belong here.”

Looking down again, Paol was brought back to theremembrance of his situation. Lowly andbitterly, he spat, “I was convicted of a crime I did not commit.”

“No!”

Paol’s head snapped, and he looked deeply intoBlade’s eyes to correct his mistake. “Imean,” he scowled, “I was convicted of a crime I did not commit.”

“That’s better,” Blade encouraged. “What crime d’ya not commit?”

“Murder.”

Blade took a step back and furrowed hisbrow. “Murder? You don’t look like no murderer to me.”

Paol nodded facetiously. “Great… why weren’t you on my jury?” The quip was received with more robustlaughter from the veteran inmate.

With a deep voice, Blade responded half-seriously,“They don’ let convicted felons serve on juries.”

Paol actually weighed the irony here. Rubbing his jaw he thought out loud. “You know, they probably should. I mean, who better to spot a criminal thananother criminal. If I would’ve had apanel of felons on my jury, I bet they get the case right!”

“I dunno, Paol… sounds like yer plan has alogical flaw.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s chicken-‘n-eggish, ain’t it? A real Catch-22. I mean, how d’ya ever convict a felon, if ya’already need twelve of ‘em to judge ‘em by.”

Paol weighed this for a moment. In a fresher state of mind, he probablywould’ve made quick sense of Blade’s logic, but in a few seconds the proverbiallight bulb came on. “Oh, right. You’re talking about the very first criminal. In that case, there would be no previouscriminals to create a jury out of, since this was first person accused of acrime. That’s downright sensible of you,Blade… very rational.

“Well, to solve that problem, I suspect you couldwait for the first thirteen accused, and then have them sit through thirteensimultaneous trials, each one serving as a defendant in their own, and then asa juror on the other twelve.”

Blade frowned and shook his head. “Now what’s gonna happen in that case,Paol? They’ll all acquit each other,because they’ve all served as a team of jurors with every other accusedcriminal. They’re all cronies together,and they’ll all let each other off nice and easy. Then you’re just back to where ‘yastarted—with no convicted felons to serve on yer jury. Don’t’cha see?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paol brushed aside thecriticism. “But, what if the judgemandated that at least seven of them—over half—had to be convicted?”

“In that case, I can assure you that they won’tconvict seven… they’ll convict thirteen, sure enough.”

“How can you be so sure?” Paol drilled. “That wouldn’t be in their collective bestinterest. They would need to determine asolution that would let six of them off, while the other seven serve.”

“Paol, d’ya go to college?”

“Well, yes,” answered Paol, who was ratherinterested to see where his colleague would take him with his reasoning.

“D’ya study math?”

“Sure.”

“Well, if you’d’a paid attention, ya’ might’alearned ‘bout game theory, boy?” Bladewas starting to get rather animated, pacing up and down the cell throwing hishands in the air and shaking his head.

At this revelation, Paol was ratherdumbfounded. He was actually enjoyingthe logical exchange with his partner, but he assumed that it was hisstreet-smarts that gave him his ability to solve the problem. At this statement, Paol realized that hiscellmate actually knew the mathematical branch of logic to which they had beenaddressing this hypothetical situation they had created.

“You know about game theory?”

Ignoring the question, Blade continued with histirade. “Why in game theory, ya’ see oneof the prototypical case studies is the non-zero sum game called the prisoner’sdilemma. In the dilemma, prisoners aregiven a chance to cooperate with each other, or to defect against eachother. They all serve a lighter sentenceif they all cooperates together, but the cooperative prisoner who is betrayedby a defectin’ prisoner will receive the harshest penalty, while theback-stabber gets off free and easy.”

“And if they all defect against each other?” Paoladmired as he appraised the problem.

“Stiff sentences all around.”

Paol weighed the outcomes out loud. “So the best solution for any prisoner is forhim to defect while all others cooperate, because he’ll be able to walk withoutany jail time, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think you mean, yes, Paol.”

“Yes, Paol.”

“So, the solution is simple! You have to join a pact with everyone tocooperate and make them understand that together, they will serve the lightestcombined sentence. Then, in private, youturn against the others and defect, right?”

“No!”

“What? DidI look down again?”

