by J D Morganne
“Health update.”
“Complete,” the AI said. “Soldier is functioning at ninety-seven percent.”
“A bit more specific?”
“Could you ask more specifically?”
Jaxon bit back a laugh.
“Internal body temperature.”
“Thirty-seven point two degrees Celsius,” it said.
“Feeling well?”
“I feel fine,” Jaxon said. He’d learned patience but he wanted this to be over.
“Is he sleeping well?”
“Um, yes,” he answered for himself.
“CO3 Jaxon Fletcher averages four-to-six sleeping hours per night. Memory card thirty percent more active since last week.”
“Wow,” Jaxon said. “That’s something.”
“You should sleep more. Need your energy.”
“Duty calls, My Queen.”
Farah nodded, but put her finger up to stop him. “Control, insert protocol.”
A slight buzz, before Jaxon caught a pounding headache.
“Ready.”
“Protocol 02-14-KP6.”
“Working. Confirmed. Protocol locked.”
Jaxon felt a quick pang in his temple, before a cool breeze, like standing alone in the middle of a ventilated room. His headache vanished.
Farah blinked away the screen in front of them and on her cornea. “Naomi’s a princess. You’re”—
“The help?
“Exactly. Keep your distance. You won’t get another warning.”
“My Queen.” He bowed again and waited until she joined her family in the dining hall. Then, he stood up straight and headed in the other direction.
If it wasn’t for her, he might enjoy his job more. She wasn’t the most pleasant of people, nothing like Obedience’s first queen. Naomi’s mother, dead now, had been a queen of high standards. With an unblemished soul. Farah wasn't any of that, but she was the queen the people of Obedience had, and Obedience needed its queen.
2
All three Doors were strategically positioned in the heart of Obedience, Naruchi. According to Kenner’s history, Naruchi meant holy land. But he still couldn’t tell Jaxon which ancient language he’d pulled that crap from. From the sky, the Doors appeared close together. On the ground, they were miles apart, intricate sculptures that broke through the clouds.
He liked to think he knew everything about them, but in retrospect, he knew nothing. Nobody did. People before him had chosen what customs they wanted to keep from the Old-World, had carved their righteous commandments into its ancient oak and formed a new society.
One must obey.
One must honor and preserve the law.
One must exalt no law above the law of Obedience.
One must not steal.
One must not commit murder.
One must honor one’s mother.
One must remain diligent in prayer.
Jaxon thought it ironic. The closest thing to a tree they had, and the queen had it shielded with thick, celecomb glass. Wasn’t fair. Nature wasn’t a luxury in Obedience. Jaxon had never smelled real earth, only artificial simulations during combat training. Still, Obedience’s Door was background noise to the real headlines, which always revolved around The Forbidden Door, whose name Farah didn’t even allow them to speak. The anniversary. A phenomenon that happened. A new story every week. It had become nightmares and the tall tales parents told their children to obey, like the fairytales Jaxon and Naomi read in secret. The smallest of the four, it grazed the clouds at nearly nine hundred meters, thick, ebony wood enough to rebuild all the furniture in Naruchi. Jaxon was beginning to feel trapped by it. It was all anyone ever talked about.
What had Neco asked him? She had been arguing with Kenner about something turning to stone and asked him to find if it was true. There were no answers when it came to The Forbidden Door. It was a mystery made up of dark puzzle pieces. Seven soldiers were on guard for it tonight, but none of them were guarding. They gave their attention to a bony woman standing before them, soft coils of hair peeking from her white scarf as she dipped her head in their direction, whispering flirtatiously. They reached their hands toward her, verboten to touch.
Attention was good, healthy. Attention was all they had.
Roaring, violet flames glistened above one of the guards and shot around the woman, forming a radiant halo of fire. She giggled, then slapped her hand over the scarf where her mouth was. She gazed up at the fire until it exploded into a hundred purple sparks.
Impressive. Jaxon was as mesmerized by the trick as the woman.
