by J D Morganne
“Peace be, Lieutenant,” Jaxon repeated, trying his hardest to hide the tremor in his throat. If he found out, Sweet Kamiaka, Jaxon hated to fathom the thought.
“Peace and grace.” Naomi tried to disguise her voice, leaving Jaxon to pray the man didn’t recognize her.
Several ominous seconds passed before he faced Jaxon, his expression unchanged. “I didn’t realize you had company, Soldier.”
“I don’t—I mean, she was dropping something off… and leaving.”
“What did she”—
Naomi coughed.
“Soup.” Jaxon said, and bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t lie to save anyone’s life, including his own.
Naomi coughed again. Why was she drawing more attention to herself? The CL4 looked in her direction every time she made a peep.
“It’s in the kitchen,” Jaxon said, disguising his fear with a nonchalant sigh. “Should I… go get it?” Please no, he thought. No, no, no.
“That won’t be necessary, Officer.” He yawned. “I wanted to remind you to read your briefing of tomorrow’s schedule.”
“I’ll”—
The screen went black and faded before the light disappeared. Jaxon rose, but Naomi stayed where she was—fists balled, head down.
“I’m sorry.” He flicked a switch beside the sensor. More soldier privileges. He had gotten into the habit of cutting it off before he went to bed anyway, but Naomi was a distraction. “He didn’t see you?” Crimsons would be on their way to raid Jaxon’s building if the lieutenant had recognized her.
Naomi popped up. She stood to her feet and opened her mouth to say something about the book, but Jaxon didn’t let her.
“It can wait.”
“I came all this way.” She pouted, but her lips were still trembling.
Curfew was soon. She needed to go. Now. “Let’s not risk anything like this again.”
“What do you think of me? Don’t you know I’d never let anything happen to you?” She went to the living room where she had dropped all her things. “I can get back on my own,” she said.
“No way.” Jaxon disintegrated the door.
“This isn’t my first escape.” She slid into her flats, skipped off and waved without looking back.
Jaxon watched her with a lump in his throat until she turned out of view. Naomi was his best friend—his only friend—but the closer she got to him, the more she put their lives at risk.
3
The front of the woman’s dress was stained red, soaking and dripping onto the floor. She bounced from one foot to the other shaking a pen in his direction. Jaxon could see it from where he lay. A piece of hot wood had splintered from the coffee table in the first blast and was now protruding from his ribs. He didn’t know where he’d gotten the strength, but he managed to turn onto his hands and knees, each miniscule movement sending a gut-wrenching pain through him.
“I said stay down!” the woman screamed, her eyes darting for a weapon in what used to be a kitchen. Now, it was a nook, the only thing left of an old cottage. She found an ink pen and snatched it, clenching it tight, the last hope she had of survival.
A whistle of bombs outside made Jaxon’s skin crawl, before another explosion knocked him on his ass. This time he yelled out as the shrapnel wound itself deeper into him. How was he alive? How could he possibly stand this pain?
“What the hell are you?” the woman said, gripping her counter and pulling herself to her knees.
Jaxon laughed. What was he? He was everything she hated. He was everything this Kamiforsaken Door needed. He was the soldier who was going to bring peace to this land. And he wasn’t going to let some silly, old woman stop him. He jumped to his feet, screaming like a maniac through the pain, and launched at the woman.
He landed on top of her, the impact forcing the pen deep into his chest. He barely felt the twinge as they struggled. Her arms flailed, first for something, anything to stop him. Then, for his face, clawing like a wild animal. All the while, bombs detonated around them, quaking the floor, threatening to cave the structure they tussled on. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he could’ve ended this already, but this little lady was feisty.
“Stay still,” he grunted, managing to pin her arms at her sides.
“Obedient scum.” She squirmed to wiggle herself free, her breaths labored. “Get… out of… our… Door.”
Jaxon wasn’t going anywhere, and neither were the other Crimsons. They would leave when peace was restored. That’s what they were there for and they never failed a mission. Never. He put his hands around the woman’s neck and squeezed with all the strength he possessed. He held on even as she scraped his blood and skin beneath her fingernails, even as she gurgled for air, even as she kicked. He didn’t let go until she was still.
