“All Ringid, come forward,” the guard intoned with officious disinterest. The lumbering three-toed aliens all stepped out of the line. “Work party, Area 5. Supervisor Gray.”
Ringid made up half the prison population, due to the recent violent uprisings on Ring. The rest of us were a mix of petty criminals. Only two of us were human.
“All Wheek, come forward.” The scuttling insects were dispatched to trash removal duty. “All Ji, come forward. All Phooloogon, come forward.”
We humans were always called last. Office work, inevitably. There’s something to be said for being a human in a human jail.
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