One perk of being a soldier was that Farah allowed him to use his manipulation, but he rarely needed to. He was grateful for that, too, because, despite his training, he sucked at manipulating fire. In his apartment, it was easier for him to spark a flame—no one watching. He wasn’t afraid to make a mistake in front of himself.
Jaxon turned away from the show and collided with an old woman rushing down the street with two paper bags of groceries. She crashed to the ground and her scarf cascaded from her head, exposing gray hair and wrinkled skin.
“Sorry.” He stooped, reaching for a fallen pack of rice, but pulled away when their hands almost touched. “Here, let me help you.”
“No, thank you.” She snatched a package of self-heating green beans from the ground, but several sprinkled from a hole in the bag. Her eyes watered as she compiled her things into her arms.
Jaxon picked up two packages of slimy apples. “Where do you stay? I can walk this stuff with you.”
She gestured past Kami Square. The only houses in that direction were an hour from Jaxon’s apartment. “I can do it on my own, Sir.”
Jaxon shook his head. Most older women were frail and frightened, scars left from a world Jaxon didn’t know. Younger women were quiet rebels, like Naomi and didn’t treat the soldiers like they had evil intentions.
“I got it.” The woman stuffed the rest of her things in the bag that hadn’t torn and jumped to her feet. “May your night bring peace.” She didn’t bother covering her hair as she rushed off, leaving him with the packs of apples.
Sighing, he headed for his apartment, watching his reflection in the sidewalk as he walked and little ant-sized censors flickering beneath the glass.
She’s living in the past, Jaxon thought. Things were changing. Things could change.
―
Jaxon’s apartment building wasn’t large by any standard, no different from any other building in Naruchi—small, white, made of sharp corners, and stuffed between other white buildings. Narrow streets weaved through the buildings, and on flat land, resembling a maze. At the head of that maze was the palace, the only black in a sea of white. Ominous and encroaching, Jaxon always felt like its glass exterior would shatter and slice them all to bits and pieces.
He clasped the banister—the only thing keeping him on his feet—as he climbed to the fifth floor.
Someone had scribbled holospray on his door that read “Is Obedience peace?” in metallic blue lettering. He swiped it away, before tapping his celrings together. “Open.”
“Authorization confirmed.”
The door burst into blue celecomb dust and seeped into the floor. Like everywhere in Obedience, celecomb sprayed from the floors, walls or out of thin air to create whatever they needed in only seconds. His mom always used a wooden door, and decorated it with pink, faux roses. Jaxon felt heavy, so he used concrete. Sighing, loosening his shoulders, he pressed his back against it, inhaled deep and let his quiet apartment relax him.
Always quiet, always clean. He kicked out of his shoes and left them at the door. His eyes darted to the counter that separated his living room and kitchen. Then, straight ahead to his open bedroom, out the window into the white night. “Messages.”
“Two messages. First message from Katashi Mayumi-Fletcher. ‘Jacky, it’s mom. Haven’t talked to you in a while. Hope you’re okay. Did you—did you get my card? Happy nineteenth year, though it’s
too late for that now, I guess. I hope to see you soon. I love you, My Heart. Bye.’”
Jaxon hated that he had to avoid his mom to avoid his dad. He couldn’t stand to breathe the same air as his dad. “Save.”
“Message saved. Next message…”
“Stop.” He tossed the pack of apples on the counter on his way to his bedroom.
He sank onto his bed. When he first moved in, its softness had been like a cloud, a blessing for his accomplishment on becoming a soldier and moving out of his parents’ house. Now, it was rigid, like it had taken on too much weight. He didn’t sleep on clouds anymore.
Out his window, fluorescent holospray crossed through street signs of burning rocks and reiterated rules. He didn’t need to see them to know what they said. No skin-to-skin contact. Fiction is forbidden. No wandering or suggestive eyeing.
So many rules.
Food, he thought. Something to clear his head. He went to his box of a kitchen, past his stainless-steel refrigerator—there for show. He snatched a self-heating vegetable gyoza pack from the cupboard, ripped the seal, and stifled a yawn as he watched the silver aluminum rise until it looked ready to pop. It deflated and suctioned. All food packets were infused with the healthy number of vitamins and minerals for all citizens. And every morning, Jaxon had to shove his vomit back down his throat.