He kneeled over her, thick glass popping under his hands and stared into her cold, dead eyes. A lesson, Farah’s monotone voice played in his head. A lesson on the importance of Obedience. No, this isn’t a lesson, Jaxon thought. It’s murder. He stared wide-eyed at what he’d done and thought of all the ways he could take it back. He knew of only one—resuscitating her. But she wasn’t Obedient and didn’t have an AI system. Still, he had to try something. He put his hands over her chest and began cardiopulmonary resuscitation, a manual technique he’d learned in AI Failure class in Naruchi’s Academy for Exceptional Military Combat. Every pump sent him into a deeper haze. This pain would kill him, but he couldn’t argue he didn’t deserve it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
His celbuds pinged, “Warning,” Aicis came. “Heart rate elevated. Asthmatic symptoms detected. You are experiencing a night-terror. Please remain calm.”
A scream came from in front of Jaxon. Still pushing, using what remained of his strength, Jaxon shot his head toward a small boy, standing in the fiery doorway of his bedroom. The boy’s eyes were wide with horror, his fist tight around a bedtime story. Jaxon squinted at the boy, the sprinkling of freckles across his nose, the scar across his chin, the piss pooling from his pajamas at his foot. He was… him.
“Warning,” Aicis said again. “Airway obstructed. Administering anti-inflammatory. You are experiencing a night terror. Please remain calm.”
Jaxon remembered those white-and-gray-striped pajamas like he remembered his own name, yet they seemed distant as if he had never existed at all. He reached for the boy, who turned swiftly and took off into the flames.
“No!” he screamed.
“Warning. Administering second dose of anti-inflammatory. Brace.”
―
Jaxon lost all sense of reality, fantasy and everything in between as his body chilled and heated in an instant. The world went white and then he was back in his dark bedroom, drenching in sweat and struggling to breathe. He hopped to his feet but staggered and fell against the door, fumbling for the shrapnel in his ribs. But there was nothing there. Cool air swirled in his lungs and he coughed and gagged, searching for more.
“Kamiaka,” he reached out for something to steady him, finding only the door handle.
“Heart rate elevated. Please remain still.”
Jaxon’s heart was beating so fast he was sure it would burst.
“Please remain still.”
As if he had a choice! He couldn’t move if he wanted to. He couldn’t even see straight, let alone breathe. He slouched against his door, clenching the knob, panic settling into fear. He stayed there for hours, fading into the silence, refusing to close his eyes again. When he couldn’t stand to be alone anymore, he threw on civilian clothes and went to be around the one person he knew would make everything okay—his mom.
At Pellwheel scaitren station, he climbed twelve flights of steps, instead of taking the lift. Jaxon flashed his tattoo and a soldier, head-to-toe in black, waved him through. Jaxon smiled as an old woman in front of him reached for the railing, hands shaking. The bridge to the scaitren’s doors was a few steps away, but it took a complete minute before either
of them got there.
“Don’t like the sky.” The old woman grumbled, as she found the nearest seat, right next to the door.
“Peace be.” Jaxon paused, took a moment to scan the carriage. He looked back at the old woman and saw the yellow flag strapped to her purse. Most of these passengers wore yellow flags or ribbons or headscarves, which meant they were Sungulders, the refuge of sinners beyond The Kurohi Ruins. No wonder no one else had gotten on. Older women packed the seats at the head of the car, holding close to bags or canes.
Jaxon turned to the door but stopped. He’d have to wait a couple hours for the next train. Could he bear to sit with these rebels who were always suspected of defacing holy land and spreading their wicked idealism? Could he bear to put up with their rebellious nature?
“Doors closing.” The AI’s voice came from the wall speakers. “Please remain seated until full stop.”
The doors closed. Tapping his fingers on his leg, Jaxon turned back and started for the back of the long car. If he couldn’t handle a few Sungulders, how could he call himself a soldier?