“No,” Blade attempted to clarify. “I didn’t mean ‘No, look up’, I meant ‘No,you’re wrong.’ Ya’ see, everymathematician understands that the best collectivesolution is fer all to cooperate. Butthe best individual solution is todefect.”

“Why?” Paol prodded.

“Because, ya’ can’t make a collective bargainwith a bunch of prisoners and expect them to not turn and stab ya’ in the back,just like you’re doin’ to them. There’sonly one state of mathematical equilibrium to the problem… everyone defects,because it’s in everyone’s self-interest.”

Paol was impressed. “So, tell me. Where did you learn about game theory?”

“In that seat right over there,” admitted theconvict as he motioned to the seat that Paol found him sitting in when he firstentered into the life of this enigmatic character.

Paol cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

Blade understood the question.

“Have a seat, Paol.” Blade motioned to another hard wooden chair,sitting by the cot on the opposite wall of the cell. He returned to his seat as well. With the pair of odd-fellows seated, Bladecontinued.

“I grew up right here in Atlanta, Geo’gia—on thesouth side, in the ghetto… or I guess I should say, the ‘inner city.’ Momma raised me and my two sisters and twobrothers in a small one-bedroom apartment. I dunno what happened to my Pa… Ma never would tell us kids. I remember wakin’ up in the middle of thenight with the sounds of gunshots and sirens. It wasn’t much less rough durin’ the day, while we kids was outsideplayin’ in the alleys. Ya’ couldn’t makeit on yer own. Ya’ needs support, ya’needs to rely on each other. So, by thetime I was ‘leven, I hooked up with a gang. I was pretty small fo’ my age, so I wanted some personal protectiontoo—had my eyes on a long blade I saw in the window of a pawn shop just downthe street from where I lived. But I hadno money… couldn’t steal it, ‘cuz it was locked up in a glass case. Thought ‘bout breakin’ the case with a rockor somethin’, but I figured I’d never get away, and the ‘ol man in the shop wasa big’un who’d give me a bruisin’ fo’ sure.

“Well, I’d heard some of my type in the gang wassellin’ drugs, so I figured I needed to also, so I could get me thatblade. Well, it was darn easy money, soeven after I bought it, I kep’ sellin’ the goods. Problem was, there’s this other gang whothought we was workin’ too close to their territory. So I had to use my blade to cut someone up.”

“How old were you?” Paol asked, fascinated at thetale.

“Fi’teen… and then I’s real scared when he gothimself outta the hospital, but he never came after me. He had lots of problems with his Daddybeatin’ him, and finally, he was just gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Disappeared. We suspected that he done run off, but nobody knows fo’ sure. Anyway, there’s I was in a real mess, sellin’drugs and gettin’ in trouble. Ma knewwhat I was doin’, but she never said nothin’ ‘cuz I gave her some of the moneyshe needed to help with the family.

“When I turned seventeen, my main bro’s on thestreet had this real dumb idea. They’ssaid, ‘Blade, get yo’ Momma’s car tomorrow fo’ some real business.’ I was the only one who could drive, ya’see. Well, we was drivin’ along whenXavier tossed a handgun in my lap. ‘Fully loaded’, he said. ‘Just in case.’ He still never told me what was goin’ down when he had me stop the caralong a store front. They strolled intothe store, and was gone fo’ ‘bout two minutes when I’s heard some shots andthen they come runnin’ outta the store. They jumped in the car and when someone else came limpin’ outta thestore and started firin’ at us, I took off… a little too fast.”

“What happened?”

“The light at the intersection was red, but I waslookin’ back in the mirror at the poor foo’ who my bro’s shot up. He was still firin’ at us, when I heard andfelt a crash. We was hit on thepassenger side by another car. My buddy,X, couldn’t get out, but me and Kojo, who was in the back seat, got out and ranoff. Runnin’ down the street we heard avoice yell, ‘freeze!’”. I looked and sawtwo plain-clothes types runnin’ down the street towards us with their gunspointed at us. Without thinkin’, Iraised my arm and shot while runnin’. Inever used a gun befo’, so I was surprised when I saw one of ‘ems go down. We kept runnin’ but we was stupid, ‘cuz we’dnever get away.”

“Why not?”