“Aicis, hashi.” His chopsticks formed out of the stainless steel of his countertop. Jaxon tapped at the mush with them, until he’d convinced himself he was hungry enough. Half the battle of eating was convincing himself. He winced at the peppered glue taste as he swallowed. Wasn’t worth it. He shoved the rest away.
If he couldn’t eat, he’d sleep, but as he lay back flat against his bed, he thought about his terrible nightmares and then of a million tricks to stay awake. He played holopiano, counted his push-ups, wondered with each strain of his muscles at his obsession preparing for a war that hadn’t and wouldn’t happen. He spent hours orchestrating impossible plots—what he would do if enemies breached the palace, how he’d get everyone to safety, how he’d react if a war did break out. For nothing.
A hard buzzer jolted him out of his pointless daydreaming.
Who would come to his place two hours before curfew? Tucking his t-shirt into his pants—always the professional—he went to see who it was. “Aicis, identify.”
“Unable. This person’s celrings are in stealth mode.”
Stealth mode? Only royals and soldiers had that function. Jaxon sighed. Naomi. This was like that time she’d worn an Old-World steampunk mask to her fifteenth-year banquet.
“Open.” Jaxon’s door cleared.
Naomi’s white cloak covered all but her eyes.
He motioned for her to get inside. If touching her was legal, he would’ve yanked her in himself. She hopped through the barrier and pulled the scarf from her head before he closed the door.
“If it takes that long to put down your door, you need an upgrade.”
Quite the opposite for Jaxon. He was soldier population, which meant his celtech updated automatically. Less fortunate people had to pay heavy Obeds for required monthly updates. Jaxon tapped his celrings, replaced the door with steel. The last thing he needed was a nosy neighbor inquiring about “that girl” who had been in his home last night. “What’re you doing?”
“Relax.” She shrugged her cloak from her shoulders. It fell around her in a heap, leaving a more attractive coral gown in its place. White flats bedazzled with colorful gemstones covered her small feet. Had she even tried to keep her delinquency private? “No one saw me.” In her hand was a hardcover book, worn and yellowing.
Jaxon couldn’t bring himself to say a word. As he stared at her he could only think how vacuous she was for risking both their lives over a stupid book. They’d read plenty of fiction, but they’d never paraded it through the streets and she’d never come to his home, harboring one.
“Do you think this is a big deal?” She held up the book, waved it a couple times before tossing it up and catching it. “Hm? This old thing?” She grinned, enjoying every minute of her criminal behavior, but Jaxon didn’t find it funny. He wished he could, but his head was reeling. Soldiers could overwrite his door control at any moment because of that book. What if she had dropped it?
“Take off your shoes,” he said.
Naomi kicked out of the flats and shoved the book in Jaxon’s face. “This is Grimm’s Fairytales. The one we talked about. Give it a smooch.”
He snatched up her shoes and tossed them to the door.
“No one saw me. Sweet Kamiaka. Relax.”
There were cameras everywhere! What was she talking about? She was a princess. Why did he have to remind her of the consequences of carrying around contraband? He went to snatch the book, but she yanked it away and tucked it behind her. “You’re dead if they find you with it,” he said.
“By who’s hand? The queen’s? My father’s?” Her eyebrows curved like bowls and she poked out her lip. She wasn’t aware of consequences. It had always been clear to Jaxon that they saw things from different perspectives. He huffed in defeat and walked away from her, wanting to get some space between them lest he say something he might regret.
She followed him into his bedroom and tossed the book on his bed. “You said you never read Aschenputtel. That’s the only crime that’s been committed tonight.” She stopped when she realized where she was.
It occurred to Jaxon around the same time. The princess of Obedience was standing in his bedroom. She froze for a second and turned to look through the arched entranceway, as if plotting her way back to safe space.