“Excuse me.” He said it to a man whose legs stretched across the aisle, but the man was asleep. Jaxon stepped over him and sat two seats down.
Scaitrens were millions of celecomb steel particles forming bullet trains that levitated above magnetic railing systems. They weaved through buildings in Obedience’s major cities, carrying passengers through Naruchi, The Kurohi Ruins, Moregrad and Sunguld. In a couple hours, Jaxon could’ve walked to Moregrad, but the Scaitren was the quickest means for transportation. Plus, he preferred the quiet hum of the tracks, losing himself in the rushing white and black blur out the window. He tapped his celrings to drown out the voices of a pudgy teenager and his shaggy-eyebrowed friend who sat across from him. “Start last playlist.”
“Playing Mozart’s, The Marriage of Figaro,” Aicis returned.
Jaxon’s celbuds were in the middle of crawling into his ears when one of the boy’s waved his hand. “Excuse me. CO3?” The shaggy-eyebrowed boy leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
Jaxon winced when his celbuds bit down, planting themselves. “Yes?”
The boy took a moment to scan Jaxon from head-to-toe. “I don’t mean to disturb you.” He adjusted a white tunic as he stood and settled into the empty seat beside Jaxon. “Can I ask you a question?”
Jaxon shifted to face him, more curious than cautious. It was rare he met a kid unafraid to approach him. “Sure.”
“My ol’ man’s s-sick. He’as Irveng Syndrome. You–erm–know? It’s what you get when you haven’t used fire all your life, so it starts to burn away on the insides. He’s being–erm–burned inside out.”
Jaxon squirmed in his seat, unsure what the boy expected from him. Like The Forbidden Door, Irveng Syndrome had its rumors. Some people thought it developed from fire manipulation restrictions. Realists, like Jaxon, knew it was a disease that came with old age.
“The doctors tell’em they can’t help. There’s no c-cure for IS, they say. But all my ol’man’as to do is start using his abilities. He refuses, of course, because… well… if he manipulates, he’ll meet The Executioner… or be sent to jail. He doesn’t wanna die in prison.”
Even though Jaxon had no words he listened, nodding every few seconds. Already he didn’t know how to answer him, and the kid hadn’t posed a question yet.
“Doctors,” the boy spat. “Obedience has the best celtech apart from Love and they can’t help? And he has to w-work… to provide for his kids, my sister and me. A dying man, in excruciating pain, forced to work so that his family can eat. Doesn’t s-s-seem like the ideal life, you know?” He waited for a response. Jaxon said nothing. “So, my best bet is to become a soldier. A p-pig, like you, so that, at least, I can give him a decent burial. Praise Kamiaka, right?”
Jaxon shifted. That word “pig” stirred anger in the pit of his stomach. He’d worked hard securing his position and protecting Obedience over himself. “What’s your question?” He drew in a steady breath.
“You believe in a system like that? One that pins you against a wall—takes everything you h-have and then watches you die?”
The kid was too young to understand. Jaxon hated all the rules as much as the next guy, but he abided by them because he didn’t see another way. The system they had was successful at best. The Old-World had done this to theirs. War had wiped out half of humanity because of their ignorance and unwillingness to change. Obedience is peace wasn’t only a mantra. And there was nothing anyone could do about Irveng Syndrome. Not even doctors.
“Erm-you know what I think?” The boy’s face took on a grim tone. “It might be time for a change.” The kid stood, before Jaxon warned him to keep his place and remember who he was talking to. “I guess living in a fascist, military Door”—
“Watch your mouth.” Jaxon didn’t want to report the boy to Farah, but he would if it came to that. “And check the veracity of your statements before you make them.”
The boy smirked, gave a swift three-fingered salute and motioned for his buddy to join him. “Peace and grace.” A canister of holospray fell from the unzipped flap on his backpack, clanked against the glass, and rolled beneath a row of seats. Jaxon wondered if this kid had been the punk to spray his door. The boy grabbed for it and shoved it back into his bag, a vile smile stretching over his face.
“Approaching Platform Z-one. Please wait for full stop to exit. All Sungulders proceed immediately to connecting station for non-stop transport out of the city.”
