The Rig Read Online Free Page A

and muttered something below hearing. ‘Here’s the bathroom. Two minutes, and then I’m going without you.’
    Drake let himself into the washroom using his good hand and was actually impressed with what he found. The floor was made of a white, rubbery material and a line of urinals and cubicles followed the wall to a shower block. Drake headed over to a row of sinks below a long mirror, locked behind a sheet of reinforced Perspex so it couldn’t be smashed. Everything was clean and spotless, which was what so impressed Drake – he’d seen some truly awful prison washrooms. The warden ran a tight ship, it seemed.
    Running his bleeding hand under the cold faucet, Drake grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and cleaned himself up. The clear water ran crimson down the sink and the gash in the back of his hand looked like it needed stitching. He cursed and grabbed a few more paper towels to try and stem the bleeding.
    â€˜There a nurse or something?’ he asked Tristan as he emerged from the washroom.
    â€˜There’s the infirmary. Let’s get up to class and show one of the guards there.’
    Drake let Tristan lead the way. They were at the back of the pack now, a few levels below the rest of the inmates. The metal walkways ran parallel to the rows of what Drake assumed was the accommodation he was paying eleven credits a night for. As Tristan led him up another few levels he lost sight of the cells and the platform opened up onto another of those reinforced plastic walkways built over the water. Drake followed Tristan down the walkway and along the outer rim of the western platform.
    The corridor led outside into a bright but chilly day. The cloudless blue sky bled into the darker blue of the ocean on the horizon and that familiar taste of salt clung to the air. The top of the western platform had been cleared of drilling equipment a long time ago, but Drake could still see the marks in the concrete where it had stood. A few dead insects – bees – littered the indent-ations in the concrete. Drake followed a line of yellow paint towards a wide, two-storey complex that stretched the length of the platform. A few guards were stationed near the fenced-off edge of the platform, overlooking the water. They watched the crowd of boys move into the complex and held their weapons towards the floor.
    Unsure if he’d seen these guards before, Drake added them to the growing count in his head. Unfortunately, he was beginning to see that the Rig was quite well staffed.
    The two-storey building atop the platform was modern, compared to the rest of the outer shell of the Rig. All the boys were filing into a room on the first floor. Still at the back of the group, Drake and Tristan’s trackers beeped last as they crossed the threshold of the wide, open space.
    Entered western classroom
    Larger than the classrooms Drake recalled from primary school, and from the one year he’d attended senior school before being sent into the system for his crimes, ten rows of white desks were bolted to the floor, each with a drawer and chair. Red scanners for the trackers were built into the desks. Drake followed Tristan down towards the front of the room, where a cadre of guards stood without masks – still armed. The three men and two women chatted amongst themselves, ignoring the prisoners. He thought about showing them his wounded hand, but they didn’t look too friendly.
    The ten rows of desks went across for ten seats, as well, making a hundred desks in total. Drake saw that there was a computer embedded into the plastic surface, a touch-screen interface. He sat down next to Tristan at the end of the second row and, following suit, swiped his tracker over the sensor in the chair’s arm. It beeped and turned green.
    The screen flashed to life and presented Drake with three options in large, blue squares.
English – Maths – Science
.
    Drake pressed
Maths
and a