“Xavier was trapped at the scene, and my Momma’scar would lead the cops right to her. Ihad no chance. My public defender triedto get me off as an accomplice to the robbery, seein’ how I didn’t know what Xand Kojo was up to, but it was no use to try and lighten the sentence of anaggravated assault with a deadly weapon against a federal officer.”

“Federal?”

“Yep, they was two feds who happened to be in the‘hood that day. What luck, huh?”

“So, here I am serving 3 years as an accomplice,and 20 for takin’ down a fed… good thing I only hit him in the leg. I’d be serving 40+ if I’d’a wasted him.”

“23 years, huh?”, Paol shook his head sadly.

“Yep, and seven of ‘ems down, but I think I’ll begettin’ sprung in another five or so—fer good behavior ya’ know.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question. How do you know so much about math?”

“Well, my Momma’s brother runs a car shop, andwhen I was startin’ to fall away, he tried to bring me back to an honestlivin’. Told me how I was breakin’ myMomma’s heart, and if I wanted, he’d teach me to work on cars. I never took him up on it. I wanted to, but I was young and stupid andmade all the wrong decisions. I hadlotsa time to think ‘bout everythin’ when I was throwed in prison. After the first week, I thought so much ‘bouthow I could be helpin’ my uncle at the shop, and how my Momma wouldn’t have tocry every day while I’m here in jail.”

“Then, I had an epiphany.”

“An epiphany?”

“Yeah, ya’ know a precipitous manifestation ofthe essence or implication of somethin’.”

Surprised by this intelligent definition, Paolwas knocked back in his seat. “Does thisepiphany involve a vision of a dictionary?” It was an unexpected attempt at humor that even he wasn’t expecting fromhimself, but now that he was thinking more about the poor life of this kid, andwas thinking much less about his own problems, he allowed his own cares tolapse if but for a moment and returned to his previous, jovial self.

Blade slapped himself on the knee and whoopedraucously at Paol’s banter. “Aw, that’sa good one, Paol… you’re a funny man. No, it had nothin’ to do with a dictionary, but if ya’ ever need toborrow one, I got me one, right under here.”

Blade leaned down to point under his cot, andPaol craned his neck to discover a vast collection of books, large and small,under Blade’s bed.

“Have you read all of those?” Paol askedadmiringly.

“Most of ‘ems. Ya’ see, the ‘precipitous manifestion’ that I had was that I couldeither spend a dozen or two years feelin’ sorry fer myself, or I could makesomethin’ of the time. I mean, I’llstill be young enough to do somethin’ with my life when I bust outta here, ya’know? So, I decided to read and learn,and ya’ know what?”

“What?”

“I really enjoy readin’ and learnin’ ‘bout newthings. It’s enlightenin’, invigoratin’,exhilaratin’, ya’ know?”

“Um… hand me that dictionary, would you?” Paolsmiled for the first time, and Blade responded with his most hearty round oflaughter yet.

After Blade regained his breath and wiped thetears of laughter from his eyes, Paol concluded, “So, this is where you’velearned about mathematics?”

“That’s right,” Blade said excitedly. “Ooh, hang on just a moment.” He knelt down, and Paol watched him riflethrough the books under his bed and mutter incoherently to himself. “Where is it now? I thoughts it was over there… Oh, that’swhere’s I put ‘All Quiet on the Western Front.’… been wantin’ to read that one…some good history there, I bet, just decent… ah, here ‘tis.”

Blade returned to his seat with a largehard-bound text book, titled, AppliedMathematics, Volume II.

Flipping through the index, his fingers raceddown the page, “Aha! Prisoner’sdilemma,” he exulted. “There ya’ is,now.”

Paol shook his head as he saw the page titled‘Case Study 2: Prisoner’s Dilemma’, and marveled at the highlighting andwell-drafted handwritten notes in the margin.

“Blade, I’m absolutely flabbergasted.”

“Flabbergasted!” winked Blade. “To be overcome with astonishment orstupification.”

At this, Blade waited for Paol’s snicker—hisfirst in weeks—before returning to his whole-hearted laughter. At this point, Blade himself had an epiphany. Perhaps it was the affable, easy-goingnature of his cellmate that protected him against the most hardened. How could anyone not quickly grow to lovethis young man? Fate had handed him abad lot in his wrongful conviction, but at least he was placed with one of themost decent men possible in this brutal environment.