“Precious Naruchi. The ‘holy’ land. Pfft. Right.” He didn’t glance in Jaxon’s direction when he got off the train.
―
His parents’ home sat on a hill in Moregrad. The roofed gate surrounding the small house wavered like a buffering video. Their celtech needed an update. Jaxon walked around it and spotted his mom climbing out of her pond, toting a bucketful of celecomb glass soil. She was wet to her knees, as she trekked across the yard to her artificial peonies. There was no need to tend to them, since they took care of themselves, but she checked them anyway.
When Jaxon walked up, she was on her hands and knees, gardening gloves snug around her fingers, like the ones she had used to carry him as a child. She packed glass soil beads around bundles of red and yellow faux lilies. Their metal stems shimmered even without sunlight. They sent LED signals through the stem to alert when water was running low.
Jaxon hated those things. He hated the glass, which was scattered across every playground to encourage safety in young children. Even though the likelihood that it would cut them was low, parents couldn’t help children five-years and older in case of a fall. Most fifth years didn’t go to parks anyway. Jaxon surely hadn’t. “Mom?”
She spun. A blue scarf, pinned at her shoulders, covered most of her brown hair. Her eyes softened when she saw Jaxon and she pulled herself up with a grunt. Jaxon stuffed his hands in his pockets, wondered if he’d always feel the urge to reach for her when she stumbled. He couldn’t remember her being a whole foot shorter than him, or her holding herself up like she might tip over.
“Is it my long, lost son? Visiting?”
Jaxon hadn’t visited in years and he knew speaking through rings and holodisplays was a huge difference to his mother. “I’m”—
“A busy man.” His mom nodded at his hand. He’d been a CO2 until recently. His promotion had rewarded him a third stripe, adding to the tattoo that spanned his fingers and thumb. It still stung like hell.
His mom moved her bucket of pebbles out of the path, before leading him up the cobblestone walkway to the front door. “Tea?”
“Please.” She left Jaxon in the entryway. He took off his shoes and set them with the others, next to a pair of his dad’s. His dad wore steel-toed boots as if construction required actual hard labor. Builders sat behind holoscreens, ordering commands while celtech built houses.
Their house had changed from what Jaxon remembered. It felt like home, but the simulated
wallpaper had violet chrysanthemums, instead of the pink ones his mom favored. He rounded the entryway and went straight back into the kitchen. His first visit back and he was giving the décor more attention than his mom. He didn’t know how to react. This place had never given him any sense of home. Only his mom had done that and after being away from her so long he didn’t know if his guilt hindered him or if he’d lost the peace he’d felt with her too.
“Are you hungry?” she said and gave him no time to answer. “I’ll make you something.” She went to the sink and removed her gloves. “Water on—soft, warm.” The water trickled from the spout in a clear stream. A bowl and cup were the only dishes, but she started to wash them anyway. Meticulous beyond words. Understanding settled where puerile naivete had once lived in Jaxon’s head. He understood now she had to find ways to busy herself when his dad wasn’t around.
“I’m fine, Mom, thanks. Where’s dad?”
“Working. Should be home soon. Did you know they limited the grocery supply to one per household?”
“You can have whatever you want,” Jaxon reminded her. “My benefits cover you and dad.”
She nodded. “Visit more and we’ll use more of them. Deal?”
“Sure.” He knew grocery limits weren’t the reason for his dad picking up extra shifts. “How’ve you been?”
She cut the water off, grabbed a towel and dried her hands. When she faced him, she had an eyebrow raised, which she accompanied with a hand on her hip. She was getting older. The lines at the corners of her eyes stretched more each year. “You came all this way and you think we’re going to talk about me?” She waved the dish towel at him. “You’re not sleeping.”
“How would you—I am sleeping.”
“Mmhm. How was your week?”
He thought about the Executioner. He thought about Naomi sneaking to his apartment. He thought about Aschenputtel. He thought about the interesting kid who had questioned him. “I rode the train here.”
His mom huffed. “Scaitren’s not safe.” She’d told him that a thousand times.