The upholstered armchair in the corner by his door had traveled ages through his family. Jaxon used it to hold his journals. He was probably the only person in Obedience who handwrote his journals. Naomi wasted no time moving them to the floor, dog-earring the one he’d lain open on top. She plopped into the chair and ran her palms over the velvet arms. Smiling, she relaxed her head against the cushion. “You got something to drink?”
She knew the only options they had were water, tea and occasionally red wine. Jaxon shook his head on his way to the kitchen. “Big kid.”
“Wait a second.” She looked around her, searching the floor and behind the chair. “I’m missing something.”
“What?”
“Your point.” She hopped up and swiped a finger over the white, marble coffee table. “Not a speck of dust in sight. It’s like”— she turned her eyes to the kitchen— “like you clean every ten seconds.”
“Fifteen. Every fifteen seconds, if you don’t count bathroom breaks.”
She stood up to bow, but all traces of humor had drained from Jaxon’s face. She wasn’t supposed to be there.
It took four minutes for the hot water he’d prepared to heat. Four minutes of Naomi rambling about fantasy princesses and evil step-moms. He poured the water into an old side-handle teapot his mother had gifted with other family heirlooms. Then, he poured it into matching teacups. As he poured from the teapot and cups into a yuzamashi, he imagined the horrid threats Farah liked to dispense. Naomi subjected herself to them all the time, especially now that she was in her eighteenth year. No one would see her as an errant teen anymore.
“I got it.” Naomi’s arm brushed his when she took over. She made a show of adding green tea to his teapot and pouring water from the yuzamashi into it. With meticulousness she placed the top over it and slapped her hand on her waist like she’d saved the day.
“Wow, you steeped tea,” Jaxon said. “Gold medal.”
“A dying tradition,” she said. He wouldn’t mention that it was the last tradition tying them to the Old-World. And the last normal thing they knew how to do for themselves without technological aid. “Freya.” Her AI must’ve responded into her celbuds. “Hashi.”
They formed from Jaxon’s countertop. She snatched them up and popped one of his cold dumplings into her mouth.
Jaxon shook his head. She had real gyoza at the palace. How could she
stomach that? “When you’re done, you’re leaving.”
Naomi played with that idea. She shrugged her shoulders up to her ears, swallowed hard. Then she snapped her finger and Jaxon realized she’d been counting. She poured equal amounts of tea into both cups. “You won’t get another stripe for returning me to my father.”
Jaxon wasn’t in the mood for tea, but he sipped. “No? I’m liking this third stripe.”
“Hardy-har. Funny. That woman is”—
“Treason. Don’t say it.”
“I was gonna say she’s a plague. Never even see her face and I know she’s ugly as they come.”
“Naomi.” She knew by now there were eyes and ears everywhere.
Sighing, she finished her tea without another word. Jaxon wasn’t looking for a promotion anyway. In fact, he wasn’t as concerned about her as he was himself. He was a Crimson soldier, bottom of the barrel. If anyone found him harboring anything like books or a missing princess, Dasher would kill him. No questions asked.
“Aschenputtel first and then I’ll go.” She set her empty cup aside.
Jaxon shook his head, not believing her for a second.
“Cross my heart.” She skipped past him back into his room.
“N– how did you even find this place?”
She waved her bedazzled celrings in his face. “How else? And Kenner helped. He could get government secrets from a mime.”
Jaxon should’ve known. They were all criminals.
A red laser popped on from the sensor across Jaxon’s bed and flicked across the room. Naomi dropped to her knees and bowed her head, an instinctive action they were all used to. Jaxon snatched the book and went to shove it under his mattress, but there was no time. He tucked it behind his back and dropped to his knees before a holoscreen appeared, revealing a chubby face. His badge had four black stripes and was dangling by a thread—a Fourth Crimson Lieutenant. The CL4 grinned from ear-to-ear, even though the black spots under his eyes suggested exhaustion. Jaxon ducked his head, too.
“Peace be the night, CO3,” the man said, but he stared at Naomi, eyes shrunken.
