THE HOT SUMMER SUN BLAZED infernally in its second week. He was perspiring all over while he was deep in his mental prayers, rolling the rosary beads. Warden Graves was alone, glancing out of the window across the prison yard from Dr Bose's air-conditioned office...

It gave her the satisfaction to see her effete annoyance in the robe, sitting alone — under the hot tin roof cage — that she had built to disgrace him and his followers. She clearly remembered giving her final mocking instruction to Capt. Olsen, yesterday afternoon at her office in the top-level IMU...

"Go and spring him out of the hole — he must be thirsting for the sunlight."

The genteel East Indian doctor stepped into her office and she caught the warden grinning out at the window.

"Warden Graves, the medical-report fax from the Governor's medical team in Huston just came in with positive approbation — and it says that the Preacher's impaired castration ploy, did not severe any arteries, which means — once he heals — he can function as of normal in the future semen extraction."

Erica Graves was speechless and was abstruse for a dismal moment — before she started to think out loud...

"That is not good news at all — it will create opportunities for him to try to cut off his balls again, and start messing with the order around here once again."

Dr Sharmini Bose answered back...

"That is up for your guards to monitor — but I am instructed to run further medical checkups, and, I will let you know when he is ready for milking."

The disgruntled Graves countered back like a tantrum child...

"I don't want that motherfucker near the Auditorium — I want him taken out from the milking list!"

The doctor reacted with impelling...

"Should I put that in my shot to the Governor?"

"No goddammit! I just don't know what to do with that freak. He is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode — and he is a living threat to us all."

The fuming Erica Graves heaved an animus sigh, leaving the doctor's office...

Now with Governor Harris had created her own procedures for efficiency — the warden would have a bout of migraine in finding a way to fit the impediment Preacher into a milking batch, where the monk had the least influence on — most importantly — was to foil from resulting of him getting killed like the recent 'throw-down' brawl...

It might in return impetus a major riot in Tombscradle.